#it feels good to break the seal on an old fic again even if old fic still needs a lot of work)

[wisteriagoesvroom]

wrote 800 words tonight... idk that those 800 words are going anywhere good, but i wrote 800 words!!

[lemmun]

Jegulus Fic Recs

+ some Jegulily

just lovers (like we were supposed to be) by bizarrestars

[ M | 321,090 ]

Regulus closes his eyes and shakes his head again, looking pained, then he opens them and sighs. "And your solution to this is me? Pretending to be my boyfriend?" "Yeah. It's actually bloody brilliant, if you think about it. Everyone will leave happy. I'm going to fake date my way into falling in love," James announces grandly, sticking his hand out and waving it through the air like he's presenting a banner. *** Or, the one in which James Potter wants to prove he'd be a good boyfriend to Lily Evans and comes up with the brilliant plan to fake date Regulus Black his way into falling in love. It doesn't quite go as anyone expects. Task failed...successfully?

adsent mindedly making me want you by calamitoustide

[ T | 45,455 ]

James accidentally texts the wrong number... and he ends up getting a boyfriend in the process :/

blue and yellow skies by alarainai

[ M | 153,481 ]

#starchaser is trending. Regulus Black ✓ @littleking Why is this a thing? I don't even like Potter. James Potter ✓ @jfprongs Replying to @littleking He's lying. We're desperately in love. Regulus Black ✓ @littleking Replying to @jfprongs die :)

Quidditch Rivals turned Quidditch Lovers. That's what the world sees them as, at least.

Too bad Regulus hates James Potter's guts, and James? Well, it doesn't matter what he feels about their definitely fake, definitely emotionless relationship.

In This Mad, Mad World by orphan_account

[ G | 7,059 ]

When Sirius confesses he has a family secret, James is startled and hurt to learn his best friend has kept it from him all these years. The family shame. A brother who was born a squib. When the Marauders agree to spend the summer at Grimmauld Place whilst Sirius' parents are away, everything changes for James Potter--especially after he meets Regulus Black.

Never Have I Ever by moonymoment

[ G | 3,634 ]

“Don’t you dare, Moony-” he warned, but Remus waved him off and cleared his throat. ��Never have I ever,” Remus started, leaving a long pause for anticipation to build up, “snogged TWO members of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” He finished the sentence with a shit-eating grin on his face, and James somehow looked ready to both cry and burst into hysterical laughter. or: the one where Sirius finds out James is deflowering his little brother and all hell breaks loose.

My Jamie by twisted_tales_told

[ NR | 9,736 ]

“Why does this one feel so different,” James asks quietly, standing in the doorway with Regulus tight in his arms. “It’s scary every time, I think we just forget how much.” Regulus responds, not making any move to pull away from James’ hold on him.

my almost lover by alarainai

[ T | 27,757 ]

“If I was dating Regulus, I would have noticed.” A pause. His friends all stare at him with various levels of disbelief. Suddenly, he feels very stupid. “Are you sure?” Remus asks.

touch starved by introvertedhufflepuff

[ M | 4,324 ]

Regulus can't sleep; James can't sleep. They fix this by cuddling.

second chances by introvertedhufflepuff

[ M | 34,439 ]

when Regulus is hit with a rogue spell that sends him back to a 6-year-old, Sirius is forced to face their adversities and grow past their animosity.

the elysium by pixie90smom

[ T | 84,206 ] [ Incomplete ]

For as long as he could remember, Regulus knew he was going to marry a prince. It was sealed in his destiny, embroidered in the fairy tales the maid told him to make him sleep, so neatly sewed into his eyelids that he even dreamed of it at night. In his dreams, he was always glad and so giddy about it, up until the moment he grew up to have wants and needs and Regulus understood that there was no universe in which he could have wanted to do otherwise. For as long as he could remember, James knew he was going to be king. It was written in his blood, running through his veins as steely resolve. It was destiny chanted in royal hallways, whispered in his ears as both a promise and a warning. Since he had been able to think for himself, James had been pervaded by an ever present mindfulness of fate, manifesting in the way he talked and walked, rode his horse and wielded his spear. Lords, barons and dukes had called him heir to the throne before knowing his name, kneeled at his feet before he could know what it meant to rule. James looked in the mirror and saw a prince before he could ever recognise himself. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Lead Me Into the Light by third_crow

[ T | 17,724 ]

“Wh– well– why–” James stammered, attempting to get his bearings, because if he didn’t, and he let Regulus tell him ‘kiss me’ one more time, his heart would probably give out. “Why don’t you get Sirius to help?” Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Because Sirius would just knock his teeth out,” he said as though it were obvious. “Yes,” James hissed, “and he’ll knock my teeth out if I kiss his little brother.” “You can take a hit, Potter, I’ve seen you on the quidditch pitch,” Regulus waved him off, and James groaned, leaning away from him. “Oh, yeah, great, so I’m the sacrifice,” he sighed. “Precisely,” Regulus stepped right into his space, and James felt his chest go a little hot. --- Or, Regulus asks James for a favor to get his ex off of his back, and James makes bad choices.

Positive Reinforcement by TheBiButterfly

[ T | 1,852 ]

Regulus decides to test if dog training tactics apply to humans, particularly James.

Teach Them How To Dream by calamitoustide

[ T | 89,015 ]

Regulus Black is starting his first year as a kindergarten teacher and there's this really hot dad.

Crimson River by bizarrestars

[ E | 865,000 ]

Regulus Black was fifteen the first time his name was called at a reaping. He's twenty-five when it happens to him again. A lot has changed in that time, and one of them is that he's ready to do whatever it takes to make it home. Nothing or no one will stop him, not even James Potter. James Potter has no plans to stop Regulus Black from making it home. In fact, his plans revolve around the opposite. He has his reasons, but he's made his choice to get Regulus out of the arena, even knowing it'll be the last thing he ever does. Sirius Black was sixteen when he volunteered to take his little brother's place in the arena. At twenty-six, without the option to do it again, he has no choice but to be a mentor to his brother and best friend, knowing that only one of them can make it back out. Two names called, a mentor on the verge of falling apart, and more secrets and grief between all of them than they know how to handle. None of them are prepared for what comes next, or how far they'll go to make it through.

a great, big tragedy by bizarrestars

[ M | 13,440 ]

The Trojan War lasted for ten years.

clear blue waters(high tide came and brought you in) by wrongcaitlyn

[ T | 32,054 ]

“Come here often?” How stupid, is the first thing Regulus thinks, before he looks up and thinks, how beautiful. It’s unfair, really. “Really? That’s the line you go with?” Regulus responds, making a show of putting his bookmark in his book and taking out one of his earbuds. James just interrupted him, not that there was any reading to interrupt. James shrugs. “I’m out of practice, I guess. Is this spot taken?” “That’s… that’s just sand.” or regulus being dragged along on a family vacation to babysit his cousin turns into a summer fling, reuniting with an estranged brother, and way too many steps out of his comfort zone.

call me by my name by bizarrestars

[ M | 31,470 ]

It's one thing to see yourself as you are; it's something else entirely to have the courage to show that to others. That takes bravery, more than most people realize. Regulus wants to be seen. Regulus wants acceptance. Maybe that's the most terrifying part; the want of it all. 

the penalty shot by bizarrestars

[ M | 18,820 ]

When one is an international quidditch player, there are certain rituals each key player of the team lives by. For penalty shots, James has always had the ritual of flying the pitch, scanning the crowds, finding the person who made his heart skip a beat, and demanding a kiss for luck. This wouldn't be a problem if the person he needed to kiss was still in a relationship with him, which would make the whole kissing before the shot thing a whole lot smoother, to say the least. (Or, it only takes one kiss for James Potter to score Regulus Black. Twice.)

Jegulily

The Prophets and the Kings by orphan_account

[ M | 26,134 ]

Maybe in another universe, things went differently. Maybe in another universe, they didn't get so lucky. But here and now, they're safe. Regulus Black showed up just in time, with the key to winning the war, and put the power back in the Order's hands. If only things had a tidy ending--but that was never really in anyone's plan now, was it. A what if everyone lived AU.

A String of Consequences by semistrawberry

[ G | 164,536 ]

The brewing of amortentia in Regulus' potions class, creates a chain reaction few people expected.

[sometimesiwritethingsilike]

For the person that requested a mini-fic of Joel feeding his family. Once again I'm incapable of sticking to a short format 😊

Featuring: softness, cooking, some Joel whump, the Dynamic Duo of Ellie and Tommy, cuddling, Joel being taken care of, and a Miller Williams sandwich.

— — —

“Go on, get some rest. I got ‘em.” 

Tommy mumbles something but he’s already laying down, following Joel’s guiding hand on his shoulder. Ellie grabs a blanket and drapes it over Tommy. Joel thanks her with a kiss on her head and then he’s off to the kitchen. Ellie lingers, touching the pen in her pocket, wondering if she has enough time to draw something on Tommy before Joel notices she didn't follow him—

“Ellie.” 

Ellie rolls her eyes and leaves Tommy to sleep, going to the kitchen where Joel has strapped the twins into their high chairs. 

“You got x-ray vision old man?” 

“Yeah. Comes with bein’ a parent,” Joel gives her a conspiratory grin and nods towards a drawer, “‘sides, Maria’s got some permanent markers in there.” 

Ellie giggles. She watches Joel feed the twins, hands steady and gentle with each spoonful. 

“You wanna help?” 

Ellie steps up, trepidation humming in her chest. She’s never had cousins and she doesn’t want to fuck it up. But she copies Joel’s every move and soon Leon is happily eating from the spoon she lifts to his mouth. 

— — —

Ellie watches Joel cook, her notebook spread out on one corner of the kitchen island she and Joel built together. He’s making chicken, quinoa, and green onion croquettes, shaping them into fat ovals by hand. As she brainstorms ideas for the school science fair, she idly traces the J.M. and E.W.M. she and Joel carved on the butcher block prior to sealing the wood.  She loves evenings like these, where they can both do their thing in close proximity, sharing each other’s presence. 

There’s a series of knocks at the door; two quick raps followed by a long one. Tommy strolls into the kitchen seconds later, dropping a kiss on Ellie’s head in greeting. Most of the time he stops by a few minutes before dinner just to mess with Joel — he’ll flick the lights, untie Joel’s apron, slide the spice jars just a few inches out of reach. Today he has eyes only for the freshly fried croquettes.

“Smells good hermano. Gimme a taste?” 

Joel breaks a piece off one croquette and pops it into Tommy’s mouth. Ellie laughs, curious, amused, 

“Gotta get fed like a baby Tommy?”

Tommy just grins at her, not the least bit embarrassed. “No need to be a jealous jelly just cause I got to try some and you didn’t.” 

Ellie deliberately reaches over and plucks a croquette off the drying rack and stuffs it into her mouth. Tommy laughs. 

“Alright, go wash up you two,” Joel interrupts, turning to fry up the last of the food, “Maria’ll by soon and we can eat.” 

Tommy makes sure to lean towards Joel’s good ear before he loudly says, “Yes chef!”  

— — —

The thing is, maybe Ellie is a little jealous. She watches Joel feed Tommy and vice versa a few more times over the following weeks. Neither man makes a big deal out of it and she infers that the action has nothing to do with age or ability but everything to do with familiarity, intimacy, love. Culture too, she knows, from subtly questioning Maria. And, she reasons, the five years between them would’ve made Joel old enough to help feed Tommy as a toddler. Still, she can’t help but feel a little left out. 

But as amazing as Joel is, he’s not a mind reader. So if she wants in on this particular Miller custom, she’s going to have to ask for it. 

She works up the courage on a warm Saturday afternoon when Joel is making her favorite — empanadas. She doesn’t even pretend to read her book, joining in on the preparation instead, which never fails to make Joel smile. She waits until he’s fried the second batch and the first has cooled and drained enough to be ready. Then she nudges him, looks up at him, and borrows Tommy’s words, 

“Give me a taste?” 

Joel’s eyes are suspiciously shiny as he breaks a piece off an empanada and feeds it to her. 

— — —

It becomes almost unconscious as the days and weeks go by. Ellie and Tommy turn it into a competition, where they encourage Joel to throw bits of food up into the air so they can catch it in their mouths. Joel resists at first, warning them they’re gonna choke, but he gives in to their combined pressure. 

There’s a point too, when Ellie is helping Tommy in his garden, that she asks him for a taste of the fresh grape tomatoes they’ve just picked and rinsed. Tommy obliges with the same awestruck look Joel had the first time and Ellie calls him dramatic as she wraps him in a hug. 

— — —

Ellie wakes to the sound of the shower running, which wouldn’t be an issue if it wasn’t two in the morning. She’s up and out of bed in an instant, warning bells going off in her head. Light spills out from under the bathroom door, bright in the dark hallway. She knocks on the door. 

“Joel?”

No response. She gives it a couple of seconds before she opens the door only to be greeted by thick, warm steam. Joel’s sitting on the edge of the tub, massaging the sides of his head along his sinuses. His hands are shaking. 

Ellie does her best to swallow her worry. 

“It’s a little early for a sauna experience isn’t it?” 

Joel finally notices her. He looks tired and scared. Ellie immediately closes the space between them and puts her hands on his shoulders, making sure he really is present and seeing her before she moves them up to cradle his cheeks. He’s warm, even more than could be explained by sitting in the small bathroom with the hot water running. 

A flu’s been going around Jackson, taking people down left and right. It seems like it finally caught up to Joel. Ellie winces, guilt sour in her stomach — she’d had it last week, had she given it to him?  

“’M alright baby girl. Go back to bed.” 

Joel had taken care of her day and night, made her his mom’s caldo de pollo, a delicious soup that had been the only thing she’d been able to stomach. Like hell is she leaving him to his own devices now. 

“You’re way too smart to think I’m just leaving you like this.”

“Ellie—”

“I’ll be right back okay?” 

And before he can argue any further, she plants a kiss on his forehead and rushes out of the bathroom. 

Getting Tommy is easy. Since becoming a father he's been a light sleeper and he answers his door well before Ellie thinks to use her spare key to go inside and wake him. He follows her back to her and Joel’s place, getting ahead of her on the stairs due to his longer stride. He gets Joel up with some fuss and Ellie leaves them to it when Tommy announces Joel’s damp pajamas have to go. 

Ellie heads back downstairs and beelines straight to the fridge. Thankfully, there’s still some caldo left. She pours the soup into a saucepan and starts heating it on the stove. 

Tommy comes downstairs about fifteen minutes later, exasperation and sadness on his face. For a moment it looks like he's debating what to tell her but a fierce glare from her gets him to spill the full story. How Joel had been feeling off the last couple of days (which they both know is likely an underestimation) and how he'd woken in the middle of the night feeling so horribly congested he’d thought he’d lost his hearing entirely.

Ellie wonders how long he sat there feeling terrified and finds her hands curling into fists. Anger is easier to hold onto than heartbreak. 

“Why couldn’t he just say he was feeling like shit?” She asks. 

“It’s got nothin’ to do with us, Ellie.” Tommy answers, cutting through to what she really wants to know in that way she always finds annoying, “He’s had to carry a lot on his shoulders. A lot to swallow up and go through alone. Long before you came along and before I was old enough to notice. It ain’t fair to any of us, him included, but we can help him see there’s a better way of doing things now.”

Ellie takes this in. It makes sense, but she doesn't have to like it.

“So are you saving your lecture for when he gets better? Cause I have a bunch of things I want to add.”

“Oh yeah, he’s in for a good one, don’t you worry. I’m gonna use his full name too, just like our mama used to.” 

Tommy pulls her into a hug and Ellie squeezes tight, hoping it gets across how desperately grateful she is he’s there and taking care of Joel isn't all on her. Tommy drops a kiss on her head. 

They go back upstairs, Ellie carrying Joel’s favorite soup mug with the hot caldo and Tommy holding a glass of orange juice. 

Joel is in his bed, hair fluffy from running a towel through it. To Ellie’s relief, he’s entirely alert and looking much better. Good enough to at least appear sheepish, if not a little embarrassed at what he no doubt thinks is excessive fussing on their part. 

“Alright, you got two choices now — caldo or OJ.” 

“And I don’t mind spoon feeding you,” Ellie adds, squaring up next to Tommy, “I have plenty of practice.”

Joel’s eyes narrow, “Since when’d you two get so chummy?”

“Carin’ for the same idiot brings people together like you wouldn’t believe.”

Joel realizes he’s fighting a losing battle. “Fine. Gimme the soup.” 

Ellie passes over the mug. Joel makes it through most of it before he holds it back out to her, too tired to continue. Ellie sets it on the nightstand before flopping onto the bed to the right of him, making it clear she has no intention of leaving. Joel just rolls his eyes but he can’t hide his smile as he settles in around her like usual. 

Tommy turns off the lamp but he makes no move to leave. Instead, he pushes at Joel's shoulder. 

“Scoot over.”

“Tommy, what the hell—”

Tommy simply makes space for himself on Joel’s left while Ellie tries to muffle her laughter against the pillow. 

“Tommy you got someone to cuddle with. She’s probably waitin’ for you. In your own damn house.” 

“And miss this chance to be the big spoon? No way. Now hush up and enjoy your time in this wonderful Miller Williams sandwich.” 

Joel grumbles some more but he makes no move to escape them.

“Hey Tommy, why didn’t the sick person get the joke?” 

“Why?”

“Because it flu over his head.” 

Tommy chuckles. 

“Hey Ellie.”

“Yeah?”

“I too have a joke about the flu. But I hope you don’t get it.”  

Ellie and Tommy laugh together. Joel holds out for a few more seconds before he joins in. 

"Jesus you two are a goddamn menace."

"You wouldn't have it any other way, big brother."

Joel pulls both of them closer. "Damn straight."

Ellie can’t help herself, "Hey. I'm right here."

And that sets them all off again.

[wilcze-kudly]

Should I finish this fic about lil Kuvira's first day in Zaofu?

Found in the dephts of my notes app

The wooden waggon her family used had always been uncomfortable, being the rickety, unstable old thing that it was. But today, under the sweltering sun, it seemed particularly incommodious to her, especially paired with Father's angry ramblings.

- Your mother and I have have tried to get through to you, Kuvira, but you refuse to listen! - he admonished, repeating things she'd heard thousands of times before. - You have no discipline! No remorse for what you did! -

That wasn't true! Kuvira bit her lip. She had apologised, it had been an accident... It was Mother and Father who refused to listen! And Mother hadn't said sorry for grabbing Kuvira's wrist so hard it bruised, or for pulling her hair... Kuvira hadn't meant to throw that rock as hard as she did, hadn't meant to break Mother's ribs.

They approached the strangest city Kuvira had ever seen. Huge metal petals spread over the lush green valley, revealing tall, glistening towers that jutted into the annoyingly bright sky. This looked nothing like the village Kuvira came from, nothing like its clay houses and dirt roads.

Father continued berating her, motioning at the metal city with his chin. - There's a master metalbender here, who agreed to take you off our hands. - he said and Kuvira firmly stared down at her feet and the worn planks of the waggon. She wanted to scream. -Hopefully, she can knock some sense into you. And remember, this is for your own good.-

Kuvira sort of hated her parents at the moment, but that didn't mean she wanted them to leave her with a total stranger. She didn't want Mother and Father to drop her off here like they dropped off the pickens they raised and sold to the local butcher!

She didn't want to have any sense knocked into her, either! It didn't sound very pleasant. She swore to herself that she'd hate the evil metalbender who was going to take her away from the only home and life she knew.

She was chased out of the waggon, despite her clear reluctance. She clutched her small sack of belongings in her small, but already calloused by work hands. There wasn't much in it, to be honest. Two spare shirts and a pair of trousers, along with five pairs of socks and underwear. She had been allowed to take three toys with her and Father sold the rest the day before her departure.

She'd yelled and stomped her feet, of course, but it was no use. She might have been the strongest earthbender in the village, but she was still just eight, after all. Father had dragged her back home, grip painfully tight on her shoulder. He said he had sold her toys to pay for a healer to come take care of mother and then he told her to pack what was left of her things.

That's how Kuvira had been informed that her own parents were getting rid of her.

Father turned the waggon around so fast that Kuvira didn't even have the chance to say goodbye to Patchy, the old, balding ostrich horse that had served her family long before she had been born. Bitterly, she remarked to herself that Patchy was probably more of a family member to her parents than she ever was. At least Patchy did what he was told.

Kuvira stood in front of the weird city, looking up at it in... awe wasn't the right word, but neither was apathy. She just didn't feel like feeling anything other than the nervous gnawing at her stomach.

She didn't want to be here, she wanted to be back home! Even if Father and Mother took all her toys or made her work on the farm until her hands bled again.

She wondered if there was still time for her to bolt. Maybe she could make her own way home, or maybe she should run away altogether. Any course of action in the world seemed better than having to go with the evil, evil metalbender.

A clanging sound signaled the sealing of her fate as the odd, metal gate opened and a figure stepped out.

The metalbender did not look very evil.

In fact, she looked like one of those travelling acrobats and dancers that sometimes came to the village to perform for coin. Thin and willowy and covered in odd metal jewellery, her graceful limbs obscured by the green folds of a weird robe. With the circlet upon her head, peeking out from under wavy, jet black hair, she looked like some manner of royalty. At least she did to Kuvira, who, notedly, had never encountered any royalty.

- You must be Kuvira. It's nice to meet you. - the lady said cordially, the corners of her sharp but gentle eyes turned upwards by a soft smile that formed on her lips.

Kuvira remained obstinately silent, lifting the dirty sack to her chest, as if it could somehow protect her from her uncertain future.

The lady crouched down, so she was more or less at Kuvira's eye level. Her smile wavered a little, though it didn't leave her face completely. - My name is Suyin. But you can call me Su. - she tried again, reaching a dainty hand out for Kuvira to take.

Kuvira stayed still, furrowing her brows. The lady seemed nice, but Kuvira was here to have some sense knocked into her, if Father's words were to be believed. She didn't trust the lady, no matter how nice she seemed. After all, she was still taking Kuvira away from her home and family.

- You'll be safe here, I promise. - Su assured, as if she could read Kuvira's mind. She seemed so calm, content to stay crouched before Kuvira indefinitely, until the little girl was ready to take her hand.

Kuvira hesitantly took Su's hand, making her smile widen. Though Su's hands were much smaller than Father or Mother's, her thin, deft fingers still wrapped completely around Kuvira's tiny hand.

The woman stood slowly, making no sudden movements, as if Kuvira were a small animal that could be easily startled into turning tail. She gently led Kuvira towards the gate and into the metal city.

So maybe this was not the worst course of action in the world.

----+

Kuvira should probably have been looking around the city more, but she couldn't bring herself to spare it more than a cursory glance. Most of the buildings had a lot of metal incorporated into them, the clean streets were littered with small shops and full of people who wore robes similar to Su's.

Su had been walking rather slowly, letting Kuvira look around at her own leisure. Not like Father, who walked so fast that Kuvira had to constantly jog behind him, so her little eight year old self wouldn't be left behind.

Eventually, they reached a train station and Su beckoned her onboard. Kuvira had never been on a train before, and she couldn't help but kneel on her seat, nose pressed to the windowpane as the train pulled out of the city and made its way towards a similar, smaller metal flower.

She turned to look at Su questioningly. The woman followed her gaze, before explaining. -The city is made out of a few sectors and the monorail connects them. - she said, then she pointed to the 'sector' they were currently headed to. - That one there is where my family and I live, and so will you. -

- Family?- Kuvira asked incredulously. It hadn't occured to her that the metalbender could have a family.

Su beamed. - Oh yes, my family. My husband and our children. Your new siblings. - she added and Kuvira mulled her words over. She wasn't sure if she wanted any siblings. She opted to once again focus on what was behind the window.

Wide expanses of green, lush meadows with flowers dotted here and there and a far off river in the distance. And, of course, the form of... well, of Kuvira's new home, apparently, glinting in the sunlight.

The train reached its destination much sooner than Kuvira would've hoped it would, but she compliantly hopped off her seat. Su reached to pick up Kuvira's sack for her, but the little girl hurriedly snatched it away. It was her sack, her things! Su arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, simply motioning for Kuvira to follow her.

They stepped out of the train and onto a large courtyard, filled with vibrant greenery and stone or metal decorations. At the far end of the area was a huge house and apparently that's where Su and her family lived.

- I took the liberty of picking out a room for you, I hope you don't mind. - Su said as they walked to the house. Kuvira shook her head, and the metalbender continued. - It's rather close to mine and my husband's, so if you need anything, don't be afraid to knock, alright?-

- Alright. - Kuvira answered absentmindedly as they reached the door to the house.

Su smiled at her and stepped into the house, Kuvira right behind her. The metalbender stood still for a moment, cocking her head, before turning to her small companion. - My family are in the living room right now. - she announced and Kuvira frowned.

- How do you know?- she asked suspiciously.

Su smiled mysteriously. - Seismic sense. - she answered airily, leading Kuvira down the hallway. - I can use earthbending to 'see' my surroundings and tell where things are.-

Kuvira's eyes widened and her jaw dropped just a little. - You can do that?-she breathed. She'd, of course, been told that this woman was a master metalbender, but Kuvira hadn't exactly considered what such mastery entails.

Su chuckled softly. - Yes. My mother taught my sister and I when we were very young.- something sad and wistful crossed her relaxed features, lips curling ever so slightly downwards.

But Kuvira paid that no mind, too engrossed in the next question that tumbled from her lips. - Can... Can I learn to do it?-

Su ruffled the girl's hair, smile eclipsing the sunlight that wafted through the wide windows. - Of course, sweetie. As soon as you get comfortable living here. - she assured and that gave Kuvira more stability than she'd ever had. - Would you like to meet your new family now?-

Kuvira chewed her lip. She supposed she'd have to meet the rest of the house's inhabitants at some point... And Su seemed to really love her family. Kuvira didn't want to offend the woman and have the offer of learning seismic sense retracted the moment it had been given to her.

She nodded faintly and Su beamed, clasping her hands together. - Perfect!- she exclaimed, gently steering Kuvira down another corridor. - They already know you're coming, so you don't have to worry about being a surprise.-

Kuvira wanted to ask how many kids Su had, or anything else of the sort, but her attention was quickly drawn to voices, muffled and quiet, but rapidly becoming louder and more clear.

- Junior, dear, don't chew on your pencil.- a man's soft voice admonished quietly.

- Sorry, papa. - came the sheepish answer of a young boy.

- Papa, keep reading!- urged a little girl's voice. The man chuckled.

- Well, Opal, why don't you help me read it?-

- No, papa! I wanna listen to YOU read it!- the girl squealed, just as Su and Kuvira reached the door.

Su confidently swung the door open, to be met by a chorus of many little voices exclaiming: 'Mommy!!!'

- Hello, darlings! - Su gracefully slipped through the door, Kuvira hot on her heels, almost hiding behind the woman, in the folds of her robe.

- Good to see you, dearest.- the man said softly, his voice was warm and steady. - Did...-

- Yes.- Su replied his unanswered question, stepping aside a little, revealing Kuvira to the world. Immediately, several pairs of moss green eyes settled on the newcomer and suddenly, Kuvira wanted to leave very much. But Su placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. - Everyone, this Kuvira. She'll be part of our family from today. -

- It's very good to meet you, Kuvira. - the man was sitting on a couch, with a kindly, inviting smile. He closed a thin, colourful book and placed it in his lap. He leant in a little. - We've all been very excited to meet you, right kids?-

A couple awkward murmurs sounded from here and there. Kuvira shuffled her feet in discomfort. - Hello. - she finally hummed, tightly gripping her sack. Su lightly patted her back, as if commending her for finding her voice.

Someone approached Kuvira from her left and she snapped her head to look up. It was a boy, her age, with shaggy dark brown hair falling down onto his sun-kissed forhead and curious green eyes observing her from behind angular glasses. - Hi... uh, hello, Kuvira. - he smiled, extending his hand. - I'm Baatar. It's nice to meet you.-

Before Kuvira could even consider shaking his hand, another, more high-pitched voice corrected: - Your name isn't Baatar! It's Junior!- it came from a small boy, no older than three, who was cheerfully and confidently trotting up to the pair of older children.

- Shut up, Wing.- Baatar hissed through his teeth, before glancing at Kuvira and faltering. - I'm actually Baatar Jr. - he admitted sheepishly.

- And I'm Wing!- announced the little boy, flinging his arms around Kuvira's waist with a huge, toothy grin. Kuvira stiffened, but didn't exactly want to push him away in front of his parents.

- And that's Huan!- he motioned towards a gloomy looking boy, who was seated in an armchair, limbs splayed out haphazardly. At least, Kuvira thought he was a boy, his hair was somewhat long and she couldn't really tell with those long, odd robes everyone was wearing.

In lieu of a greeting, Huan offered a grumble, before turning back to whatever strange metal item he'd been nursing in his hands. Rude.

Wing tugged at the hem of Kuvira's shirt to get her attention again. - And that's Opal! And Wei! - he pointed at the two little tufts of jet black hair, crowding against their father.

The first was the only girl, hiding behind the biggest stuffed toy Kuvira had ever seen. The huge fluffy air bison almost completely obscured her small frame. There was also a boy, identical to Wing, curious mossy eyes peeking over his father's shoulder. Su's husband smiled, gently nudging the pair towards Kuvira. - Come on, you two, say hello to your new sister.-

- She's not my sister!- Opal snapped suddenly. And though Kuvira kind of agreed with her, she could tell by the look in the younger girl's eyes that it was meant as an insult. Kuvira scowled at her new 'little sister' who did much the same.

- Now, Opal, be nice. - Su gently berated, crossing the room and settling next to her daughter. - Kuvira joining our family doesn't mean we love you any less. - she reminded gently, hugging the girl.

For the first time, Kuvira wasn't next to Su and she was mortified to realise that it frightened her. She held onto her sack for dear life.

- Wei, would you like to say hello to Kuvira?- Su's husband asked gently. The boy who looked like Wing nodded slowly. He gave Kuvira a shy little wave, before shuffling behind his father again.

- Don't mind them. - Baatar Jr comforted, adjusting his glasses. - Opal's just jealous that she's not going to be the only girl anymore.-

- Not true!- shrilled Opal, mustering a surprisingly fierce glare.

- Totally true! - Wing chirped, still glued to Kuvira's side. He glanced up at her curiously. -Hey, can you earthbend? Mommy said you can earthbend!-

It took Kuvira a moment to find her voice again. - Yeah, I can earthbend.- she confirmed, though she hadn't done so since the incident with Mother.

Wing cheered incoherently. - Cool! Can I see? Can you metalbend? When did you learn? Huan can bend, but he does it boring and he never shows us anything cool! Do you do fun bending?!- he went on a tirade, disregarding an offended gasp from Huan. Kuvira's brain barely kept up with him.- I haven't started bending yet, but I will and then I'll be just like mommy and grandma Toph!-

- Me too! Me too!- announced Wei, his shyness defeated by the prospect of a sibling that did not use bending just for 'boring things'. He clambered out from behind his father, wide eyes locked onto his twin and newly adopted sister.

Baatar scoffed, crossing his arms. - Like you two aren't enough trouble without the ability to throw boulders around with your minds. - he grumbled, rocking on his heels.

Wing rounded on his brother, releasing Kuvira and hopping about the room. -You're just jealous because you can't fo ittt~ he singsang mockingly, bounding in circles around the two older kids.

Baatar smacked him up the head. - See, you know nothing about general history. - he took a deep breath and lifted his index finger. -While non earthbenders can't throw boulders via traditional means, technology bridges the gaps between us more and more. Like the catapults that the Fire Nation used during the Hundred Year War. Those launched rocks, no earthbending required. - he recited as if he were reading from a book, looking down his nose at Wing.

Wing was not impressed. - Boring! - he decided, still spinning around. - Grandma didn't use cata.... cata... - he furrowed his brows, clearly struggling with the new word. -... the things! I'm gonna be an earthbender like her and then I'm gonna be the strongest!-

Something vaguely malicious crossed Baatar's face, a menacing arch to his brow. - Oh yeah?- he lilted, leaning in. - You're gonna be the strongest?- he teased, grabbing Wing under the arms and tossing the three year old into the air before catching him. - You've got a long way to go then!-

Wing shrieked, kicking his legs and flailing his arms in futile attempts to escape his big brother's hold. Baatar Jr laughed madly through his smug grin.

Behind a discombobulated Kuvira, Huan muttered something condescending and rolled his eyes.

Wing's luck turned when Wei came to his rescue, leaping from the couch, straight onto Baatar's back with a shrill battlecry. The force of his charge sent the trio sprawling onto the soft carpet, still locked in a fierce wrestling match. For a boy outnumbered, Baatar was doing pretty well for himself, until Wei sat on his arm.

[ladyhoneydee]

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 10

Good evening! I'm officially a third of the way through this challenge, and I have to say, I am learning a lot. I'm also writing more varied ships than I ever have before, which is super fun!

Today's prompt for my Song(fic) Challenge was "A song you never get tired of", for which there could only ever be one true contender. You see, back in the summer of 2018, I had a phase where I listened to the song "As the World Falls Down" by David Bowie (from the movie Labyrinth) on repeat for literally hours every day for months straight. It was ridiculous, and it proved that I truly could never get tired of that song.

A note on this one! In this fic, Sheik is genderfluid. I am not genderfluid myself, so if my characterization is off or in some way disrespectful, please feel free to give concrit in the comments!

A Love that Lasts a Lifetime

Game: Ocarina of Time, post-canon, adult timeline

Pairing: Sheik/Malon

Word Count: 1525

Keywords: romance, yearning while dancing, angst

Jagged breaths puffed into Malon’s face, blowing back the flyaways that had come free of her crown of braids. Tears tracked down Sheik’s own cheeks. Malon wanted more than anything to wipe them away, but the terror that breaking from their dance would shatter the moment kept her frozen in their slow spiral.  “You can give me a love that lasts a lifetime,” Sheik whispered.

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

It was the fourth ball in as many moons. Malon would’ve thought the expense extravagant, overly-indulgent, but Sheik had been putting twice as much of the royal coffers—what remained of them, anyway—into helping the people with evacuations, building a new fleet of ships so each town could have at least one, and providing provisions for any citizen, regardless of whether or not they planned to flee Hyrule. She’d asked Sheik, during a break between breathless reels during the third ball, why he was putting so much effort towards such frivolous things. 

“Because the people have so little to hope for, and so little time remaining before their lives change forever. I want to give them something frivolous and dazzling to look forward to and enjoy.”

His sentiment was beautiful, the words altruistic. But Malon knew they were at least partially fueled by guilt. Because on another evening, when Malon and Sheik had sat beside one another on a castle balcony in their nightgowns, on a rare night between rainstorms, she had told Malon that it was her fault. That the goddesses were flooding the world because there was no hero. And that there was no hero because she had sent him back in time. 

The words had poured out through helpless sobs. All Sheik had wanted at the time was to let her lover escape the trauma he’d been put through in this broken Hyrule, to free him from the yoke of rebuilding after everything else he’d done. She’d thought that evil surely wouldn’t rise again in her lifetime; after everything, it ought to have been sealed away for a generation or more, and the worst she’d have to deal with would be the desperate poverty of the citizenry and her own lack of political training. 

And yet, here they were, with darkness, and the water sent to quench it, already rising. 

And here Malon was, holding Sheik in her arms as they danced. 

Hyrule’s leader was stunning that night. Malon had always thought so, even when Sheik was nothing more to her than a skinny sixteen-year-old boy, knocking on the barn door with an offer to trade news of the world outside the farm’s fences for milk and company. Now, as the de facto leader of their broken kingdom—although not the Queen, never the Queen, or King for that matter—spun out from Malon and back, the sea foam green of her last remaining dress contrasting beautifully against her strawberry blonde hair. 

Malon just had to pretend not to notice the irony of the watery dress swirling around Sheik’s ankles like the incoming tide, and the moment would be perfect.

The band was little more than a wind quintet, with the addition of a single frazzled percussionist trying to cover every part at once. The size of each ensemble had dwindled alongside the elegance of the decor and the number of attendees. That evening’s ball had only the ballroom’s intrinsic architectural opulence and majesty to dazzle its few dozen guests—a far cry from the first, which had been packed to the brim with hundreds of attendees from every possible background.

As if reading her thoughts—or perhaps simply following Malon’s gaze around the room—Sheik murmured, “My father would be so ashamed, if he could see where we are now.”

Malon’s hand clenched on Sheik’s waist for a nearly imperceptible moment. “Your father could do no better than you have, put in the same situation. And if he tried to judge you for your kindness and persistence, I would be the first to throw him out.”

Sheik laughed lowly, and then sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. It does no good to dwell on it, regardless.”

Mirrored by dancing couples all around, she dipped Malon back, and gently pulled her back upright. Through it all, Malon couldn’t look away from Sheik’s eyes. One blue, one red. Two priceless jewels, gleaming with melancholy.

Malon couldn’t remember a time Sheik’s eyes hadn’t held that reserved sadness. At their first meeting, she had imagined it to be loneliness; after learning of Sheik’s true identity, she’d thought it loss; when Sheik had crumpled into her arms with the weeping words that Link was gone, never to return, she’d known it heartbreak; as he received the first dream from the goddesses of what was to come, she’d seen it to be despair. And through all the shades of Sheik’s sadness, Malon stayed by their side: first as an uncommon companion, then as a loyal confidante, and later, as the years passed, as an unspoken beau.

To love Sheik was to hold their sadness in the palm of your hand, and offer them a warm place to store their smiles.

The dancers paused, upright, to applaud as the sextet finished the piece. They truly were talented. Malon wasn’t sure why they had decided to go down with the ship of their kingdom—or at least remain with it even this far into the flooding—rather than boarding one that could keep them safe, but she found herself grateful for their choice. 

The string bass thrummed them into a waltz. Or perhaps merely an odd slow dance—the tempo was slow and measured, the sound dreamy, but Malon counted four beats to a measure rather than the standard three. 

Whatever it was, she liked it. If she were a song, she’d be an odd one, too.

She felt Sheik draw closer. “You’re humming. Did you know?”

Malon had not.

“It’s charming. I love your musicality.” Sheik paused, and added, wistfully, “It’s been a very long time since I heard you sing.”

“Has it?” Malon was shocked. Was she really so departed from the girl who would sing in the horse pastures every night until the moon was high overhead? “I like singing for you. You would only need to ask.”

“That’s precisely why I haven’t. How could I ask for more than you’ve already given me?”

The melancholy in Sheik’s gaze was stronger now, mixed with something Malon feared to name, and ached for in equal measure. It was a knife twisting below her ribs, the caress of a feather on her cheek. 

They’d been dancing around far more than a ballroom for so long.

Malon took a breath, and felt it catch in the tightness of her throat. “You know, they say the moon controls the tides.”

Sheik’s brows furrowed in amused puzzlement at the non sequitur. “I have heard that, yes.” She paused, and her mouth twisted wry and razor-sharp. “Do you think the moon is the one doing the goddess’s bidding, hailing the Flood?”

Dammit, that was not what Malon was trying to lead to. “If it is, it’s a traitor.”

Sheik’s responding hum was light and noncommittal. Malon could have screamed. Instead, she smiled, and effortlessly switched the flow of their movements so she was the one leading their dance. Sheik’s lips curved in surprise, and then affection. 

With Malon in the lead, she widened their circle until they were at the very edge of the room, beside the glass doors that would lead to the balcony, if they hadn’t been closed against yet another torrential downpour. The sound of the rain was louder here, blending into the slow sweetness of the band. It offered cover for any lovers who wished to whisper amongst themselves. 

“I would give you the moon, if I could,” Malon murmured. 

Sheik’s eyes widened. “Malon…”

“Please, Sheik, don’t you think we’ve kept it to ourselves long enough?” 

“I…” Her expression was conflicted, but Sheik didn’t argue. Malon forged ahead. 

“I know you feel responsible for all of this, and that you believe you deserve nothing good or beautiful yourself, even as you do your best to ensure it for everyone else. I won’t take your guilt from you—that’s yours to do what you will with. But I would give you everything, if I could. Golden mornings, if I could chase away the rain. The stars themselves, if I had the strength to pull them down.” She took a steadying breath. “More than anything, I want to give you a love that will last. It breaks my heart that we…that we won’t…”

She couldn’t eke out any further words beyond the boulder weighing heavily in her throat. 

The length of Sheik’s body brushed hers, and clung close. She felt her arms wrap more securely around her waist and back. The sensations lit up her nerves like kindling, and yet she could spare them hardly a moment of attention, because Sheik had just leaned her forehead against Malon’s own. 

Jagged breaths puffed into Malon’s face, blowing back the flyaways that had come free of her crown of braids. Tears tracked down Sheik’s own cheeks. Malon wanted more than anything to wipe them away, but the terror that breaking from their dance would shatter the moment kept her frozen in their slow spiral. 

“You can give me a love that lasts a lifetime,” Sheik whispered.

Joy, joy that strummed her heartstrings until they twinged and broke. She knew what Sheik was offering. She knew what they would never be allowed to give. 

She broke the dance. 

“Until the world falls down.”

Lips locked in the rain-streaked night.

[dollwritesarchive]

orgasm denial/overstimulation with bunny & matt? 🥺 i feel like either would fit their dynamic so well!! <33

𝓅𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 ⎹ 𝓜.𝓜.

fandom marvel / the defenders masterlist / violent delights au

featuring dark!matt murdock x bunny!reader

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning this is a darkish fic. forced stimulation. suggested kidnapping, manipulation, etc. Matt is a meanie. humiliation and a dash of degradation and dumbification. use of a vibrating wand, a gag and some good old fashioned duct tape, daddy kink, dacryphilia, somnophilia mention.

summary you’ve begged him to let you go one too many times.

word count 1.5k / mini musings

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

bunny in wonderland writing event!!

you could hear his footsteps approaching, even though they were faint, and you force your eyes to try and focus on the door to the bedroom. you couldn’t do much for the drool oozing from either side of your lips, rubbed raw by the gag fastened tight around your face. a wide, metal ring kept your mouth from closing, your lips aching to seal themselves. you couldn’t stand the way your moans sounded with your mouth wide open like this, like you were actually enjoying Matt’s idea of a game.

you weren’t… were you?

if you could speak, you would scream no. however, your body was telling a completely different story. your thighs quivered, silk panties soaked through, and your eyes kept rolling back in your head whenever you tried to escape the deep, rumbling vibrations of the wand secured to your core. it was futile to squirm, because you only ended up grinding into it, forcing more and more stimulation until you were crying out and drooling on to the sheets underneath you, begging incoherently for mercy.

you wanted to show Matt that he wouldn’t break you, and yet, you already seemed broken. when he waltzes into the room, grinning ear to ear, you imagine he’s been listening to your pitiful moaning for a while now. your teeth clink against the metal forcing your mouth open, and you attempt to angle yourself to look at his figure from your personal hell on his formerly soft, welcoming bed. oh, god, how you used to love when he pushed you on your back and you could sink into these heavenly pillows; you’d feel as though you were floating when he fucked you. but now? now, the silk sheets were soaked beneath you, and you writhed against the duct tape that cinched your thighs together, jerked at the rope on your wrists until the burn brought tears to your eyes.

you try to speak, but it’s breathy and garbled, your tongue flapping helplessly in the gap from the ring, and Matt chuckles. “I didn’t catch a word of that, Bun.” then, take the damn gag off. swaggering closer to the bed, his fingertips dance over your ankle, and you wished you had the autonomy to kick them away. you shudder at his touch, when you used to swoon. “I’ve been listening to you moan like a little whore in here. Did you forget our deal?” Matt clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, hand careening up to slip between your sticky thighs and feel the mess you’ve made of your panties. “Or are you starting to like it too much to remember what I promised?” you shake your head at that, trying to speak again. this time, he quirks a brow. “All right, all right. Let’s get that thing off of your face.” he croons, both hands fleeing to the straps of leather securing the metal to you, and in a moment’s time, he’s prying it from your mouth.

you whimper, feeling your forcibly stretched couplet able to finally relax again, your jaw aching. “H—how long… have I been in here…?” you ask, looking him up and down. he wasn’t dressed for work, but that wasn’t unusual. he had been taking more and more days off since abducting you. the room around you had been darkened, probably so you couldn’t tell what time of day or night it was.

Matt chortles as he sits on the side of the bed, causing you to recoil and attempt to slither away, but the restraints made it impossible. “Feeling dramatic already, are we, baby bun?” he teases, one palm falling to your neck. he hardly squeezes, but pulls you back to your original position, posing you like a doll. “It’s hardly been an hour.”

what? no. that couldn’t possibly be right. you felt like your mind was melting, your entire body thrumming to the vibrations of the wand between your legs, and it’s only been an hour?

he simpers; most likely feeling the way your heart beat faster under his fingers. “What were you expecting, sweetheart? That I’d left you here all day and you’d managed to hold it all in, and now I’ve come to make good on my word?”

“You—you promised…” you whimper, meek. “If I didn’t cum, I could go home.” the words burned humiliation on to your face. there was no one here to see you like this, but you still felt pathetic.

“I did, and I’m a man of my word.” Matt replies, simper barely faltering, he turns, hand running down over your breast. he could never pass up a chance to feel them, so he gave it a squeeze before traveling lower, to the buzzing demon against your throbbing sex. “But, this little thing’s only been on low the whole time. A preliminary to your real test, if you will.” your toes curl, eyes widening.

low?

“P—please, Matt…”

he hesitates, and you can see his finger hovering over the switch. your heart pounds against your rib cage so violently it hurts, and the churning in your stomach is almost too much to take. you had been on the cusp of an orgasm, and somehow managed to fight it back for so long, you feared any more and you would crumble.

“I did— what you said—“ you were panting, now, whether from nervousness or the vibrator getting to you again- you supposed it didn’t really matter to him.

he nods, thoughtful, his free hand caressing your sweat-sheen cheek. “You sure did, bunny. That’s what makes you such a good girl. But, if you really wanted to leave, would you be laying here, moaning like daddy’s good slut, enjoying your little test?” you open your mouth to speak, but only a faint whine escapes it before he hooks his thumb into the inside of your cheek. “Shh, shh. It’s listening time, bun. You’ve been having too much fun edging yourself when you’re supposed to be fighting for your freedom. If you really want to prove to me that you want me to let you go, surely you can handle a few more minutes.”

there’s a click as his fingertip connects with the switch, and the dull whirring gets louder as the rumbling becomes all but unbearable. the weak defense you’ve kept up against your creeping climax shatters like glass, and your back arches. you wanted, no, you needed to get away from the vigorous stimulation. even if you had to inch away like a worm, but in doing so, you only grind your abused sex over the throbbing head of the wand. you cry out, squinting against the power of the toy as it rips the orgasm from your body whether you want it to or not, a pathetic, “No! Please!” before you’re convulsing on the bed, and Matt’s laughing. his hand roaming every inch of you. pinching your nipple, grabbing your throat, anything he can to stimulate you more.

tears leak from the corners of your eyes shut tight, and you imagine that your peculiar captor can smell the salt in the air, because he hovers over you to kiss them away. “Don’t cry, bunny, this is just your body’s way of telling you not to resist me anymore. It needs me, and it won’t let you leave me.”

you try to look away, breathing ragged and wriggling. holding it in for so long, you felt like the failure of the century. you’d cum, whether you wanted to or not had been irrelevant, and now you were so sensitive that your sex felt like it was bruised. it throbbed and screamed for a break. “P—please—“ you sound even more pathetic, and you weren’t sure if that was possible until now. “Just— turn it off!”

but, to your dismay, he doesn’t. a powerful hand grips your face and snatches it back to face him. Matt has since lain on his side, and his lips are inches from yours. “I don’t think so, bun. We’re just now getting to the best part.”

you suck in a hiss of a breath, staring up at him. part of you is relieved he can’t see the helplessness on your face, but you know that he knows it’s there. knowing him, he could probably sense it in the way you breathe. “What?” you ask, dumbfounded. “N—no, please, I can’t take anymore. It’s— it’s too much!”

but Matt’s grin remains, even as he presses a sloppy kiss to your open mouth. “That’s the point, baby girl. I’m going to leave you like this, let the vibrator break you for me, until you’ve cum so many times you don’t even remember your own name, when you’re so braindead and silly that you just lay there and take it. And then,” his thick foredigit pets your cheekbone as he speaks, as if promising you something delightful. “Then, daddy is going to pound your tender, aching cunt until you finally black out.” he croons, pleased with himself and the prospect of torturing you, while you stare at him in disbelief. “And if you ever even think to beg me to let you go again, I’ll do it all over again.”

[jeonqkooks]

supernova | jjk (02)

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards

"When the stars align, I'll meet you then."

Another Life - Surf Mesa ft. FLETCHER, Josh Golden

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: PG

genre/warnings: idol au, exes to lovers, fluff if you squint??, angst !! with a happy ending thank fuck, not very edited bc this is me we're talking about!!

word count: 5.3k

note: ahhh so the supernova people can speak lmao this is my only fic where the characters have only had approximately 2 lines of dialogue 🥴 anyway i can't believe supernova has ended up here!! from what was supposed to be an angsty as hell oneshot, she's blossomed into - well, whatever this is bc i don't wanna spoil anything :')

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

When the bakery owner – Jiwon is her name, as you’ve come to learn – informed you that she would be closing the place in a month, you could not help but sink.

One month. It feels like a countdown to your ending all over again.

You didn’t tell her that the reason you stayed loyal to the humble pastry shop wasn’t because of their impeccable treats, though they were certainly a huge plus.

You didn’t tell her that this place had become a safe haven for you, somewhere you could always seek refuge in whenever the world became a little too much to handle and all you needed was to reminisce on happier days.

When the smell of cherries on danishes oddly meant apricots and the universe. When stars weren’t just luminous spheroids made of hydrogen and helium but were housed in a pair of dark brown orbs, twinkling even in the presence of the sun. When home was not an apartment with four walls, scattered with crooked picture frames but a person with a bunny smile and a permanent tiger lily on his arm. When love was everything you needed and that was enough to conquer anything at all.

“It’s not easy closing this chapter of my life, but hopefully I’ll be moving onto bigger and better things!” she had told you with a bright smile on her face, eyes crinkling with sheer excitement for happier days in the future, oblivious to the way your poorly bandaged heart started to bleed again.

Your friends, family, and even this middle aged woman who is practically a stranger to you, have carried on with their lives. They’ve all moved onto new chapters, perhaps even onto new books altogether but you’re still here, rooted to the spot on the same page even after all this time. A novel that no one wants to read anymore, tucked away in a corner of a dusty old shelf, hidden from the light of day. Sealed away to be forgotten…

What a terribly lonely place it is.

You tried to mimic that cheery smile and offered her your kindest sentiments – wishing her good luck with her future endeavors, hoping that she will succeed in whatever chooses to do next – but it’s sad that you know you didn’t mean them, not really.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to. All rational thoughts were out the window the second that Jiwon announced the imminent closure of your most treasured place.

The tapestry gets pulled apart at the seams. Another puzzle piece that will inevitably chip away until the perfect picture of you and him will revert back to the blank canvas it once was.

What will you move onto?

You didn’t talk to Jungkook for months after your worlds shattered, not until the boys achieved yet another milestone that you had to text him congratulations. There were, of course, many things to be considered before you finally had the courage to send that one simple line.

Thank you, he had replied then, we all miss you.

You were thankful that he opted for a neutral “we”.

Even after that first message, the texts only came every time a birthday or a major holiday rolled around, or whenever something happened in either of your lives that was monumental enough to revisit the perpetually fresh wound of your break to share your excitement for the other’s successes. Mostly Jungkook’s, and mostly because half of his life was on the news anyway. You, on the other hand, never took the initiative to share anything significant in your own life, not unless he asked.

There’s this thing he always did that you think might have been deliberate, but you couldn’t really be sure; maybe you’d have to ask him in another life.

It’s silly to mull over messaging etiquette like you were a teenage detective and your crush’s texting pattern was the single greatest casefile you would ever solve, but he never leaves you on read.  He never lets you be the one to send a message last. Even after you both have bidded your goodnights and there is no more small talk to be had. Even when the last thing you sent is a mere lol in response to a stupid comment he made after goodbye, he would still tack on at least a smiley face afterward.

Jungkook could easily chalk it up to his hectic schedule and leave your messages to hang in the dead space of your phone, but he doesn’t though, and you never know how to feel about that.

Sometimes, you’re curious if he’s found someone else yet – a new love to take your place and be everything that you couldn’t be for him – and feel your heart twisting in your chest at the possibility that maybe he has. You’re in no position to care about this; you forfeited the right when you asked him to let you go, but nonetheless the human mind is a funny paradox, and the heart is full of nostalgia.

On nights where you’re brave enough to welcome that familiar ache with open arms, you entertain this possibility. It always starts with a woman, faceless but undoubtedly beautiful beyond words. You want her to be kind, you want her to be gentle, you want her to hold his hand while he’s sleeping and kiss his cheek when he wakes up. You want him to be loved and to be happy regardless of who it’s with, and regardless of how much you wish it could be with you instead.

No matter how much the mere thought of it kills you, you hope she fills his heart with so much joy that he forgets the pain of your departure. You’ve always known that eventually, he’ll have to forget all about you.

Jungkook is the sun to your foolish dying Icarus. You were truly in over your head to think that you could ever fit into his world.

Somewhere down the line, you hope there will only be happiness, and smiles so big that they make his cheeks hurt. It’s the kind of happiness that you had with him, where every moment felt like being on cloud nine and where his name was synonymous with every single wonderful thing that you could ever imagine.

It still does – and it forever will, no matter how hard you try to burn him from your daily routine and fail miserably every single day – but even then, it’s colored with shades of melancholy, every letter tinted blue.

Jungkook means the same thing as love, happiness, complete and utter euphoria, your safest haven. Holding hands with a loved one. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on a crisp autumn morning. The magical first snowfall of the season. Feeling the sun shining on your face.

And Jungkook means the same thing as sadness, regret, your greatest heartache, your sweetest downfall… The sudden pang of grief that hits you right in the center of your chest when you pass by a familiar street or hear a bittersweet tune. 

It’s hard to comprehend that a person can single-handedly rewrite your entire vocabulary, but he has managed to change you in ways beyond this too. 

It took you a while to familiarize yourself with what life was like before Jungkook. You forced yourself to do things that you usually wouldn’t, just so the discomfort of doing things you hated could overshadow the discomfort of missing him.

Black coffee at 9AM had to taste more bitter than not receiving a good morning text, one that’s littered with smiley faces and kisses.

Morning runs and the burning sensation in your limbs had to ache more than coming home to an empty apartment and crawling into an empty bed, knowing that he’s somewhere out there in the same city, only a drive away from you.

Over time, you got used to it.

Over time, you got used to the absence of him.

In this new life of yours, nothing looks and feels the same as it once was. Colors have all desaturated, though not by much but it’s still enough to throw you just enough off balance. Some days, everything is completely black and white.

Black and white, save for the golden key around your neck. The key to the box of memories he gave you that you still have, tucked away in a soft corner at home.

All of your what if’s, your could’ve been’s, your maybe’s… they all lead back to him. There’s no other solution to this equation; it’s just him. 

Jungkook has altered the very foundation of your life, wedged in between every crevice of your being, left pieces of himself in every facet of your world. Even when he’s gone, his presence still lingers, sometimes like a ghost, sometimes like the remnants of a tattoo you can never fully get rid of. 

Oftentimes, in instances where you don’t have the luxury of being distracted by work, by the hustle and bustle of the city, by just about anything at all, you ruminate on that decision. The one decision that broke two hearts. The one decision that’s still killing you inside.

You aren’t someone who tends to dwell on their past actions, because what’s done is done. No amount of regret or overanalyzing can change what has happened. Life is sometimes cruel like that, and the only thing to do is accept it and move on, learn from your mistakes and try to do better next time.

But Jungkook isn’t a mistake. He isn’t a lesson that you needed to learn because neither of you did anything wrong. It wasn’t wrong to love him, and it wasn’t wrong to leave him either.

Perhaps, the only thing you’re guilty of is getting the timing wrong.

You wonder if you should message him now, to tell him that where your love first bloomed will soon be gone. You wonder if he still remembers this place, if it still holds the same meaning to him as it does to you.

It’s terrible if it doesn’t, and it’s terrible if it does.

Before you know it, the end is here.

As you enter the bakery for the last time, your nostrils are instantly filled with the pleasant smell of freshly baked goods. Jiwon smiles warmly at you from behind the counter when you give her a small wave. The other patrons here move on with their day as usual, paying no attention to you, like they don’t even care that this is the final moment all of you would be spending here.

You grab a pair of tongs and a small tray as you browse through the selection of pastries, looking for your favorite cherry danishes to pair with the hot chocolate that you’ll order at the counter. You pick up a cinnamon roll and a few macarons too, to take home with you afterward.

You hope, in vain, that Jiwon sees it in the way you’re just a beat slower than normal, drawing things out as much as you can, as if it would somehow make her change her mind and keep this place open. Let you live in this bubble for just a while longer.

It’s the finality of leaving. It’s the finality of being left.

Somewhere behind you, the doorbell chimes, announcing a new customer. You don’t notice the person’s sigh of relief as they escape the cold into the nicely heated shelter of the shop, nor the way they take a couple steps and then stop for a minute before their feet continue to carry them to where you are. You don’t care about any of it, until…

A soft voice revives your heart.

“I hear apricot danishes are much better.”

As cliché as it sounds, you freeze. You almost drop everything in your hands, having been rendered immobile while life goes on around you. Chatter continues like nothing has changed. To the people in this bakery, nothing really has changed. They’re sipping on their lattes and catching up with friends over shared blueberry muffins and banana breads, exchanging mundane tidbits in their daily lives and smiling, laughing, drunk on the cozy atmosphere in this wonderful little haven.

“Oh,” you breathe, paralyzed by the many paradoxical emotions running through you at once. Shock, joy, resentment, relief, sorrow… Even though all of it only comes out in the form of a starstruck Hi, but you have a feeling that he understands.

Your voice is small, timid, like a deer caught in headlights, as if he isn’t someone you once knew better than the back of your hand.

His chocolate eyes lock on yours, and he graces you with a warm smile. You’ve missed the simple quirk of his lips. “Hi,” he parrots.

The bell chimes again, and a couple of strangers filter in. You move along to not hold up the line.

���How– what are you– what are you doing here?” you stutter, heart in your throat just at the sight of him. You try and fail at not thinking about the universe bringing him back to you. Because it’s not. This isn’t a cosmic realignment. You two just happen to be in the same place at the same time, and if you were alone right now, you would probably cry.

“I heard they were closing,” Jungkook answers easily. When you look confused, a silent question dancing on the tip of your tongue – How on earth would you know that? – that you don’t know if you should voice, he supplies, “I saw the announcement a couple weeks ago. I still stop by whenever I have time. ”

He puts a hand on your back as if on instinct, when a woman almost bumps into you on her way out. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing upright.

You clear your throat and inhale. “Oh, you do? I’m here almost every other day. Funny how we never ran into each other.”

“Yeah. Funny, isn’t it?” he agrees, smiling at you fondly. It’s a little bittersweet too. “We must have kept missing each other.”

Your mind goes to a dangerous place before you could stop it. Your stupid brain digs into the hidden layers of meaning that might not even be there at all.

We kept missing each other.

I kept missing you.

You don’t trust yourself to say anything, so you gloss over his words, only returning his smile albeit tightly, and continue to move on. Jungkook grabs a tray like you did some 15 minutes ago, and picks a similar danish, foregoing the apricot ones that you tricked him into getting a long time ago, just so you would be able to get your favorites. The cherry danishes that you both have on your individual trays are the last ones. How symbolically cruel.

He hides half his face in the thick wool scarf he’s wearing as you step closer to the counter. When you ask him if the danish is the only thing he’s getting, he nods; and when you tell that you’ll buy him a drink to go with it, he refuses and says he’ll get both of yours, because lord knows he has the money. But you never once gave in, never let him buy you things that you are more than capable of paying for yourself. You don’t this time either, so he relents.

In the end, you pay for the pastries and two hot chocolates, one with extra marshmallows. Once you have your goods, you wonder if he would bid you goodbye and leave, go back to his busy life that demands him to be on the go 25/8. 

If you head outside right now, you two would probably part ways. But you came here today with the intention of burning every little detail of the bakery into your brain for one last time. Having Jungkook here isn’t going to derail your plan. You could pretend that things are fine for now, but then what? You’ve already lost him; you won’t let this place slip through your fingers so easily too.

You head to a spot in the corner where barely anyone can see you but you can observe everything, and to your surprise, he wordlessly follows you. If you were a little braver, you would throw him a cheeky I didn’t invite you to join, even though that’s all you want.

You both take a seat at the small table and talk about your lives and everything that happened in each other’s absence. Like you’re just old friends, catching up after forever apart. You keep waiting for the ball to drop, to see if he would mention a new lover and inevitably ask if there’s anyone special in your life too, but he never does.

It’s been years since you last saw him, and a while since he stepped a little further away from the spotlight that he once called home. Jungkook is still so caring – the occasional texts have already told you as much, and you wonder if it’s because he’s talking to you or if it’s just in his nature to be kind to everyone around him.

The cherries taste sweeter today, and the hot chocolate too. But the aftertaste is painful, knowing that your unexpected and limited time is running out.

At one point, you just sit in silence, watching the people leave. You notice that every time a customer exits, Jiwon’s gaze would linger on the door. You feel like you should’ve brought her something today, like a small houseplant or a bouquet of flowers, as a thank you or a goodbye present. After all, this place has been there for you a lot these past few years.

You try to take in as much as you can. How the wooden table feels under your hands. How the bell sounds when it chimes. How the printed logo on the takeaway cup feels when you brush your fingers over it. Their incredible recipes that always make you feel like you’re taking a bite of heaven. All the photos on the wall of Jiwon and her staff throughout the decade that this bakery has been on this street corner. You can still pinpoint the exact spot you stood at when you first saw Jungkook.

You want this to last a little longer, but you don’t know if you should ask. You want to be selfish just this once and drown yourself in his presence, because this might very well be the last time. 

When the danishes are gone and the beverages are nearly finished, he asks if you have a minute to spare, to walk around and enjoy the last bits of sun for the day.

“Okay,” you say and watch his face light up. A smile graces his lips again and you suppress the shiver that tries to run up your spine. You can still read him so easily. He wants this as much as you do, and it’s absolutely devastating. Just two people who love each other and a casket full of things unsaid.

Once you’ve collected your things and gone outside, leaving behind your second home for good, Jungkook tips his head somewhere to the right with a question in his eyes, and you know what it means instantly. 

You head down a small, hidden street filled with quaint houses that you both used to love. You haven’t been down this road in forever; it feels surreal that the first time you revisit it in ages is with him, and on today of all days. Cosmic realignment.

No. Stop that.

The two of you walk alone down the narrow street, save for the few times that a student in uniform walks by, eyes glued to their phone as they head home after school, or an older woman hurrying past with her bags full of groceries. He lets his arm brush against yours as you stroll and marvel at the way the colors of the sky reflect in the old windows, shifting from blue, to purple, to pink all in a matter of minutes. Ribbons of clouds unravel in the same way you do.

Eventually, you end up at a small park by the riverfront when cement turns into grass. There’s more people here; people walking their dogs, parents and children enjoying hot snacks on nearby benches, couples with their hands in each other’s coat pockets, trying to stay warm. You’re envious of the last ones that most.

Jungkook must have seen you watching them, because his knuckles touch yours tentatively and a long forgotten habit kicks in. When you instinctively pull back and mutter a quick Sorry, it hurts two hearts at once. 

Back then, every time that he let you go when there was someone else around, someone who wasn’t privy to knowing about you, you would apologize even though it wasn’t your fault that you were a secret. He would always lightly scold you, telling you that you had nothing to be sorry about, but he could never remedy this. It wasn’t possible back then, and Jungkook never found a way to not make you feel like a problem to be dealt with when all you wanted was to hold his hand.

No one is even looking now, but you guess it’s just muscle memory, even after all this time.

You clutch the paper bag holding the pastries, feeling awkward that you just jerked back like he had burnt you. Eyeing an empty bench, you ask if he wants to sit down. As you cross the short distance over there, you realize that it isn’t big enough for you to comfortably put some space between your bodies. The regret is almost immediate.

You sit down next to him with your thighs touching. He’s close enough that you can spot a fallen eyelash on his cheek, but your hands remain in your lap, busying themselves with smoothing over your bag of treats, fighting the urge to brush your fingers against his face.

You focus on the river in front of you and how the water paints a shimmering picture of the setting sun. On the other side of the bank, cars faintly honk at one another as traffic piles on, a cacophony of noises seemingly so far away from your little bubble right here. You feel Jungkook’s eyes on the side of your face, but you don’t dare look at him.

All the times that you have spent, caged in the solitude of your bedroom, wanting to call him and knowing that he would be there for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He would be there, and he would hold you until the sun rises, until you stop shaking and crying, until everything feels like it’s going to be okay again even though you both know it isn’t.

Because missing him comes in waves. And why more often than not, you want nights to last longer and days shorter, you want the sun to sink under the horizon faster so darkness can embrace the sky. Because when the stars come out, it feels like being wrapped in his warm embrace again, feels like staring into those twinkling eyes again, feels like he’s right there with you as if you don’t carry him in your heart everywhere you go. You started dreading summers and relished in harsh, long winters – it’s ironic how the cold can make you feel such warmth.

Jungkook is right next to you, and you still miss him.

Some say watching the sun rise over the Grand Canal in Venice is the most beautiful sight one can ever hope to witness. Others say the most wonderful experience is to take in a sunset from Piazzale Michelangelo, Florence, with a glass of wine in hand.

Jungkook has done it all – Rome, Paris, London, all the most marvelous cities to have ever existed. He’s been all over the world and witnessed the endless beauty that it has to offer, but you’re still the most breathtaking thing he’s seen by far. 

Here, holding a bag of baked goods and leaning against a backdrop of cotton candy clouds. The wandering sun casts a golden glow upon your profile, though he would think that you look ethereal regardless.

It’s a sight that he’s too familiar with. He’s seen it many times in his dreams, but the last time he got to have you like this was years ago. 

“Do you ever…” Jungkook starts and then stops for a bit, like he’s deciding if he should go through with the question. “Do you ever wonder… what could’ve been… with us?”

All the damn time.

“Do you?” you ask instead, eyes still on the water, how it ripples when the wind blows. The cold nips at your skin, making you shiver.

“Every single day,” he answers earnestly, like you had expected him to. “You’re not someone I can forget about that easily.”

Some kid throws a pebble into the river. Your heart, like the pebble, sinks to the bottom. The sun sets eventually, to give the sky to the moon. 

You don’t know what to say to him next, so you just hum softly. One of your hands rubs absentmindedly between your collarbones, where the key rests under your sweater. You trace the outline of it over the fabric, hoping to soothe the ache you feel.

Jungkook continues, saying something that you wish he hadn’t.

“I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes well up and your chest feels impossibly tight. It’s getting dark now, but the moon is starting to peek through. There’s not a lot of stars tonight, though you can never really see them in the city anyway. You want to tell him to stop, to tell him that neither of you can take this anymore because wasn’t it enough the first time around? It doesn’t matter if you still love each other. It doesn’t matter that you’re both a little older and wiser, and have thicker skin now to weather heavier storms, because the world hasn’t changed. It’s still rooting for your demise at every turn.

But… all that comes out of your mouth is this, cracking foolishly at every syllable: “I’ve missed you too.” I’m missing you right now.

Jungkook nods slowly, mostly to himself. It’s so cold now without the sun, and especially when you’re sitting right by the waterfront. The wind is so cruel, picking up speed when it knows you just want to reach out for his warmth. You want to go home.

“What if we give it another try?”

A tear escapes. You lick your dry lips. “You know we can’t,” you tell him.

“Why not?” he asks, a sense of urgency in his voice now. “I love you. I’m still in love with you, and I know you feel the same way. Don’t even lie to me.”

You frown, not even bothering to wipe the moisture from your face. “Because love is not enough! I don’t fit into your life. It’s never going to work. We’ll just end up here again.”

You feel his shoulders sag against yours, and when he speaks next, his voice is considerably more quiet, deflated, “You are my life. I haven’t been myself ever since you left.”

“Don’t… don’t say that,” you whisper. “You have your dreams. I’ll always get in the way of that.”

Jungkook twists the rings on his fingers, a nervous tick. The conversation pauses, and you think now is probably a good time to just get up and leave. You’ll get nowhere arguing with him about this. It’s been a long day.

You will your legs to stand, already thinking if you should walk a safe distance away from him and call an Uber there, but he tugs at your coat, standing up too.

“I don’t care,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing is fucking worth it if there’s no you. Why do my dreams matter if you aren’t there? I regret letting you go all the time. I regret always putting my dreams before you.” Jungkook stops to chuckle bitterly before stepping closer. His eyes, filled with all the resolution in the world, pin you to the spot. “I was too stupid to think that I could have it all. But I would leave everything behind if you’re willing to give this another go.”

You’re only aware that you’re crying because he reaches up to wipe the tears away.

“You don’t mean that,” you say.

“Yes, I do. I’ll let everything go if you say yes.”

You utter the same words as you did back then. “You’ll resent me one day.”

“No,” Jungkook says, water pooling in his own eyes as he tells you, “I won’t. Because I’m with you. I’m still with you.”

He takes one of your hands, timidly at first, lacing your fingers together, and your eyes widen slightly, blinking at his face in surprise. You’re looking at him, really looking at him, maybe for the first time today.

And… he’s here.

He’s still the same Jungkook you knew.

His eyes are still the stars. His smile is still the sun.

There’s no love lost here, only found.

He looks so sure of himself, like he believes so ardently in you and him that it makes you want to believe too. That things will work out this time around, that you will never have to lose each other ever again.

Stop, is what you would tell him if this were a phone call, or a text message, where you don’t have to feel his skin on yours or look into his eyes, so full of conviction, or be able to clearly hear every cadence of his voice as he promises you a future where you don’t have to hurt.

It’s what you would say if you were capable of thinking with your head right now.

But in the end, all you have is a heart that loves him.

“Okay,” you say, and Jungkook actually does cry. You wipe at each other’s faces with freezing hands, not caring that people might think you’re a couple of weirdos, crying in the middle of a park in the cold. You notice that the wind has calmed, like it’s stopping to watch how the story unfolds.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You’ve never seen him like this before, with the weight of the world no longer on his shoulders.

You think back to the start of your relationship, when a silent question arose in a bout of insecurity. It’s a question that would cross anybody’s mind when they’re merely mortal, a speck of dust compared to the entire Milky Way. 

You could have anyone. Anyone at all. Why is it still me?

You didn’t have the courage to voice it aloud, but he understood. It’s funny how he always understands the thoughts in your head that you never have the strength to speak into the universe. Jungkook took your hand then too, just like how he’s doing it right now. He turned your head to look at him, into those starry eyes that he made sure you knew shone just for you.

He utters the same sentiment that he did way back when. The last time you heard it, the statement – however true it might have been – was merely a bandaid over gaping wounds. It had appeased you in the moment and managed to calm your raging sea of anxiety and heartache for a split second, but you saw how that turned out to be. You both know that ending all too well.

This time, for some holy reason, his words feel just right as they nestle within your ribcage and settle next to your heart. The meaning behind his simple declaration holds you together and patches up the parts of you that were shattered long ago – infinitely small pieces of your heart and soul – into a mosaic worthy of being loved and adored by him.

Jungkook is the sun, yes, and Jungkook is the moon. He brings light and love into your life just by existing. He breathes, and your world is better for it, endlessly so.

Jungkook is, and always will be, your entire universe.

Cosmic realignment.

I want you, is what he tells you. I’ve always wanted only you.

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 12.11.22]

[myuninterestinglifestory]

First I loved your Max fic inspired by soon you'll get better, it was amazing. Also sorry for so many req's but could I req a Max Mayfield x reader fic inspired by the song tis the damn season by Taylor swift? Where the song is kinda from Max's perspective after reader Max's ex s/o leaves Hawkins. Take your time! - N

Max Mayfield x fem!reader

I love getting your requests! Keep 'em coming, I'll always write for you <3

Aged up to 19

Warnings: angst, swearing

Max slumped over in her chair. Tears dotted the papers on the desk and Max hurriedly wiped her eyes.

"Shit, don't smear, don't smear," Max mumbled, dabbing at the watery circles.

A gentle knock on the door startled her. "Uh, who is it?"

"Max, babe? It's me, Y/n. Are you doing alright?" The response was muffled and the knob twisted, revealing Max's girlfriend. "Oh, baby, what happened?" Y/n rushed over to Max and pulled the girl onto her lap. "Are you alright? Tell me what's going on."

Max cried into Y/n's shirt, "Got called a whore again for hanging out with my friends."

"I am so sorry, baby," Y/n rubbed Max's back. "You don't deserve that and it's not true."

"I know it's not, but it makes me feel like I am!" Max sobbed, gripping Y/n's shirt. "It's not fair!"

"It's not fair," Max put her head on the desk and read the letter again.

Dear Y/n,

I miss you more than you can imagine. I know we're not together anymore, but you were my best friend. I was out the other day and I parked my car right between the Methodist and the school that used to be ours. All the memories of you and me hit hard. If there's an ache in you, it was put there by the ache in me. The holidays were even worse, they linger like bad perfume. Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires, now I'm missing your smile, hear me out: we could just ride around, and the road not taken looks real good now, and it always--

Max stopped writing and looked up, eyes catching on the second paragraph of Y/n's letter that she sent before she moved.

--and it always leads to you, in my hometown, Max. It's not fair. I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay, so I'll go back to L.A. and the so-called friends who'll write books about me, if I ever make it. I wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles I'm faking and the heart I know I'm breaking is my own. We could call it even, even though I'm leaving, and I'll be yours for the weekend. You could call me babe and we could pretend it was just like old times, Max.

Y/n

Max groaned and dropped her head back to the desk. Send the letter, don't send it... Max hadn't had any contact with Y/n since she moved about two years ago, not since the letter that she never responded to. Y/n had called, sure, but Max never talked to her. Susan would pick up the phone and tell Max it was Y/n, but Max always had an excuse to avoid her ex-girlfriend. They had broken up on good terms, but it didn't feel right to continue being friends after the depth of their relationship.

Max wiped her eyes and folded the letter into an envelope. She rushed out to the mailbox, slipped the letter in, put the flag up, and went back to her room to wait.

"Why the hell is your truck always so gross?" Max asked, a no-nonsense expression on her face. "Like, seriously. You're not a boy."

"I know I'm not a boy, but does that mean I can't act like one?"

"I like girls because they're not boys."

"Wait, so if I act like, I dunno, Chrissy Cunningham, you'll continue to date me?"

"Well, maybe not Chrissy Cunningham," Max leaned over the middle console and kissed Y/n's nose. "But not like Lucas Sinclair."

"Picky, picky,"

Y/n sifted through her mail before dumping it all in the trash but one envelope. To Y/n L/n. No return address. Max. Y/n thought, tearing into the sealed paper.

(Sorry, I really prefer to write fem!reader for the girls, but if you want something specifically not female, lmk!)

[sukirichi]

earned it [02]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

series masterlist

Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again.  You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you –  “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites​ @savantsoulfinder​ @my-reality-is-in-my-head​ tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[deepdarkdelights]

Lady of The Night (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 13.3k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Victorian Era, Time Travel, Misogyny, Jack The Ripper Murders, Forced Relationships, Forced Stripping and Dressing, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of dead bodies, Depictions of a corpse, Depictions of Wounds, Use of Drugs, Illicit Behaviors 

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals. 

Preview:  You had been plunged backwards through time for a reason, and maybe this was the reason. This was the world’s most infamous cold case. What were the chances that a journalist would slip through the cracks in time and stumble into the East End of 1891? The only conclusion you could draw was that you were meant to identify who the ripper was. 

You knew nothing about time travel regardless of the pop culture you had consumed. For all you knew, changing the events of the past would not create a ripple effect but instead a branch. And, as horrifying as this scenario was, your curiosity was going to get the better of you. You needed to know, even if it meant following around the egotistical self proclaimed genius that had sheltered you. 

A/N: Yay! It’s my first fic up after my two week break! So, this is pertaining to the Jack The Ripper Murders. For storytelling purposes, the timeline of events has been altered as well as details of the crimes. This story may not be for everyone so please read the warnings and take them into consideration before reading. Your mental health and wellbeing should always be your number one priority. That being said, I hope you enjoy! 💜💜💜

You could see your blurry reflection in the glass of the watch face you held in your hands. 

You wiped away your tears with the heel of your palm violently as you sniffled tiredly. It had been a long day. 

You were coming to terms with the fact that you were the last living member of your family, everyone else had died and moved on. Your mother had been young when she had you, but she was also young when she left you. Mere moments after you had been given life and were brought into the world, she had departed shortly after. 

All you had ever known was the warm, comforting embrace of your grandfather. He had been more like your father your entire life and now he had left too. And all you had to remember him by was his old, Victorian house, some grainy photographs, and his pocket watch. 

Today had been the day you learned of his last will and testament, and he had left you everything he had ever owned, especially that pocket watch. He had carried it everywhere with him for as long as you could remember, the long, silver chain neatly clipped to his vest at all times. He would often remove the watch from his pocket, swiping his thumb over the sealed lid fondly before flicking it open and tracking the time. He had never once been late to anything, something he bragged about often. 

If you closed your eyes, you could visualize a scene that was not unfamiliar to you. You would be seated on the floor in a pile of pillows by the fireplace, the flames crackling and emanating a comforting warmth. The scent of black cherry tobacco wafting under your nose as your grandfather settled a thick book on his knees, pausing his reading aloud to puff at his tobacco pipe. You would giggle happily, wrapping your quilt tighter around your body as you watched him attempt to blow smoke rings. He would then slip his hand into his pocket and remove the watch, the chain clinking about as he flipped the watch open. 

“It’s almost half past nine, don’t you have school tomorrow?” He would ask you, raising one eyebrow in questioning. 

You, at ten years old, were familiar with what this meant, and you absolutely refused to head up those creaky stairs to bed when the two of you were in the middle of embarking on an adventure. 

“Please, just one more chapter!” You would beg, eyes wide and watery with a pout settled on your lips. 

“Alright,” He would concede after a long pause of faux thinking, “We do have time, don’t we?”

But that's where your grandfather was wrong. You didn’t have nearly enough time. You were twenty two when time came and took a hold of your grandfather and left you in the dust. That was the thing about time, it moved quickly and was unforgiving. Twenty two years was not enough, you were far too young when you said your last goodbyes. 

Fuck, and now you were crying again. 

You laughed humorlessly to yourself, pulling the sleeve of your jacket over your hand and wiping your tears away again. Crying would do you no good, he would want you to be happy. Death did not mean the end of a life, it meant the celebration of one, was something he had once told you. 

It was time to start celebrating then. 

You uncorked a bottle of wine, throwing the cork into the sink and having a staring match with a wine glass before you sighed and grabbed the bottle by its neck and left the room. You lit the fireplace before sitting down in your grandfather’s chair, throwing a leg up on his ottoman and taking a swig from the bottle. That made you feel a little better. 

You tilted your head back before turning your face into the fabric, the scent of black cherry tobacco still clung to the chair. Your eyes burned again with unshed tears as you nestled your head closer to it, breathing the scent in deeply before taking a longer swig of wine from the bottle. You were sure you looked pathetic. 

You groaned in irritation, the last thing you had wanted to do was throw yourself a pity party yet here you were, drowning your problems in wine like a young mom who is questioning why she didn’t use protection. 

You sat up, grabbing the neck of the bottle and setting it on the side table before standing up on weak knees. It was too weird being in that room without him. You weren’t ready to move on so quickly. So, you killed the fire and shuffled up the creaky stairs and headed to your bedroom down the hall. 

Once the door clicked shut behind you, you flung your clothes off into the corner of the room and grabbed an old, large, band shirt you tended to use as pajamas. After you slipped the raggedy fabric over your head you slid beneath your sheets, fisting the comforter in your hand and pulling it up to your nose. 

You could see the silver of the watch glinting under the moonlight on your night stand. Without much thought you reached across your bed and grabbed it, pulling it under the blanket with you. You  twirled the delicate chain around your fingers as you pressed the latched watch to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut as sleep tugged at your mind. But, despite that, your head was still filled with the memories of him that you tried to shake away.

You missed him, and you wanted to go back and see him again. 

~~~~~~~

When you woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of warm food wafting throughout the house. In your delirium you rolled over and buried your face into your pillow, you were sure it was just your grandfather whipping something up. 

And then you were jolting awake. There were two things you knew: one, your grandfather was a terrible cook who considered spam as breakfast, and two: he was dead. 

You shot up in bed, your sheets pooling around your waist as you cocked your head towards the door, listening in silence. You could faintly hear the sound of pots and pans clinking and the clacking of heels along the wood floor of the hallway. 

Someone was in the house. 

You snatched your phone from your bedside table and slipped free from the warmth of your bed. The pocket watch swung into your thigh, the chain still wrapped around your fingers from the night before. You kept your phone on the ready, prepared to dial the emergency line in seconds. 

When you opened the door you stuck your head out into the hallway, swinging it from right to left. You couldn’t see anybody, but the scent of food had gotten stronger. 

You allowed your door to swing shut behind you, the knob clicking with an air of finality. The floorboards were cold beneath your bare feet as you made your way down the stairs, dodging each squeaky board from years of practice. You knew this house like the back of your hand. 

Once you had descended the stairs you found yourself in the first floor hallway, the kitchen door to your right. Your eyes fluttered shut and you took in a deep breath before tensing your body with determination and flinging the door open so hard that it slammed against the wall. 

A cry of shock echoed through the kitchen, the clash of pot and pans forcing a scream from your throat in response. Standing in front of you was what appeared to be a maid, her wispy brown hair tied into a bun at the base of her neck beneath a hat matching the long black dress and crisp white apron she donned. She looked like she had been pulled straight out of the nineteenth century. 

The two of you stared at each other in shock for a moment after your scream had died down and fizzled out. Her hand laid limply on her chest over her heart as her shoulders heaved with surprised breaths. 

Her gaze flickered up and down your form, her cheeks quickly reddening at your state of undress. 

“I cannot believe this!” She suddenly cried, throwing down the spatula she held in her other hand. “I’ve told the young master numerous times to stop consorting with heathens like yourself!”

“Heathen?” You echoed in confusion. “Hold on, what the fuck are you doing in my house?!”

“In your home? The audacity! You lay with the young master once and you believe yourself to be the lady of the estate? I will not have a harlot like you traipsing around!” She yelled back. 

“Lady, what the fuck are you on? You’re the one who broke into my house! Get out!” You screamed. 

“Emmett, Emmett come quickly! The young master let in another stray!” She called.

In a matter of seconds a man entered the room dressed in a three piece suit and gloves, he looked much like a butler. 

“Again? This is the third one this month, Mary.” He sighed in disgust, eyeing your form. “The indecency of this one, running around naked.”

You were speechless, all you could do was dumbly look down at your bare legs. The shirt you wore was fairly big, it covered everything important. Still, you grabbed at the hem and harshly pulled it down further, your mouth agape at his words. 

“Come now...miss. It’ll do you little good to linger here, we wouldn’t want to get the authorities mixed up in this, they aren’t fond of your kind as you know I’m sure.” 

You couldn’t think of anything to say until he approached you, gripping your arm roughly and tugging you out of the kitchen. 

“Get your fucking hands of off me, fucker!” You yelled, struggling to free yourself from his grasp. 

He tutted to himself as he ripped the front door open, “Such colorful language and such poor manners. Well, I suppose that is to be expected from women of your status.”

“Stop!” You cried, digging your heels into the floor. “You can’t throw me out of my own house! If you don’t leave I’ll call the cops, I swear!”

The butler merely shook his head, tired and annoyed with your antics. “Have a pleasant day, and for your own sake, find yourself a husband and stay off of the streets.”

And with that, he threw you out onto the front porch and slammed the heavy, mahogany door shut, the lock clicking into place. You spent the following moments banging your fists against the door and demanding to be let back in, once you realized how futile that was you unlocked your phone and dialed the emergency line. 

But you weren’t met with anything, no ringing, no voicemail, nothing. Your face scrunched up in confusion, your phone didn’t have a signal...how was that even possible?

And that was when you realized, for certain, that something was very wrong. When you finally looked up from your phone, you were surrounded by trees. 

You stumbled backwards in surprise, knocking into the front door behind you. All of the houses that once lined your street were gone. For miles around you all you could see was a dense forest and dirt and gravel roads. Your sweet, elderly neighbors house was gone, the ice cream shop that you could once see from your house was gone, the sidewalks and the fire hydrants were missing. It was as if they had never been there in the first place. 

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself, your stomach turning and your heartbeat thundering violently in your chest.

Everything was gone, how was that possible? Where did everyone go? Where did all of the buildings go? There was no way that they could all have been decimated and replaced with trees that towered higher than your house in one night. What in the absolute fuck was happening?

You crouched down to your knees, weaving your fingers through your messy hair as panicked sobs wracked your body. You had no explanation for what was happening, you had no idea what the hell was going on. Your phone wasn’t working, you were kicked out of your own home, and everyone was missing. 

You sat there for a moment, crying to yourself in a complete and utter panic before you realized that you needed to at least try and find someone who could help you. You allowed yourself a few more moments to squeeze out some more tears, heave your last sobs, and dry your wet face. You had done a lot of crying the past few days, enough tears to last you a lifetime. It was time to get to work now and figure out what was going on. 

So, you stepped foot onto the manicured lawn before you and made your way to the dilapidated road ahead of you. The dirt and gravel dug into the bare skin of your feet causing you to wince and jump in pain. It was better and easier to walk alongside the road rather than on it. 

The more you walked, and the further you walked, it became apparent that it was not only your street that had suffered changes overnight, but your entire town. What had once been a shopping district you frequented often in your teens was now a sea of never-ending trees. You hadn’t seen this much greenery since you went hiking years ago. 

The home that you remembered was much different from the sights you were seeing now. Your house had been the only Victorian on the street, the others newer builds that had popped up over the decades. It looked like any other street you had ever seen, an amalgamation of history in a couple blocks. But now, it appeared to be a clean slate, devoid of noise, devoid of life, and devoid of structure. 

In an eerie way, you felt like you were at the beginning of time, back before humanity had cultivated the earth and turned vibrant greenery into concrete jungles. It was as beautiful and it was lonely, if you hadn’t had that run in with the maid and the butler earlier, you could have assumed you were the only person on earth. How startling and stifling that would have been, to be just a house plopped in the middle of nowhere, with not a person in sight. 

It was not unlike how you felt now, alone walking alongside an empty road surrounded by trees. You could feel the miles passing as dirt clung to the soles of your feet, the skin burning in protest as you continued walking aimlessly in search of any signs of another person or house in the area. 

The thick layer of dark clouds hanging in the sky was not doing anything for your mood. You were certain you would be doomed to spend the day or possibly even the night in the trees trying to take cover from the onslaught of rain that was sure to come. 

And, just as you had predicted, all it took was one roll of thunder through the sky before the clouds let loose a torrent of rain. Your only saving grace was that the rainfall was not ice cold, but lukewarm. Your other concern was that where there was thunder, there would be lightning. At least you weren’t the tallest thing in the area though, a tree was more likely to be struck than you were. But that would be the cherry on top of your shitty day wouldn’t it, to be struck by lighting as well? 

But, just as your hopes were about as low and hell, you spotted something in the distance. The structure was familiar, you were certain you had seen those peaked roofs and stone walls many times before. Yesterday you had been driving on the highway when you passed the country club, and now you were certain that’s where you were. Where you stood now and once been home to a highway, and mere miles away was the country club you had passed everyday on your way to work. 

If you were lucky, the staff would take pity on you and maybe you could shower and get some food in you before you called the authorities to deal with those intruders of yours. 

By the time you finally made it up to the country club, you were completely soaked to the bone. The only pieces of clothing you had on, being your underwear and your oversized t-shirt, were drenched with water. You looked like a drowned rat if you were being honest with yourself. 

But, even in your panicked and miserable state, you took notice of a few things. The signs that once held directions and the name of the club were gone, nothing there that even hinted at their prior existence. The parking lot was long gone as well, not to mention the caged in tennis courts and the golf grounds. It was all missing. The only thing that stood as familiar to you was the large, Victorian manor itself, and the grand water fountain in the center of the roundabout. This roundabout was made of gravel though, instead of the cement you remembered it being. And, to your disdain, the tiny pieces of gravel had returned to puncture the delicate skin of our feet once more. 

You were tired, you were cranky, and you were wet. All you wanted to do at this point was run inside and collapse on the polished floor.  

You sped over the gravel as fast as you could before running up the stone steps, sliding under the cover of the roof that was fixed over the front door. You raised your hand up and curled your numb fingers around the door knocker. And, with difficulty, you swung the door knocker against the rich wood of the front door frantically. If there was a doorbell you would have been annoyingly ringing it nonstop, so you had to settle for banging the door knocker violently instead. 

While you were mid swing the door was ripped open violently, your soaked form almost being tugged inside as you were still attached to the knocker. A man stood in front of you, he too was dressed in a three piece suit, gloves adorning his hands and polished oxfords sitting under the hem of his pant legs. His suit was much finer than the butler’s from before, but the expression on his face was just as, if not even more, stern than the butler that came before him. 

“Please,” You huffed out, using your best pleading gaze. “I need help.”

“I think you are mistaken, miss. I do not believe you have any business with the master of this estate.” He responded coolly, a harsh edge to his tone. 

“Wait please!” You cried as he backed away and attempted to shut the door. You gripped the door frame, wedging your arm in place to keep it from closing. “I just need to use your phone.”

“I’m sorry miss, but -”

“Claude? Who’s at the door?” Another voice echoed from inside. 

“Please, can I come in for just a second?!” You called inside as you heard the click of footsteps approaching the door. 

“Master, I think it would be best if you let me take care of this.” 

“It’s alright, Claude, step aside.” The voice responded. The butler, Claude, edged away from the door in uncertainty before disappearing inside the depths of the club. 

Seconds later, a new man replaced him, opening the door much wider than the butler had. Your heart dropped into your stomach in astonishment and embarrassment. He was probably the most attractive man you had ever had the privilege of seeing and for a moment you were convinced you had fallen into an alternate universe because all of the men you had seen on a daily basis were nothing in comparison to him. 

He was rather tall with tan skin, dark hair, and a set of dangerous dimples. It took everything in you to restrain yourself from delicately poking one of those smooth craters in his cheeks that was calling out to you. 

With a sudden jolt you realized he had been staring at you just as intently as you had been staring at him. His lips had parted and his eyes had darkened. You could feel his gaze traveling over the dips of your collarbones and the exposed flesh of your legs and arms before settling on the thin fabric that stretched over your chest. 

Heat instantly flooded beneath the skin of your face, your arms crossing over your chest. In your moment of hysteria you had forgotten your lack of bra and the rain. You were sure this man had seen more than you had wanted to show him. 

His tongue swiped over his lower lip at your action, his dark, half lidded eyes flicking up to meet your own in a rather sensual stare. 

“Are you a lady of the night?” He asked, his voice deeper than before. 

Ah, that was a term that you had become rather accustomed to today. Well it’s synonyms at least: heathen, harlot, and now lady of the night. 

“No!” You cried in frustration, you had no issues with sex workers, what you did have an issue with was that because of your state of dress everyone had come to assume you were looking for some!

“Please, I just need help.” You sighed, your shoulders dropping from the stress you had endured all day. 

The look in his eyes had all but disappeared after your omission of the truth. You were not a lady of the night, you were just scared, confused, and in need of help. 

“Come inside.” He said, opening the door wider. 

You looked up at him in surprise, shocked to see a gentle smile gracing his lips. Before he could regret offering you shelter, you hastily entered the front room, your arms still wrapped securely around you as you felt the warmth of the building rush through you. 

Yet again, though, you noticed things were different. The front desk was gone, the signs pointing to the bathrooms and the changing rooms were missing, and there weren’t any people other than yourself and the man that stood before you.

“Where is everyone?” You asked him, turning to face the man as he closed the door behind the two of you. 

“What do you mean?” He asked you, equally as confused as you were. 

“This is a country club...where are all of the guests?” 

“Country club?” He laughed, his dimples becoming more prominent as his eyes filled with mirth. “This is my home, there isn’t a country club for miles.”

“What?” You whispered to yourself, the water from your shirt sliding off of you and tapping against the wood of the floor rhythmically. 

“They’re still fairly new after all, not many around here I’m afraid. You must be lost then?” He mused. 

“What do you mean they’re new? They’ve been around for years, this is one. I’ve been here numerous times!” You explained, exasperated. 

“Are you feeling well, miss?” He asked, stepping closer to you without letting his gaze wander as it had before. 

No, you weren’t feeling well at all, you were incredibly fucking confused. What he was saying didn’t make any sense, none at all. Country clubs weren’t new, they had been around for over a century now. 

And that was when it all began to make sense. All of the pieces suddenly had fallen into place. All the houses on your street were gone, the shopping center, the highway, the signs and the parking lot were missing from the country club. Your phone was unable to get a signal in the hours that had passed. You had encountered four strangers that spoke in a manner you had not heard often and dressed like they were from a different era. 

“What - what year is it?” You asked, your body trembling now from anxiety and from your wet shirt. 

“1891, of course.” He responded, his face appearing even more confused than it had before. He was looking at you in concern as well, he wasn’t sure why you would be asking him such an obvious and ridiculous question. 

“Oh.” Was all you managed to say as you began to stumble backwards, your legs going weak underneath you as you slumped to the ground. Your vision was focusing and un-focusing, your head feeling light as you could faintly hear his panicked voice in front of you. It was beginning to sound further and further away though as your bare thighs met the cold, wood floor beneath you. 

You were having a stressful day.

~~~~~~~

When you woke it was to a cold compress against your forehead and the feeling of a plush mattress beneath you. For a moment you thought that you were at home again, that the past few hours had all been some fever dream and your grandfather was taking care of you in your state. 

But the feeling of the thin, silver chain still wrapped around your fingers assured you otherwise. That had not been a dream in the slightest. 

You jerked forward, the cold cloth flying onto your lap as your hands scrambled across the top of the duvet reflexively searching for your phone. 

“It’s alright, relax, you’ll only worsen your condition!” A voice seethed as hands settled on your shoulders and coaxed you back against the pillows behind you. 

It was him again, the man with the dimples. 

“You have a fever, it won’t do you any good to move around too much.” He lectured you, his hand waving around as he scolded you. 

You quickly caught sight of something wrapped up in his ringed fingers, it was your phone. 

“Give that back!” You yelled, snatching your phone back from his hands and holding it tight against your chest. You were glad that your phone was password protected, not that he would ever know what to do with it even if he managed to unlock it by accident. 

“What is it exactly?” He asked you as he relented, taking a seat in a chair that had been moved to your bedside. 

“It’s none of your business, that’s what it is.” You replied, shooting him a look that he reciprocated with shock and astoundment. He probably had never been spoken to like that before, a man with what you could only assume held power, status, and wealth. There was a part of you while still shocked at your predicament enjoyed the idea of fucking with some rich people. 

“As a guest in my home I think I have every right to know.” He shot back with a quirk of his brow, jerking his chin up. 

The audacity. So, as petty as it was, you refused to dignify his statement with a response. 

“Fine, if you won’t tell me then I’ll have to assume you don’t know what it is either and you stole it just like you did that watch. It’s to be expected of someone of your...nature.” He insinuated, his gaze flicking over your form from head to toe.

“My nature?” You replied, your skin going hot with untapped irritation. 

“Well, a prostitute of course.” He answered with such certainty it made you want to scream. 

“For fuck’s sake how many times do I have to say I’m not!” You yelled, throwing your head back against the pillows. 

“Well of course you are, with that way you looked coming up here you were practically naked, how could you not be a pros-”

“First of all,” you interrupted, “The proper term is sex worker and you have no right judging women who have no other choice and even if they did choose it you still have no right to demean them for taking up a profession that employs a service and receives payment for it like any other job!” 

“Secondly, the manner in which I am dressed does not mean you get to make baseless assumptions about me or my job without knowing why I look this way in the first place.”

He sat there for a moment, stunned. A long pause of silence passed between the two of you before a smile split across his face, those dimples returning in full force. 

“I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Did I ask?” You retorted, annoyed, and overall confused from his sudden change in demeanor. A voice echoed in the back of your mind that maybe he had a thing for women putting him in his place but you quickly shoved that down in embarrassment. 

“Well it’s only proper, you’re already in my bed anyways I figured you should know my name.” He replied with a boyish smirk.

You choked in confusion and shock before softly muttering your name in response. You did owe him that much, he had taken you in and taken care of you. That was the only thing you would give him though, his prior attitude still stung. 

“I’d like to inform you that despite your progressive thoughts not everyone will see eye to eye with you, miss. You’re lucky you found your way here, there’s a murderer stalking these streets.”

“A murderer?” You echoed, your blood chilling in your veins. 

“You don’t know of Jack the Ripper? That’s what the public titled him at least.” He explained. 

Holy shit, the timing was perfect. Namjoon had told you the year was 1891, whatever had caused your slip through time sent you right back into the tailend of the Jack the Ripper murders. You had been lucky that he hadn’t stumbled across you, because despite your beliefs that your attire didn’t mean anything, everyone you had met had mistaken you for a sex worker. It would be expected that the infamous ripper himself would have thought the same and your name would have joined the list of victims. 

That was too close of a call for you. 

“Has he killed recently?” You asked out of morbid curiosity, you were hoping, selfishly, that you had arrived after his last victim. 

“He’s been rather active, I should know, I’m the one investigating him.” He said, a look of irritation falling over his features as he crossed his leg over the other, his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“You’re an officer, then?” You asked. 

He responded with an annoyed snort, rolling his eyes. “Thankfully no, I’m more of a private investigator. I’ve been employed by some officials high in the government to do the work the police have been ruining as of late. How embarrassing, three years and they still haven’t managed to pin the murderer.”

Ah, so you had struck a nerve. He didn’t like the police, noted. 

“Tell me more.” You probed, your genuine curiosity winning over your unease. 

Namjoon appeared to gather himself, his gaze that had once been far off returning to you. “Detail such grizzly deaths to a lady? I’m afraid not.”

“Where I come from we don’t take sexism lightly, Namjoon. And, not to mention, I’m a journalist. Trust me, I can handle it.” What you said was true, as a journalist you were receiving a once in a lifetime opportunity, you were given the chance to witness the investigation of the world’s most well known cold case.  

“You’re a strange woman, unlike any other I’ve ever met before.” He said softly, an amused light in his eyes.

“You’d be surprised just how much we are capable of.” You shot back. 

“Fair enough,” He smiled, enthralled with the back and forth the two of you had engaged in. “I’ll tell you more in my study, I’ll send for a maid to help you dress.” He said before standing up and heading towards the bedroom door. 

“I’m interested to hear your thoughts.” He called over his shoulder before the door clicked shut. 

As soon as he left, you felt like you could breathe freely, a deep exhale of air passing between your lips.

So, you had slipped through time. Your thumb rested between your lips as you nervously chewed at your nail. You were coming to terms with the fact that somehow, some way, you had retreated into the year 1891. The next issue that you needed to resolve was how you were going to get back to your own timeline. You didn't belong here, that was for sure. Just from your previous conversation with Namjoon you knew that you were drastically different from anyone of this era. At this point, you were sure that was bound to get you in some sort of trouble. It was probably best to lay low around people other than Namjoon who had already been exposed to your modern ideals.

As you sat, stewing in your thoughts, a series of gentle knocks echoed from the door to the bedroom. You peeled the sheets away from your body and stilled for a moment. Somebody had changed your clothes. Where you had once worn your faded tour shirt you were now dressed in a long, flowing, silk nightgown that just brushed the tops of your toes. It was rather pretty and ridiculously comfortable but that didn't lessen your anxiety from having a new state of dress from what you had passed out in.

Another set of knocks, less gentle ones this time, spurred you to move faster. As soon as your bare feet met the plush carpet beneath you, you rushed to the door. Upon opening it, a maid stood there. She held a few items in her arms, her face obscured by the dense pile of fabric she cradled. Without saying a word you moved aside and held the door open for her. You could faintly hear her mumble out a weak thank you, muffled by what she held.

She shuffled over to the bed and dropped everything on top of the mattress with a heave that swung her small body with it.

"Alright, Miss. Are you ready?" She asked, turning to face you with a pleasant smile.

"Ready for what exactly?" You replied.

"Well, to dress you of course."

Your face flushed in embarrassment, that was something you had conveniently forgotten, people of higher status like your host did not dress themselves in this period.

"Oh, that's alright, I can manage on my own."

"Are you certain?" She asked, an apprehensive look crossing her features as she stopped laying out the clothing items, her hands halting over a corset.

Fuck.

"On second thought I would love the help." Yeah, there was no fucking way you were learning to lace that thing on your own.

You hadn’t realized just how much of a struggle it would have been to dress yourself had you not appreciated the help the maid had given you. In Victorian fashion, layers were undeniable and you couldn’t help but flinch at the thought of how hot these women had to get in the warmer months. 

You had also assumed the corset would have been troublesome, given how you always heard about its bad rep via movies and literature. In reality, it was quite comfortable. It wasn’t overbearingly tight and you could breathe perfectly fine without a single hint of dizziness. You couldn’t help but ask the maid about this in astonishment. 

She giggled as she smoothed your dress, “Tightlacing you mean? Why, is there someone you’re trying to impress?”

Your face burned with heat at her insinuation, “No, no, I was just curious.”

“It is quite fashionable, but not very practical, no?” She said with a hint of a smile as she stepped back from you. “Well, if that’s all you’ll be needing of me the master is waiting for you in his study, would you like me to escort you? It’s not very far.”

“Oh no, I’m sure I’ve distracted you enough, if you could just point the way that’d be very much appreciated.” 

“Of course!” She chirped, guiding you into the hallway of the manor. “Just head straight down that way, it’s the door at the very end of the hall!”

“Thank you for all of your help.” You smiled gratefully before your turn and began your walk through the hallway. 

The manor was gorgeous with pane glass windows that stretched from the length of the floor to just below the ceiling that were framed with thick, velvet curtains. The floor beneath your shoes was parquet and a deep mahogany that shone proudly in the daylight that filtered into the hallway. You had not seen all of the manor but you knew, just from this glimpse, that the rest of it radiated wealth and power just like its master. 

The clicking of your shoes against the polished hardwood echoed down the length of the corridor as you approached the doors to the study. You had never been to this floor of the manor in your timeline, it had been long since roped off and only elite members were allowed access. Now, it appeared you could roam freely to your heart's content. 

Your knuckles brushed against the door, three knocks in quick succession sounding out into the quiet hallways and study. 

“Come in.” Namjoon called, his voice steady yet distracted. 

You pulled the heavy doors open and slipped into the study. Upon entering you noticed a number of things, for one the study resembled that of a library. The space was vast with bookshelves towering over you as well as everything else in the room. 

Namjoon was seated behind a desk, his fingers resting at his temples while he flipped through a set of papers placed on the surface of the table. While the rest of the manor had appeared clean, almost sterile really, this space had gone untouched by the staff. Various books laid open or bookmarked on the floors, couches, and his desk. 

Upon further inspection you noticed textbooks and medical journals strewn about, anatomy pages glaring back at you. 

“Are you a doctor, Namjoon?” You asked, lifting one of the textbooks up to get a closer look at what he had been reading. 

“A doctor?” He laughed, “I consider myself to be more of a scholar, really-”

Whatever else he had meant to say ceased, the words failing to part his lips. He was looking at you again, not unlike the way he had looked at you when you had appeared on his doorstep scantily clad and drowning in a torrent of rain. 

He made you uncomfortable. 

“Look at you, looking like a lady. You could have fooled me if I did not know any better.” He said, the corner of his lips tugging up into a sarcastic grin. 

“Such a gentleman.” You huffed with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “If you’re not a doctor then what is the point in reading things like this?”

“To catch a killer, you must think like a killer.” He hummed, tapping the tip of his forefinger against the side of his head. 

“You’ll never catch him.” You said, the words escaping you before you could even think about the repercussions they would have. 

“And why would you think that?” He asked, his eyes narrowing with a challenging look to them, the irises were dark and sent a cold chill down the length of your spine. 

“Call it intuition.” You replied, thinking quickly on your feet. “If countless others who are far more qualified and knowledgeable have failed to find him, it’s improbable one individual will bring him down.” 

You had unknowingly just challenged his intellect, if this were a dance you would have quite literally just stepped on your partner's toes. 

Namjoon stood quickly, his chair shooting back as he rounded the desk and approached you. You stumbled backwards in surprise but did not manage to dodge him as he matched your pace. His hands had settled on your waist, spinning you around to pull you back into his chest. 

His voice was soft and mellow beside your ear as he spoke, “Each victim was a prostitute, all found in the east end of town. Already there is a location and a motive, no?” 

“Now, here is what I find interesting.” He hummed, swiftly gripping your chin and pushing your head back onto his shoulder. His fingers ever so lightly brushed down the column of your throat before drawing a line across it from left to right. 

“Immediately he slits their throat, and right after? Disembowelment.” He said, his other hand that was settled on your waist migrated to your lower abdomen, his fingers caressing another line over the clothed flesh. 

“Most people, those ‘investigators’ for example, would say he hates women. But on the contrary, I think he is quite fascinated. With every murder he takes something that is uniquely theirs, would you happen to know what that is?” 

“Their womb.” You managed to say. You were trembling and you were certain that he could feel it. He was scaring you, the reality of your situation was suddenly becoming rather apparent. 

That could have been you. 

“Exactly, and to do something like that you would need some medical background, especially considering the speed and technique with which he does it.” He confirmed, his hands resting on your waist once more, this time turning you to face him. 

“So, if I were a ripper who was fascinated by women, where would I be?”

“Well...everywhere?” You replied, stepping out of his hold.

“Yes and no. We have a pattern and a motive, someone who is targeting prostitutes in the East End. My money would be on a hub for illicit activities, and with my sources I have a clue as to where he will strike next.”

That piqued your interest. “And where would that be?”

“If I know anything, it’s that the rich don’t like to follow rules and love a good party. Every now and then viscounts, dukes, and aristocrats alike will gather and dabble in illicit activities together. These parties change location every now and again, but most commonly we see them in the East End. Chances are, we can find a doctor with devious intentions at the hub of them. So, do I seem qualified to you?”

“This was your way of proving your capability to me?” You huffed, shaking your head. 

“Yes, and it appeared to work.” He smiled, leaning back against his desk with his arms spread behind him on  its surface. 

“Well, luckily for you, I’m interested.” You responded, jutting your chin out as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Interested?” He echoed.

“If you want to catch a killer, what better way is there to do so than draw him out?”

“You’re offering yourself as bait? Are you neurotic?!” He laughed, shaking his head from side to side as he popped off of his desk. “Do you really think I would allow that in good conscience?” 

“I don’t need your permission to do anything, Namjoon. What I am offering is an agreement of mutual satisfaction. You get a way to bait the killer and I get the story of a lifetime.”

You had been plunged backwards through time for a reason, and maybe this was the reason. This was the world’s most infamous cold case. What were the chances that a journalist would slip through the cracks in time and stumble into the East End of 1891? The only conclusion you could draw was that you were meant to identify who the ripper was. 

You knew nothing about time travel regardless of the pop culture you had consumed. For all you knew, changing the events of the past would not create a ripple effect but instead a branch. And, as horrifying as this scenario was, your curiosity was going to get the better of you. You needed to know, even if it meant following around the egotistical self proclaimed genius that had sheltered you. 

“So, do we have a deal? You asked, extending your hand out to him. 

The silence that hung between the two of you was unsettling. His dark eyes lingered on your hand for a moment before flicking up to your face and back down. His lips were pursed in thought and you could tell he was debating with himself heavily. There was a soft ringing in your ears as the quiet stretched on. 

A sudden smile spread over his face, one that you thought almost appeared devious. He laughed to himself and then shook his head before breaching the space between you and gripping your much smaller hand in his own. He gave your hand a firm shake before tugging you forwards and pressing a light kiss to the back of your hand with a grin. 

“We have a deal.” He confirmed. 

“What a fucking flirt.” You grumbled to yourself beneath your breath, anxiously sliding your hand over the fabric of your skirt. “So, when will this party take place?”

“One week from now.” He said, raising his hand to hold up one finger. 

That was much longer than you had wanted to spend in the Victorian era. Far much longer. 

“And what will we do in the meantime?” 

“Well investigate, of course.”

~~~~~~~

Days had passed in Namjoon’s company, and for all of the investigating the three of you (Namjoon, Claude, and yourself) had done, no results were accomplished. But, on the other hand no murders had been committed in the East End. 

You were halfway through the week until the party, and despite your efforts there was absolutely nothing. You were becoming as frustrated as the inhabitants of the East End as well as your fellow investigators. Among all of your “resources,” you were caught at a dead end just as the police were. 

You had heard of Jack the Ripper in your youth, you were once an avid true crime fan. But, for the life of you, you could not remember who the next victim was and where their corpses would be found. And for all you knew, protecting that individual would only cause someone else to lose their life. Time was tricky and fickle, and if it was set in stone, it did not matter who would die so long as someone was drafted into the void. 

You assumed. 

Your host had been...strange, to put it simply. You had thought to yourself that that was just in his nature, he was easily distracted, unfocused, yet insanely intelligent. But his mannerisms were unusual. He seemed completely unfazed by the case he had been assigned to, the only moments in which he showed a visceral response were when he dealt with you, or the police force. He hated them intensely, you could only assume because of how ineptly they were handling the case itself. 

And, most frequently, you found yourself going head to head with him. And boy, did he enjoy the challenge. And, if you were bold enough to admit it, you would say he derived pleasure from the arguments the two of you would get into. He would constantly fix you with that confident smirk, the one that told you he believed he was always one step ahead of you. And fuck, did it piss you off. And he was very much aware of that. He loved a good challenge and you were far different from any of the women he knew of. 

He often wondered how far he could push you before you snapped. 

And if his cocky behavior wasn’t enough to piss you off, it was how much of a blatant flirt he was. There was nothing more frustrating than someone arguing with you while flirting with you at the same time. And your constant refusal and rebuttal to his advances only seemed to fuel the fire. 

The cover of night time became your one refuge, that was when you had an excuse to stay away from him. You could have the whole night to yourself and be free of him until the morning. 

Usually. 

Normally, you slept through the night. But for some reason your body woke you. It was either late at night or extremely early in the morning. No sunlight entered the room, it was still incredibly dark. 

At first, everything appeared to be perfectly normal. That was of course until you noticed a figure seated in the chair by your window mere feet away. You immediately jumped and began to scramble backwards out of the bed, the sheets twisting around your legs and slowing you down. 

It was the call of your name that made you freeze. 

Namjoon was sitting in your room at an ungodly hour...watching you. 

“Namjoon?” You hissed, pulling the sheets back up to your chin. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He answered, pressing his palms onto the armrests and pushing himself up to stand. 

“I really wish you would have.” You grunted, pulling the blanket around you even tighter. “Do you know how creepy you -”

“Two more women are dead.”

Silence. 

“What happened?” You whispered, your fingers going limp. 

“One woman was murdered late last night and the other an hour ago. It was a double event.” His tone was flat, completely absent of affect. 

The three of you could only hold him off for so long, and it looks like he lashed out as soon as he was given the chance. Two women within the span of a few hours were killed, and you couldn’t help but feel like that was your fault. 

No matter what you do, someone will die. 

“What do we do now?” You asked, sullenly looking to him from your point on the bed. 

“We have to go meet with the authorities.” He answered, distaste evident in his voice when he uttered the word ‘authorities.’ 

“Come, we don’t have much time.” He urged you, snapping the sheets back to the foot of the bed while pulling you up to your feet. 

You stumbled as he tugged you forward, your head spinning from the sudden motion. You were struggling to see, your eyes still heavy with sleep despite the dreadful news you had heard. The feeling of his hands at the back of your nightdress certainly shocked you awake. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You snapped, smacking his hands away from you. 

He appeared frustrated, his eyes dark and his face set in irritation at your refusal. “I just told you, we don’t have much time. All of the maids are still asleep, it’s far too early to call one of them for help and you certainly don’t know how to dress yourself.”

“I can manage on my own, I don’t need your ‘help’.” You argued, stepping away from him in an attempt to create some distance between the two of you. “You don’t know the first thing about women’s clothes anyways.”

His jaw tensed, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before releasing an annoyed sigh. “Trust me I have undone a few corsets in my time, it’s not as difficult as you make it out to be.” 

“And just as I said, I can dress myself I am not a fucking child.” 

Before you could move his arm shot forward and his hand wrapped around your forearm tightly. Despite your struggling he yanked you towards him, his other hand gripping your elbow. 

“As stupid and insufferable as you like to think I am, I know you are not from here.” He said, his voice low and dangerously quiet. “You don’t speak, act, or even walk like you are from here. The more you hide from me the harder this is going to be. You need help, now you can either be a brat and I have to force you to do as I say, or you can play along and we can get this done and get to work. It’s up to you.”

He had just told you he knew you were a time traveler without explicitly saying it. At least that was the way you took it. But the way in which he spoke to you did not seem to insinuate that he meant that you were a foreigner. Many of your interactions with him would have led him to believe you were from a different time and, not to mention, you had done a terrible job of hiding your phone from him the first day you arrived. You had done a poor job of concealing that from someone as smart as him. 

“And what if I don’t want you to see me?” You tried one last time. 

“It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t already seen.”

So, he was the one who had changed you the first day you had arrived in 1891. There were many red flags waving in the back of your head, and like an idiotic bull you had failed to recognize a single one of them. Some journalist you were, you had missed all of the finite details. 

“Turn around.” He finally said, his voice firm. 

And, with no other choice, you did. It was incredibly awkward on your end. Despite the attractiveness of your host, you had no desire for him to strip and dress you. Unfortunately for you, he did not care. You understood the urgency to leave and your little spat had already delayed your departure. But you were a person who valued your dignity and autonomy, you weren’t built to live in a society such as this one. 

You tried your best not to focus on the feeling of his touch, but it was incredibly hard to ignore. Instead of touching you as little as possible, it felt like he took every chance to caress, graze, and linger on every inch of bared skin. 

For a moment, all movement stilled. You were only halfway dressed, your corset exposing everything upwards of your chest leaving your collarbones, arms, shoulders, and neck on display. You shuddered at the sudden feeling of fingers smoothing over the column of your throat, not unlike the incident in Namjoon’s study. 

He was absolutely quiet as he pressed his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, softly breathing in and out as his fingers continued to stroke the skin of your throat from left to right in a gentle, slow, sawing motion. Your heart was pumping frantically in your chest in what could only be described as fear. Your back was ramrod straight, a harsh line in comparison to the relaxed form behind you. 

Why were you so afraid of him? It was like every nerve and muscle in your form was begging you to leap away and run for your life. But he wasn’t dangerous, right?

You jolted at the feeling of lips just brushing against your shoulder as he pulled away from you and finished helping you dress, far quicker than he had been before. His demeanor was suddenly resigned, professional, and cold. It was like he had suddenly mustered a sense of self control in mere seconds. 

Who exactly was Kim Namjoon?

Said man was retreating in the direction of your bedroom door, his hand grasping the doorknob as he called over his shoulder, “Meet me out front, and please be quick about it.”

That was when a thought suddenly intruded your mind. 

“Namjoon? How did you get into my room? The door was locked.”

He stiffened for a moment, his hand tightening around the doorknob causing the muscle to strain and his knuckles to whiten. He said nothing, his head jerked to the side for a moment like he was gesturing in disbelief. 

He raised his head and stared at you, and then without saying anything, he left. 

~~~~~~~

You stared at the face of your pocket watch, the delicate chain wrapped around your gloved fingers. The hands of the watch were still, the familiar ticking of the watch was silent. It was like time had completely stopped. And in a way, maybe it had. 

The carriage halted to a stop spurring you to snap the watch cover closed and pin it back into place. 

Your companion quickly exited and stood outside, reaching his hand out to you to help guide you from the compartment. Despite the sudden animosity between the two of you, you placed your hand in his own and allowed him to help you down. The layered skirts of your dress swirled around your ankles, they were heavy and made it hard to climb in and out of transportation. Begrudgingly, you managed to say your thanks between gritted teeth. 

“Try to behave.” He whispered beside your ear offering his arm to you. 

You hooked your arm into the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead the way. If you had it your way you would be fifteen feet in front of him carving your own path through the East End. But, your lack of knowledge of Victorian etiquette had already managed to get you in trouble and the last thing that you needed was more trouble. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, quickening your pace to match his long strides. 

“The previous crime scene has already been cleaned up by the task force, but the one from this morning is still intact. I have been instructed to go over their findings as well as conduct my own investigation.” He explained. 

“Alright, what can I do?” 

“What you can do is stay right here.” He instructed, bringing the two of you to a stop at the mouth of a narrow alleyway. It was already blocked off, warning the public to steer clear of the area. 

“You have to be kidding? You really expect me to wait here for you while you go and investigate? I don’t take kindly to being told to just sit and look pretty, Namjoon.” You glared. 

Namjoon titled his head back and let out a sound of annoyance, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically with an exasperated sigh. “For once, will you please listen to me? This is an active investigation and I am asking you, a civilian, to stay put. I swear, I will tell you everything you need to know for your story, alright?” 

Another bitter silence passed between the two of you. He knew you were incredibly dissatisfied with what he had said. But he was just as stubborn as you were, that being the reason the two of you butted heads so often. 

He shook his head, jaw tensed with anger as he stepped away from you heading in the direction of the alley way. 

“Stay put!” He called over his shoulder, waving his hand at you as he disappeared, his form melting into the darkness of the alley that had yet to see the glow of the early morning sunrise. 

Now that, that pissed you off. You were not some dog that would obey his every command, the more he told you not to do something the more it made you want to do it. 

You waited for a few moments, for his sake and for the very fact that it would piss him off that you refused to listen. You were an impatient woman, and you would be damned if you listened to a single thing he said. 

The air was crisp and cool with the lack of sunlight, your breath fogging the space in front of you as you slunk down the dark alleyway. You could hear Namjoon’s voice echoing down the brick tunnel, he sounded enraged. There were several other voices attempting to speak over him, but they were evidently failing. 

And then there was the smell, it was horrid. The cramped space was packed full of the scent, it was indescribable. The only prominent smell that was familiar was the tangy, coppery odor of blood thick in the morning air. 

But what you hadn’t been expecting was that the body was still there, slumped against the ground haphazardly like it was nothing more than trash. An officer was still there, knelt down next to her body. He was prodding her flesh with a grimace, holding a handkerchief over his nose to block out the scent. 

“Christ, she’s still warm!” He called out, jumping up to head back to the investigators while giving you a full view of the carnage laid out before you. “He could still be close by!”

Multiple sensations bombarded you at once. A scream was caught in your throat as your stomach began to churn from the sight before you. You raised a gloved hand to cover your nose and mouth as you leaned against the wall, your knees feeling weak. 

It was bad, worse than you could have possibly imagined. 

There was blood, more blood than you had ever seen in your entire life. And whatever it was that was laying before you just barely looked human. But the parts that did look familiar was what made it so unsettling, so wrong, so horrifying. 

Namjoon was calling your name. 

You were still in shock when he grabbed you, his hand cupping the back of your neck and forcing your face into his chest blocking the grotesque view you once had. His other arm wrapped around your shoulders, cradling you closer to him. 

“Her...her face.” You stuttered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

“Are you that inept at your jobs that you couldn’t keep a civilian from entering a fucking crime scene?!” He yelled over your head, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. 

“I told you to stay put.” He mumbled, his lips pressed to the crown of your head while his thumb stroked the side of your face as you shook in his hold. This was the gentlest he had ever been with you. 

You had never seen anything like that before. Whatever words he had spoken were falling on deaf ears, a sharp ring was echoing throughout your head, numb tears streaking your face and ruining his jacket. 

You could feel his hands slide to the curve of your jaw, forcing your head up to look at him and only him. 

“From now on, you listen to me, okay?” He said, his eyes darting over your face to make sure you were retaining what he was saying. 

You weren’t sure what was more concerning to you. The fact that he was suddenly so gentle with you, or the fact that he paid no mind to the corpse mere feet away from the two of you. 

There was something wrong with Kim Namjoon. 

~~~~~~~

Whatever investigation Namjoon had managed to conduct during your moments of shellshock provided nothing new. The choice of murder was the same, albeit the brutality was by far the worst of all the victims before. 

Her body had been warm indicating the perpetrator could still have been close by, but despite that knowledge the search parties could not find the culprit that had been described. There was no man covered in blood hiding in the shadows of the East End, he had disappeared like he had never been there in the first place. 

A few days after the murder had taken place, Namjoon had informed you the killer had made contact. His face was grim as he described what had transpired. A letter and a parcel had arrived addressed to the taskforce, inside was what appeared to be a human kidney and a letter signed with a flourish, “Jack The Ripper.”

He was playing with them. 

Your dreams were plagued with the memories of the sights you had seen that day in the early morning light of the alleyway. And instead of forcing you into submission, it made you angry. The initial sight had rendered you imobile, weak, and defenseless. You had never seen a human look like that. But with each dream you dreamt as the week melted away, you festered in guilt and rage. 

Your fellow Victorian journalists had called him a monster, but you knew better. He was not a monster, he was a coward preying on women in the veil of darkness. Cowards harmed the weak and the defenseless, he was a caricature of a monster. 

And you wanted nothing more than to rip the Halloween mask off of that faux monster. 

This thought is what lent you strength as you and Namjoon reentered the East End, prepared to once and for all unmask the killer that had escaped the two of you. 

You were dressed expensively, and rather salaciously, to blend in with the aristocrats around you. Namjoon and Claude appeared comfortable in the environment and it made you wonder if this had not been their first time attending an illicit party. Namjoon had explained to you before that he was often hired by government officials to do the jobs the police often failed to do, so it would not be unexpected if he had been there more than once. 

You were bombarded by various sights that had you sticking close to your companions. When Namjoon said “illicit” parties, he meant it. The amount of illegal activities taking place was astounding. No matter where you looked, something was going on. Various partygoers were drinking unmarked liquids, inhaling unidentified substances, or swapping large amounts of money for some unknown service (although you had an inkling as to what they may be). 

At one point in the night you had tried to locate a bathroom only for Namjoon to pull you away from the door you had attempted to open. 

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” He said with an all knowing, tight lipped grin. 

“Really, and why not?” You asked, your hand resting on your cinched waist. 

“I didn’t picture you as one for...group activities.” 

“Group activities...there’s an orgy in there?!” You whisper yelled, frantically wiping your hand on your skirts with wide eyes. 

Namjoon wheezed out a laugh, guiding you away from the room and back towards the center of the pseudo ballroom. “What can I say, this is a sinner’s paradise.” 

“Sinner’s paradise, more like Chlamydia’s Palace.” You huffed, your cheeks hot. 

Namjoon laughed again only to be stopped by the presence of his butler, Claude. His hand concealed his mouth as he whispered something to Namjoon. Whatever it was he said seemed to please Namjoon while also provoking an indescribable look to wash over his handsome features.

As soon as Claude stepped back, Namjoon spoke. “I need you to stay right here, okay? Don’t talk to anyone, don’t drink anything, just keep to yourself until I return.” 

Your eyebrows pinched together in irritation and confusion, “But, Namjoon -”

“Remember what happened the last time you refused to listen to me?” He snapped, raising his eyebrows in emphasis. 

You pressed your lips together, turning your head to the side. Yes, you did remember what had happened the last time you ignored his instructions. 

Namjoon sighed, propping his finger under your chin and turning your head to look at him. “Please, trust me on this one thing.”

You thought to yourself for a moment, the last time you didn’t listen it hadn’t exactly gone well for you. This was just one thing he was asking of you after all of the things he had done for you, he was asking for just one moment of cooperation. 

You lowered his hand from your chin and took a breath. “Okay, I trust you.” 

A look of pure elation erupted on his face. He gave you a wide grin, his dimples deepening in his cheeks. 

“I’ll be back.” He said before retreating into the crowd with Claude following close behind. 

And then you were alone, but not alone for nearly long enough. 

Your hands fiddled with the pocket watch your grandfather had gifted you as you walked, your head down and your gaze focused on the glass face of the watch. It was almost like everything had gone wrong after he had died and left it in your possession. 

Far too distracted from your internal thoughts and the presence of the watch, you missed the incoming form barreling towards you. Within seconds you were knocked to the floor, the layers of your skirts luckily breaking your fall. 

“Ah! Sorry, sorry, sorry, my bad! In a rush, I’m quite late I’m afraid.” The voice rushed out, a slight wheeze accompanying it as he appeared breathless. 

You felt two hands grasp your own and carefully help you into an upright position. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” You said, irritation clear in your tone. 

“No really! Forgive me, it’s my mistake.” He said.

You adjusted your dress, making sure all of the important bits were in place before finally looking up to see who exactly this man was. 

You were not expecting it to be him. Not at all. 

“Grandpa?” You asked softly, taken aback. 

It was him, he looked years younger than when you had last seen him, but it was him. You had gone through countless scrapbooks as a child and the face that was staring back at you was the younger version of the man that had raised you. 

“What?” He laughed, his eyes crinkling as his shoulders shook. 

Your gaze zeroed in on the chain of the watch clipped to his pocket. And, without saying a word, you pulled your own watch free and showed it to him. 

All mirth completely left his body, like the flame of a candle being snuffed out. His lips parted in shock and distress as his eyes traced over his own initials carved into your watch. His hand patted his own chest frantically as he pulled the watch free and held it beside your own. 

They were identical, down to every nick and scratch in the silver finish. 

“How did you get here?” He asked, his voice low and serious in a way you had never heard before. “Did they send you?” 

“Did who send me? Nobody sent me. I just woke up here, other people were living in my house and everything was gone.” You explained as he pulled you to a corner of the ballroom. 

“This isn’t right,” He mumbled, flipping open his own watch. “You’re a time anomaly, there can’t be two of us here at the same time.”

“Two of us?” You echoed. 

“Time travelers, dear, it runs in the family I’m afraid. What was I thinking about giving that to you without explaining?” He said, his words flying so quickly to the point that you were struggling to keep up. 

“Then let’s leave, show me how to get out of here! There has to be a way!”

“You can’t just leave, you’re here for a purpose, you didn’t just come here by accident.” He said as a blue glow began to steadily thrum and pulse from his watch. “Oh no.”

“Oh no? What, what’s happening?”

“I have to go, I’m being called back. Whatever you do, you cannot change anything, do you understand? Who are you staying with, what have you done?” 

“I haven’t changed anything that I know of. I’ve been staying with Kim Namjoon.”

His eyes widened as the watch began to pulse even stronger than before. “Kim Namjoon! Listen to me, you need to go, you need to get as far away as possible he -”

But before he could finish what he was saying he disappeared. It was like he had blipped out of existence, like he had never been there at all. 

You spun around in a circle, trying to see if he was truly gone. All of the party goers did not appear to be phased, it was like they hadn’t seen a single thing that occurred. How was that possible? Fuck that, how was any of this possible?

All you knew was that you were going to follow his advice and get the fuck out of there and out of the East End. 

You forced yourself through the thick crowds of people, pushing, checking, and elbowing away anyone that got in your way. You winced as one particular shove sent a whole glass of wine pouring down the cleavage and dress of one inebriated woman. It didn’t really matter though, you were sure she could afford another one with the way she had been slamming back drinks all night. 

You threw open various doors in an attempt to find a way out, each time you were met with an increasingly more disgusting or disturbing sight. You didn’t even know some of those positions were possible for fuck’s sake. 

Finally, when you threw open a door you were met with the smell of crisp, fresh air. A way out. 

It was a slim alleyway of the East End, just barely illuminated by the crescent moon that hung in the pitch black darkness of the sky. A sudden sense of paranoia washed over you, the last time you were in an alleyway it had ended poorly. But you knew you didn’t have time to think about that. 

Oh, if only you did. 

The minute your heeled feet met the ground you were greeted with that all too familiar scent. There was blood nearby and lots of it. You could hear shuffling a few yards away, and you knew that you fucked up. 

Your throat felt tight as you attempted to swallow, you were certain you could taste the blood on your tongue from how strong the smell was. And, when you finally turned to face whatever was in that alley, you were horrified. 

A few yards away you spotted three figures, two on the ground and one leaning against the wall. And beneath the three of them, a crimson river steadily flowed through the cobblestone. 

You took a step back, your heels scuffing the stone spurring only two of the figures to look up at you. A scream bubbled in your chest at what you saw. Claude was hunched over the figure of a woman, blood splattered over his face and down the leather apron he wore over his clothes. You could see bloodied tools in his grip as he settled back on his hunches, pausing his motions mid incision.

And then there was Namjoon, the once blank look he wore on his face suddenly lighting up with intrigue at the sight of you. 

“Claude? Why don’t you take the lady home.” He spoke, gesturing to the corpse. 

Claude looked between you and Namjoon for a moment, appearing conflicted. But he did not hesitate any longer as he scooped up the woman’s corpse and retreated down in the dark depths of the alley. 

Namjoon was quick as he approached you, you barely made it a few feet away before he grabbed you by your forearms and pinned you up against the wall, hushing you as panicked cries parted your painted lips. 

“I’m sorry, darling. But, I did tell you to stay put didn’t I?”

“Why?” You managed to say as you trembled in his hold, ugly sobs wracking your entire form. 

“Women only want me for one thing I’m afraid. My money. I thought that maybe I could help those women who had nothing, that they could give me love in return if they didn’t know who I was. But they were just the same, motivated by money. I would give them my love and beg them to stop selling themselves but they just wouldn’t listen to me. Every single one of them failed my little test. They were greedy, and selfish. They didn’t deserve to be women. So, I hurt them just like they hurt me.” 

You didn’t know what to do or what to say, you could only focus on the rising feeling of panic in your chest. 

“I knew someone would eventually catch on to what was happening. But how ironic was it that they assigned me to the case out of all people? Those fucking investigators are so inept they never saw it coming. And Claude, well his loyalty was extremely helpful. If you don’t want to be caught, don’t commit the crime yourself.” He whispered. 

“All I wanted was to give them my love, but each and every single one of them broke my heart. All of them except for you.” He said, pressing a kiss to your cheek that made you violently flinch. 

“You were such a little spitfire, and when you showed up to my door I thought I was going to have to kill you on sight. But you proved me wrong, you’re the only one deserving of my love.”

A blue light suddenly lit up the space between you, the glow of the watch casting sinister shadows over the ripper's face. 

Immediately he reached for the watch at the same time as you, and without much effort he wrenched the watch free from your hands and shoved you down to the ground. Your head met the stone first and on impact black spots blurred your vision.

The watch pulsed vibrantly in his hands, humming like a heartbeat. A wicked laugh shook his shoulders as he flipped the face open. 

“So this is how you did it?” He asked, swinging the watch by it’s chain recklessly. 

“Namjoon, don't’!” You cried, struggling to stand. 

But it was too late. A feral scream ripped its way out of your throat as you watched him slam the watch into the ground and violently dig the heel of his shoe into it. The glass shattered, the metal bent, and the blue glow stuttered, weakly thrumming before fizzling out and plunging the alley into darkness. 

The ripper stalked down the alley and stood over you, a viscous smile pulling at his cheeks as he slowly tilted his head to the side. 

“Don’t look so surprised my love, there is only one way I’d ever let you leave me.” 

[ladybugout-au]

Dear. GOD. After seeing Furious Fu, I would honestly love to see LBO!Marinette just chewing out Su-Han for all his canon-to-fic BULLSHIT. Like, I know you’ve already got a plan to incorporate Feast into LBO, which I’m super excited for, so this asshole showing up with all his nonsense after the new Team Miraculous is set, hell maybe even after they’ve already retrieved the Butterfly and the Peacock, and watching Marinette (and possibly Fu since he has the memories to stand up for himself) tear this dude a new one would really be the cherry on top of an already awesome fic. Sorry to rant in your inbox lol but the new episode just made me so. ANGRY.

In the lounge room of the Liberty, everyone jumped as they heard a noise from up above deck, as if something heavy had fallen or been dropped. Marinette briefly pulled away from Luka’s hold, staring up at the ceiling and wondering aloud, “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Juleka admitted, exchanging concerned looks with Rose.

“That definitely wasn’t Mom,” Luka noted with a tilt of his head.

Pounding footsteps followed, making it clear that a person had clearly gotten on the houseboat without the gangplank being there.

Nino jolted on alert, turning to Duusu with a hushed whisper. “Hide!”

“All of you,” Kagami began, standing up and looking around vaguely at every kwami. “get out of sight.”

The kwami, breaking out of their trance after the brief scare, scattered in every direction to find their own individual hiding places, some choosing to hide with their respective holder and others preferring to hide behind or inside objects. Ivan went into his usual protective mode, wrapping an arm around Mylene while she clung to him.

Marinette stood up, rushing over to the table and picking up the Miracle Box to stow it away. She looked around, then dashed for the microwave and stored the box inside.

She shut the door just in time for the intruder to descend from the staircase: an old man, dressed in Chinese garb and carrying a strange mystical-looking staff. He had a stern expression, his brows knitted together as he scanned the room like none of them were even there. He raised his staff, his gaze eventually locking on the microwave the Marinette was standing near.

Without a word, he pushed Marinette aside, earning an offended, “Excuse me—hey!” from her as he grabbed the microwave door and tugged it. When that did little more than jostle the microwave itself, he tried blindly tampering with the buttons to no avail.

Marinette slapped his wrist away, standing with all her pride as guardian as she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He glared at her in response. “Young lady, I demand you open your magical sealing chamber and return what’s rightfully mine!”

She blanked, the words catching her completely off-guard. This guy thought their microwave was a magical sealing chamber?

In response, Marinette gave a brief glance to the others, who were all looking back at her with equally puzzled expressions, any tension from before completely gone.

An unspoken question echoed throughout the room: Is he for real?

Before Marinette could ask any further, Tikki emerged from her hiding spot, flying over and explaining, “Marinette, I know who this is! This is great master Su-Han, the guardian of the Miracle Box!”

Marinette raised a brow skeptically. “But I’m the guardian?”

“He was responsible for the box before the incident that Master Fu caused,” she corrected.

Su-Han looked down at Marinette condescendingly. “So you are the current holder of the box.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed unapologetically. She gave a side-glance to Luka and the others, seeing that they were prepared to stand up and fight for her, but she gave a subtle gesture to let them know that it wasn’t necessary. Resolving to deal with Su-Han herself, she faced him again. “How did you find us?”

He held out his staff, the jewel on it mere centimeters from her face. “Guardian scepters are equipped with compasses that can find their Miracle Box at any given time.”

“In case you lose it?” Marinette blurted out, but didn’t apologize or try to take it back.

“Insolent!” Su-Han gasped. “You are not even a proper guardian. I can tell that this box hasn’t even been properly passed down to you!”

“Because Master Fu gave it to me,” she explained, “and we agreed that he should keep his memories.”

“Fu?” Su-Han echoed. “You mean Wang Fu? Chicken legs?”

Is this guy five? Marinette wondered.

Orikko popped out from their hiding place, waving a paw at Su-Han as if in warning. “I take offense to that!”

Su-Han glared at Orikko at the comment, and Orikko quickly ducked back down. Turning his attention back to Marinette, he continued, “Wang Fu is a student who wasn’t even able to fast for a day, nor do a thousand finger-pushups. He was never a rightful guardian, and he failed to fulfill the hope we’d seen in him.”

“Master Fu may have made mistakes, but he’s done his best to make up for all of them!” she argued. “He protected the box for over one hundred years and it’s because of his choices that our team was able to defeat Hawk Moth!”

“Team?” Su-Han asked, his face scrunching up as if he were piecing something together.

“Yes!”

Marinette gestured to her boyfriend and friends for emphasis. Luka, Ivan, Kagami, and Juleka stood while Rose and Nino pinched and stretched their shirts to show off their respective miraculouses.

“Children?” Su-Han gaped. Glaring at Marinette, as if she had personally given out the miraculouses herself, he declared, “Children are never meant to hold miraculouses, especially from the first and most powerful Miracle Box! Kwami are extremely powerful, cosmic creatures!”

A voice piped up from across the room. “Y-you say that, but—!”

Marinette and Su-Han turned to look at Nooroo, who had peeked out from behind Rose’s shoulder. He breathed up, seeming to gain some confidence, then floated out to the center of the room.

“They saved me and Duusu from the hands of evil! We would still be in Gabriel’s clutches if not for them!”

“What?” Su-Han asked. Just when Marinette thought they might be getting somewhere, he turned back to her and accused, “The peacock and butterfly were lost?!”

“Fu lost them when he was escaping the temple,” Marinette explained, a mixture between unphased and annoyed at the man’s outbursts, “but we got them back and everything’s okay now.”

Luka chimed in from his place near the couch, “Marinette has been an incredible leader, as both Ladybug and the guardian.”

She smiled at him in thanks, but Su-Han was clearly focused on anything but the positives.

“Ladybug? You’re even wearing a miraculous?! Guardians aren’t meant to hold miraculouses!” he said, throwing his arms out for effect.

“What—why?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Instead of answering her, Su-Han pulled out a book, shoving it pointedly towards her with the cover facing downwards in his palm. “Let me remind you of a few important rules you’ve violated.” He flipped through a few pages, then pointed at one of them. “Rule fourteen: Kwami must not live outside of the box.” He flipped through a few more. “Rule fifty-two: Guardians must never lose a miraculous. “He flipped to a page near the end. “Rule one hundred and thirty-three: Guardians must never, under any circumstances, wear a miraculous.”

“Master Fu wore a miraculous,” she argued, having never heard of any such rule from him.

“And that proves exactly what I’m talking about!” Su-Han retorted. “Neither you nor Fu are capable guardians because neither of you have respected the rules of the order!”

“...”

When Marinette initially imagined the Order of the Guardians and the people who ran it, this was not what she’d pictured. She had pictured zen and calm, not belligerent and immovable. She was reminded vaguely of her grandfather when she first met him, and that wasn’t a good thing.

She tossed another gaze at everyone, who gave her the same look and nod in response: let him have it.

“Young lady, I’ll repeat myself once,” Su-Han warned. “Return the Miracle Box and the miraculouses to me before--”

Marinette grabbed the book out of his hand, shut it with a satisfying “clap,” then set it back in his hand. “No.“

“What did you say?” he asked, aghast that she would speak to him that way.

“I said no.” Marinette advanced on him, the sheer force of her presence making him take a step back. “Now let me remind you about everything you must’ve missed this whole time.”

She raised a finger at him, raising additional fingers as she went on. “One: You intruded on my boyfriend’s house without any sort of permission. If you’d actually called out to us, we might’ve actually been willing to come out and listen to what you had to say. Two: You wouldn’t have even been able to be here in the first place if not for me using Miraculous Ladybug after our team took down Feast, which you weren’t able to do. Three: We aren’t children, we’re teenagers, and the fact that you can’t tell the difference or bother learning what technology is shows that I shouldn’t trust you with the Miracle Box even if you had a right to it. Four: You didn’t bother to listen and blamed me for losing miraculouses when it was you and your order who didn’t keep an eye on a poor boy who didn’t want to be there. Five, last but not least: I say the kwami are allowed out of the Miracle Box because I am the guardian. You and your order have been gone for over one hundred years and you can’t go making demands after I brought you back. You told me rules I didn’t even know about and didn’t explain why you have those rules in the first place. The kwami are my friends and they have feelings and I’m not going to shut them in a box because you told me to.”

Silence filled the room, no one saying a word and Su-Han’s face contorting between shock and outrage.

Marinette took a step back, standing at the ready and gesturing to herself. “So if you want the Miracle Box, you’re going to have to go through us first.”

She tossed a look at her team, all of them doing a synchronized, confrontational motion to face Su-Han.

“Tikki!”

“Plagg!”

“Wayzz!”

“Pollen!”

“Trixx!”

“Nooroo!”

“Duusu!”

They then shouted in unison, “Transform me!”

Several individual flashes meshed together, overtaking the room and then fading to leave several heroes behind, their weapons equipped for battle.

Su-Han looked amongst them, a flicker in his eyes that hinted that he knew he would be outmatched, but also wasn’t willing to admit it. He retreated a few steps back, hands out to show that he was prepared to defend himself.

It was at that moment that Ladybug heard and noticed movement from behind him, realization striking and a smile overtaking her face. Pulling back from her fighting pose, she placed a hand on her hip and stated confidently, “Captain Anarka will escort you out.”

He looked confused, and he was only able to let out a, “What—?” before a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Su-Han wasn’t even able to turn around before he was pulled backward, a jewelry-adorned fist decking him in the face and sending him flying into the staircase. His scepter fell to the floor and he could only gape at the woman standing there, cracking her knuckles while he was sprawled out on the stairs with all air having been knocked out of him.

“A trespasser on my ship, eh?” Anarka asked, a grin on her face but her eyes glinting with malice. “I don’t take kindly to ship rats who threaten my crew and think they’re too good to walk the plank.”

Su-Han hurried to get up, only for Anarka to grab him by his shirt and haul him up the stairs, a rapid shuffling noise following as Ladybug went over and shut the door.

A few seconds passed and the atmosphere shifted to peace, everyone mutually releasing their transformations and relaxing. Marinette smiled reassuringly at everyone, letting them know that things were okay, but then jumped as she heard a resounding, “Marinette!”

The kwami all emerged from their hiding places, Marinette having no time to react as they all charged at her, their tiny bodies clinging affectionately to whatever they could grab of her.

“You’re amazing!”

“Thank you so much!”

“You stood up for us!”

“You’re the best guardian ever!”

Marinette gasped, finding it hard to move without disturbing any of them. Trying hard not to laugh, she protested, “Aha—hey! Stop, you’re all tickling me!”

She blushed, looking over at her teammates who were only staring at her with pride, which just made the pink on her cheeks turn red. “This is so embarrassing!”

Once the kwami had their fill of thanking her, they finally obeyed and flew away, each giving her smiles of approval. She covered her face with a hand, waiting for the shyness to die down, then noticed the guardian scepter out of the corner of her eye, still lying on the ground.

She approached, touching the scepter at first to make sure it was safe, then properly picking it up and letting it stand next to her. She tapped the gem on top, eyeing the compass that Su-Han had been talking to her about, then followed its direction back to the microwave. She walked over, opening it up, then took out the Miracle Box and held it in her free hand.

Looking back and forth between the two clearly ancient objects, she couldn’t help chuckling. “They don’t really suit me.”

Her friends giggled in response, Luka in particular shooting her a warm smile and approaching. One of his hands went to the scepter and the other went to rest on the Miracle Box.

“I think you make them work, actually,” he replied.

Marinette beamed at him, thoroughly warmed by the compliment. It didn’t feel like that long ago when her support was lacking and defeating Hawk Moth seemed like a pipe dream.

Now, holding the Miracle Box and scepter in her hands, she didn’t know why she’d ever doubted herself.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Then, looking at the Su-Han-less room, she gave a shrug and walked back with Luka to the couch. “So, where were we?”

[themand0lorian]

You are amazing. What do you think about Marcus pike x FBI agent!reader fake dating/idiots in love at high school reunion? Dealing with old bullies?

Ah, an anon after my own heart--I was thinking of the same recently!! I had so many ideas for how this would go, but tried to make this coherent--not thrilled with how it came out but I cant keep looking at it tbh

Most Likely

Summary: Marcus convinces you to attend your high school reunion--it does not go according to plan.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: PG-13 (Swearing, bullying)

Words: ~8000 (Read on AO3)

Tags: friends to lovers, fake dating, high school reunions, there are a few nondescript punches thrown, bullying

Notes: This fic deals with bullying, but not about looks--at one point someone asks if Marcus is her brother, but more to be a jerk than because they look alike. If you are dealing with people like these, I am so sorry--this fic came from somewhere personal for me, too. If you ever want to chat, my inbox is always open!

  --Elizabeth was much too embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject—

You’re ripped from the world of Mr. Darcy and Longbourn as the book nestled softly in your lap is pulled out of your grasp from behind, up and over your head. Suddenly, you’re back in the FBI offices, in modern-day DC; long gone are the declarations of love and the grand balls, replaced by the clicking of computers and your forgotten leftovers sitting next to you on your desk, lunch break since passed. You crane your neck back in your office chair to find the culprit, but you’re unable to see who grabbed it, instead reaching up for your book as it’s held above your head.

“C’mon, I know you can do better than that,” a familiar voice teases, holding the book just out of reach, and you spin in your chair to find Marcus Pike, your closest friend and most mischievous coworker, holding the book up over your head.

“Marcus! It was just getting to the good part! Mr. Darcy was about to—”

“You’ve read this thirty times,” he replies good-naturedly as he leans onto your desk with a smile.

“And it’s still good every time!” you insist, watching as he slips your bookmark into the book in his hands. He had kept your page with his thumb, and when he’s done, he looks to you again, placing the book in his lap.

“I have something for you.”

“I hope it’s a new bookmark,” you crinkle your nose at him, noting the tattered edges on your current one. You love this one—a touristy photo of Washington, DC that shifts from day to night depending on the angle, which Marcus got you on his first day in the office when he noticed you using an old receipt to keep your page. But you’re pretty sure it’s from the drugstore down the street, and it hasn’t held up well to your repeated use over the years.

“No. Well, I guess maybe,” he changes his mind, handing you a sealed envelope. It’s addressed to you, but instead of your home address it’s the office address, and you quirk your brow. “I don’t know what it is, it came to the front desk so I told the receptionist I’d bring it up,” he clarifies, and you start to open it. You know it’s nothing dangerous, all mail sent to the Bureau thoroughly checked for any threats, but when you pull out the postcard, your entire face scrunches in contempt.

“What is it?” Marcus asks, trying to look around you to see the words on the card.

“An invitation to my high school reunion,” you answer in disgust, throwing the card into the recycle bin.

“Man, not even good enough to use as a bookmark?” he asks, pulling the invitation out of the trash to read it over, then placing it on your desk. You turn back to your forgotten lunch as he speaks. “Why’d they send it here?”

“I never gave them my home address, probably just Googled me and sent it the first place that showed up,” you shrugged.

“Well, it’s in a few weeks, I bet it’ll be fun.”

“I really doubt that, Marcus,” you roll your eyes, taking another bite. “Four hours in a sweaty gym, drinking bad punch and dancing to the Electric Slide? Besides, everyone just goes to those things to show off their fancy jobs and rich spouses. Can’t say I have much of that to brag about,” you joke, gesturing to the fluttering office. You don’t want to say what you’re really thinking, why you would really never want to go. “Anyway, I don’t want to go alone, that’d be pathetic.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offers with a smile, and you shoot him a glare.

“How would I explain that? Oh, hi, girl-from-math-class, so nice to see you and your Fortune-500 husband. Oh, my husband? Well, no, see--I’m here with my best friend—no, he didn’t go here, he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t being pitiful,” you joke, and Marcus looks to his hands.

“What if we didn’t go as friends? Then would you go?” You look to him in confusion, so he continues. “What if I go as your date?”

“What, like a fake dating thing?” you clarify, missing the way Marcus deflates as you stab another morsel with your fork.

“Uh—yeah, yeah. If you want, I mean. You’re right, it would be weird to go as friends since I didn’t go to school with you,” he says with a shake of his head as you mull it over.

“I don’t know, Marcus—”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. You’ll get to tell everyone about your fancy FBI job, show them how beautiful you are after all this time—” heat rises to your cheeks as he continues “—show off your ‘boyfriend,’ who I hear is actually really good at the Electric Slide—" Marcus starts to dance as he speaks, and you fall into laughter.

“Fine! Fine,” you interrupt. “On one condition—” you respond after a moment, and he perks up again. “You give me my book back.” Marcus smiles, finally handing your book back as he speaks.

“Great! I’ll RSVP,” he says, swiping the card from where he placed it on your desk. “Pick you up at 8?” he smiles. When you nod, he starts to make his way back to his desk; instead of walking, he’s shuffling his heels, pivoting and dancing with a clap as he hums an off-key rendition of the Electric Slide, only stopping when he gets to his desk to make eye contact with you as you giggle and tuck your nose back into your book.

That’s how you ended up here, fourth dress thrown on the floor in half as many hours as you try to get ready. You should have refused. Should have told Marcus the truth, should have tossed the invitation without a second glance. Should have ran and never looked back.

Most people would argue that high school isn’t exactly the best time of their lives, but for you, it was by far the worst. A small fish in a big pond, it felt like everything you did was wrong—and no one is more ruthless than high school girls. Always quick to spread rumors, to spit venom and mock and pull at every loose string they can find until you unravel. Teachers tried; let you eat lunch in their classrooms, told you to ignore their words and they would stop, scolded the particularly cruel students, but that somehow made things that much worse.

You know you didn’t deserve their treatment, but you also know you didn’t do much to try to change their minds. Despite a growth spurt, your body seemed to develop in all the wrong places, clothes used more to hide than to show. Your dowdy outfits and dull colors stuck out rather than blended in, and by the end of Freshman year, you were thoroughly ostracized, bullied then left alone to deal with the aftermath. You would spend your days reading, getting lost in worlds that seemed better than yours, nicer than yours, worlds you would be accepted in. Worlds where Mr. Darcy proposed—twice!--to bookish girls like you, where Jo March found love while living free and unbridled, unworried about others’ remarks about her too-short hair or frumpy clothes in a way you could only envy. Unfortunately, those worlds never came to life, and you counted down the days until graduation; but, as the numbers got smaller, the harassment got worse; you didn’t even walk across the stage in the end, so ready to leave that world behind.

Things had gotten better since then. You found your calling in college, forensic sciences—you were good at it, and for the first time, people liked that about you rather than bullied you for it. You had your core group of close friends, on-then-off flings with other members of your major—you learned how to dress for your body, how to do your makeup the way you like it instead of following some ridiculous YouTube tutorial. Your confidence increased as you got a job at the Bureau, as you matured and grew as a person, but those hurtful words—always spoken just loud enough for you to hear—always wrang in the back of your mind.

They’ve come to the forefront now, as you pull and tweak your fifth dress of the night. You love this dress, the simple wrap of it and the delicate pattern, but now it seems to hug in all the wrong places, to turn your skin tone sickly. You think of all the ways they can mock you for it—too tight here, too loose there. Too busy. Too much.

You should have said no. But all Marcus had to do was look at you with those puppy dog eyes and it was over for you. He seemed to excited, so happy to take you—even if it was fake. Even if you wanted it to be real, even if your daydreams about going on a date with Marcus Pike made your romance novels pale in comparison. You wanted him, so much—but you knew he was out of your league, so sweet and charming and handsome, practically a protagonist from one of your novels brought to life. So why not enjoy his forged attention while you can? You thought about what he would think of the dress—Not my favorite on you. Maybe something that covers a little more?—and start to take it off again, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. You look to the clock in a panic—8 PM on the dot. With a huff, you decide it has to be good enough, and grab your shoes and make your way to the door.

When you open it, Marcus is standing there in a fitted navy suit and a light blue button up, a skinnier tie than usual tied around his neck. His hair is neatly parted, face shaved and you smell a hint of cologne in the rush of air entering your apartment. When you finally look to his face, he looks shocked—all your assumptions about his opinions on the dress screaming between your ears.

“You—you don’t like it? I can change—” you stammer, adjusting the hem again.

“What? No!” he responds quickly, seeming to come back to himself. “No, I—Wow--you look—great. Amazing,” he sighs. “I love it. Please—please don’t change,” he responds, and you nod, gathering your purse.

“You look nice, too, Marcus,” you respond awkwardly, fastening your heels to your ankles. When you wobble on one foot, he quickly reaches out to steady you, barely through the threshold of your door; when you’re finally back on two feet, he doesn’t let go.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he asks with a smile, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks as he intertwines an arm with yours.

“No one’s here, Marcus, you don’t have to pretend yet,” you laugh, but let him lead you out to his car. He opens the door for you, and once you’re seated in the passenger seat, he leans in to speak with a smirk.

“Just practicing.”

You fall easily into your established rapport in the car, the low hum bringing some calm to your frazzled nerves, which Marcus seems to notice intuitively. As you get closer to the school, he tries to pry for more information.

“So, are you excited? You’ll get to see all your old friends.”

“Meh, anyone I wanted to keep in touch with, I did,” you reply, avoiding the true answer—there was no one you wanted to keep in touch with.

“C’mon, don’t you want to walk the old halls again? See all the people, reminisce on the good memories,” he elaborates.

“Let’s just get through this, hm?” You ask.

“Get through it? It will be fun!” Marcus’ positivity is almost grating, but he continues. “I was really excited for my class reunion, but I ended up not being able to go—we were on that case in New York.” You nod sympathetically as he continues. “But—I would’ve loved to see everyone again, to see how things have changed.”

“Sounds like you and I had very different high school experiences, Marcus,” you answer with a shake of your head.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Just sounds like you really thrived in high school. Probably voted, like, most popular or something?”

“Most likely to succeed,” he corrects, beaming.

“Same difference,” you scoff.

“What about you? Prettiest? Best smile?” He asks, and you can’t help but to bark a laugh.

“No—no official superlatives. But—” you pause, trying to decide if you should continue, but Marcus is looking between you and the road with rapt attention, and you know he’s probably about to find out in person anyway, so you do with a sigh. “Some of the kids made an unofficial list on social media. I got ‘Most Likely to Die Alone.’” The car is silent and tense as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. You miss the way he physically flinches when you tell him, the amount of times his eyes dance to you with a furrowed brow. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Kids are cruel,” he whispers with a shake of his head.

“That they are,” you agree, eyes tracing up to the window to avoid the tears welling at your lashes. The ride continues in silence as he pulls into the entrance of the high school, the sign itself bringing a sick sense of déjà vu as he drives to the student lot. You hope he gets it now, your less than enthusiastic response to the reunion—you expect to be met with more blind optimism as he pulls into a space.

“You won’t die alone,” he clarifies when he puts the car in park, and you let out a watery laugh, so he continues. “I won’t let you.”

“Ah, the best fake boyfriend a girl could ask for,” you answer sardonically, looking to him over the gearshift before moving to get out of the car. As the door closes, you miss his muffled reminder, small and unsure.

“Yeah. Fake.”

You didn’t attend prom back then, but walking into the musty gym, arm-in-arm with Marcus, you had a feeling this is what it had looked like. Streamers hung from the ceiling in school colors, balloon bouquets decorating at random intervals on the wall. There’s a disco ball and various colored lights shining from the stage where a mediocre band plays a cover of a Top 40 song you can’t quite place. Tepid punch sits in a bowl at the far side of the gym, with cocktail tables and seats spread between the rest of the open space; the school emblem on full display in the middle of the dance floor.

People milled about in small groups, laughing over clear plastic cups and tiny finger foods, a few barely swaying to the music. Like in high school, everyone seemed to fall into their cliques; readily catching up with old friends, sharing pictures and stories of memories past and present. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until Marcus squeezes your bicep, leaning into your ear.

"It’s gonna be great.” The sentiment is almost immediately proven wrong when a woman in sky-high heels and a slinky red dress saunters up, looking you both up and down before saying your full name in greeting. You instantly recognize the shrill tweak of her voice, the intonation that haunted you so many years ago, stiffening. Marcus moves his hand to your hip to pull you closer as you speak.

“Hi, Courtney. Nice to see you.” Despite the words, there’s no emotion in your voice, and she sneers.

“Surprised to see you here, honey,” she coos, and you fight a growl. “You know we missed you at graduation.” Her words are like honey, but her tone conveys that is not the case.

“Yeah, well, guess I just didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of one last roast, Court,” you counter, and she crinkles her nose.

“Oh yes, such a shame we never got along. But, kids will be kids, right?” she laughs humorlessly, and Marcus squeezes your hip as he butts in.

“Kids should be held accountable for their actions,” Marcus counters, and Courtney turns to him as if she’s seeing him for the first time.

“And who’s this? Your…brother?” You bristle slightly at her assumption.

“Her boyfriend. Marcus Pike,” he introduces himself readily, reaching out for a handshake. Courtney delicately lays her hand in his like he should kiss it, and he looks to you before dropping it.

“Hm. Charmed. Oh, here comes Abby—Abby, over here! Oh, honey, you understand, I must catch up with her. Enjoy,” she replies as she walks off, and you fight a gag.

“Lovely,” Marcus huffs under his breath, and you bark out a loud laugh that draws a few too many wandering eyes.

“You just met Most Beautiful,” you scoff, moving further into the gym as Marcus’ eyes follow your figure behind you.

“Debatable.”

Marcus easily leads you around to the food table, piling snacks onto a plate for you both, then putting a few extra of your favorite on top when you’re not looking. You both settle at a nearby table, picking at the cafeteria-level food as the band continues with another cover—the dance floor still empty. Marcus speaks softly over the music.

“So, I’m getting that maybe you didn’t have the best experience here,” he says gently, and you nod negatively. “Is there anyone here you were friends with? That you want to talk to?” You again nod negatively, eyes roaming to Courtney and Abby as they snicker behind their hands, just like old times.

“No. Not really.” You speak smally, and Marcus seems to follow your gaze, reaching a hand to your lap to pick up one of yours and press his lips to your knuckles. The action immediately turns your focus away from the women, who now chatter even more, butterflies catching in your breath, as he murmurs around them. 

“Guess we’ll have to have fun, just the two of us, then.”

Marcus doesn’t immediately have a chance to make good on his promise; another couple sits with you at the table and when you don’t immediately bristle, he introduces himself and you to them—the man, David, reminds you he was in your advanced calculus class senior year, another wallflower you can barely remember. He recounts a story of when the teacher caught you reading in class, forcing you to answer a question to shame you for not paying attention. You had blurted out “451,” the number from the title of the book you were reading, which was actually the correct answer—and the teacher was almost livid. Marcus laughs boisterously at the story, agreeing that it sounded like you before looking over to make eye contact with you; a small giggle has brought the sparkle back to your eyes, and he squeezes your hand on the table before David’s wife, Sarah, speaks.

“So, tell me, how did you two meet?” She points between you, pulling you from the moment.

“Oh, we met at work,” you supply, and Marcus continues, barely looking away from you.

“Yup. Probably not the most romantic of places, but what can I say,” he chuckles. “When you know you know.”

“I thought the same thing about her when I saw Sarah,” David replies, and his wife squeezes his hand. “She knocked on my dorm room door by mistake, trying to drop off homework to a friend, and she was so flustered and awkward about it, she tried to give me the homework instead. The second I saw her, I knew I’d marry her,” he smiles, reminiscing. “Almost transferred into that class for her,” he laughs heartily, and Marcus responds, glancing to you before turning back to the couple.

“She showed me around on my first day of the FBI. She had a book in her hands, like always,” he ribs, and David chuckles in remembrance, but your brow furrows in confusion. “But she had this gross old receipt sticking out of it as a bookmark. Stained, ripped, practically falling apart. Then my lunchbreak came, and I had to run out to get something, and while I was waiting in line, I saw this cheesy DC bookmark—” he looks to you then. “--It was cheap and touristy, but I picked it up without a second thought and brought it back for her. When I gave it to her, her whole face lit up—and then I knew,” he sighs, resting a warm palm over yours. “I knew I wanted to be the reason she smiled like that for the rest of her life,” he finishes as David and his wife gush.

Your eyes are widened at Marcus as he rubs a thumb over your hand; you remember the day he started, too. It seemed so long ago now, showing him how to slap the side of the coffee machine so it works and where to put his paperwork so it didn’t get tossed by the night crew. He’s right, you were carrying a book with you—Romeo and Juliet—as you showed him to his desk, as you told him to park around the back of the building because the meter was always busted. When you took lunch, diving back into the prose, you had barely noticed him leave, too enticed by the escapism of the words on the page; only to be brought back by Marcus gently pulling the book down and out of your view as he handed you the DC bookmark.

“Here—I saw this, and I thought of you,” he laughed, and your entire face lit up before you were able to tone it back to neutral, fighting the broad grin threating to move across your face. He could tell you were about to reject it, so he continued. “Consider it a gift, for showing me around.”

You had nodded and thanked him, almost in awe, smile broken free and permanently plastered on your face as you shifted the cityscape from day to night several times. When you tucked it back into your spot, just as Juliet was about to lament her love on the balcony, you glanced up at him; he sensed your stare, looking up from his work with a small grin, and you knew then and there, you were done for. You’re brought out of the memory by Marcus’ voice.

“If you’ll excuse us, this is our song,” he grins, offering his hand to you. You have no idea what he’s talking about, listening closely to the band you had tuned out until you hear the woman start to sing—You can’t see it; It’s electric!

You’ve already stood, walking to the empty dance floor hand-in-hand with Marcus; it’s too late to turn around. All you can do is laugh; Marcus is smiling so broadly you think his face might split, and to avoid the further mortification of dancing on an empty dance floor, he opts to pull you to him as the song continues, ignoring the pre-choreographed moves as he snakes a hand around your waist, leading you in a goofy, fun dance instead. He spins you to-and-fro, dips you when you make it back to him, wiggles his hips animatedly when the woman orders him to Boogie woogie woogie. He has you hysterically laughing on the dancefloor, tears escaping the corners of your eyes the band finishes the song; he only releases you to clap for them, the singer nodding graciously at you both.

After your clapping, the band starts up again, a slower ballad brining more couples to the dance floor. You move to walk back to your table, but Marcus grabs your hand as you walk by, pulling you back to him.

“Dance with me?” he whispers, barely over the music.

“We just danced,” you laugh.

“I know, but—if we were together, we—we’d dance to this,” he stammers, and you look over his shoulder to see David and Sarah swaying behind him. You give them a nod before looking back at Marcus; his face is soft, almost pleading. You can’t refuse that look, allowing him to pull you to him, closer than before. He rests his hand at the small of your back, the other holding one of yours in the air as you put a hand on his shoulder. You meet his gaze; he was already looking down at you with a smile.

“Thank you for doing this, Marcus,” you whisper, the music continuing as you look around.

“Of course.” You see some other people you recognize, neither friends nor foes. Your tennis partner in gym class dancing with another man you vaguely recognize, the valedictorian and her partner swaying as well. Other couples who seem to have followed your lead onto the dance floor. Courtney sits at a table with a withering stare, whispering something to a man in a letterman jacket you’re too far to recognize, and Marcus notices your gaze, pulling you that much closer until your head is resting on his shoulder.

He smells like cologne and a bit like the musty gym, but you don’t mind, melting into him as he hums softly to the song. Sarah smiles at you over his shoulder, and for a second, you let yourself believe it was real. Believe that you really were dating Marcus, that he really did want to see you smile every day for the rest of your life together. That he’d dance the Electric Slide at your wedding, that he would be the one stopping you from dying alone like your classmates predicted. You close your eyes, unsure if you’re trying to savor the moment or ignore it completely, focusing on the words of the singer instead of Marcus’ low hum and steady heartbeat.

  But if you feel like I feel

Please let me know that it's real

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

The words hit a bit too close to home, and you peel your eyes open, looking up to Marcus to find him already looking down at you with a small smile. It all feels like too much—the slow sway, the words in the song, the rumble in his chest, his hand in yours. You start to panic, pulling away from him just as the song ends, eyes frantic as you take in the lights and the sounds and Courtney’s shrill voice seems to cut through it all, telling you kids will be kids, and you need out, rushing away from the only embrace you want to seek out.

Marcus isn’t sure what he did wrong; he knew he was pushing it, asking you to dance for real instead of his jokey moves to make you laugh, but he wanted to pretend, just for a minute, that he could have you. That he could be dancing with you at your fiftieth high school reunion, your hundredth. That he would wake up to that smile, that your head would rest on his shoulder for the rest of time.

But the way you looked when you pulled away, almost fearful as you rushed out of the gym and Courtney let out a loud cackle, he knew he messed everything up. He took it too seriously, got too close, and now he’d lost you. David approaches him, concerned, and Marcus asks the only question he can think of.

“Where’s the library?”

Walking through the dark halls at night feels almost against the rules, and in an effort to seek any comfort you can, you make your way the one place you know best in the school; the library. Almost immediately, you snake between the shelves, settling between them in a back corner to try to organize your thoughts; you’ve barely sat for a few minutes before you hear footsteps approach and the doors close again, and you suck in a breath, holding in the tears you had let begin to fall and hoping Marcus hasn’t come after you—you don’t want him to see you like this, emotional and overwhelmed. Don’t want him to comfort you, to make you fall in love with him even more. You stay stone still as you hear him approach, weaving through the aisles before the footsteps cease.

“Ah. Here you are,” you jump when a woman’s voice cuts through the darkness, eyes focusing to see Sarah approach and sit down next to you. “Romance section. Right where he said you’d be,” she chuckles.

"What do you mean?” you sniffle.

“Your boyfriend said you’d probably come here for some quiet. Told me to check the romance section first,” she smiles, and you shake your head.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Did—did you just break up?” Sarah does little to hide her shock as she asks.

“No,” you sigh. “We—we were never dating. He’s only here ‘cause he feels bad for me, and I was taking advantage of it. He would never—”

“Never what? ‘Cause if you say ‘love you,’ I might slap you across the face,” she jokes, but when you give her a confused look, she continues. “You might not be dating, but that man loves you. Like, loves you-loves you. If he could marry you today, I think he would.”

“I really doubt that,” you huff.

“David practically had to physically restrain him from running after you,” she explains. “He was worried he hurt you somehow. I told him I would come find you; he told me how things were back then. For you, for David. I know I wasn’t in your class but things like that stick with you.” You can only nod at her words.

“He wasn’t gonna come tonight, David. But I told him he should. We sat with you because—because he said you were a nice girl back then. Always reading,” the woman gestures to the books around you, “but nice. So when you ran out, he was worried that Marcus said something.” You’re practically knocked back into the shelves, unaware that someone else could have even thought anything about you. You spent so much time back then feeling alone, listless and lost, when in reality, you had some people on your side—you just didn’t know it.

“I knew there was no way Marcus hurt you. That man looks at you like you’re his whole world.”

“You’re just saying that,” you toy with a loose string of carpet as she barks a laugh.

"He knew exactly where to find you, practically gave me the Dewey Decimal number for this section,” she chuckles, and you fight the urge to correct her that the Dewey Decimal system doesn’t include fiction. “And I bet that bookmark story was true. No man could make up a story like that,” she laughs, and you finally laugh too, watery and weak, but she smiles. “So c’mon. I know you’re not dating, but your man is waiting for you—besides, you’re here with a hot FBI agent, and Courtney is still hung up on some washed up football player—and now he’s balding,” she stands, holding out a hand to you to help you up. You follow her movements, allowing her to primp your dress a bit. “So you’re gonna go out there, sweep your man off his feet, and give her a big middle finger as you do another weird version of the Electric Slide.” You chuckle, tears finally dried, and walk back through the halls with Sarah toward the gym, only stopping with a nod at the bathroom so you can touch up your makeup.         

Sarah leaves you to it, and you make quick work of cleaning up whatever makeup is left on your face before entering one of the stalls; the main door to the bathroom quickly swinging open, with it a rush of conversation pouring into the bathroom.

“—Rob’s taking me out for drinks after.”

“Oh my God, now that we’re alone--did you see that dress?”

"Puke green, of course,” another woman chuckles, and you look at your dress—a ruddy olive.

“Surprised she didn’t bring a book as her date,” the first woman replies, and you would almost bet money that it’s Courtney and Abby now.

“Yeah, but did you see that man she was with? Mark something? Mmmm, he is fine,” Courtney replies. They must be fixing their makeup in the mirrors, unaware you’re in the stall; you’re practically frozen in place, unable to escape their words like you’re back in school. “Arrest me, FBI Agent, I’ve been a bad girl,” she tries seductively.

“Well, go for it. I doubt they’re actually dating. No way a man like that would be with her,” Abby laughs, and the tears start to brim again at your lashes. “Don’t worry, our prediction was right—she’s still going to die alone,” she hums, and you finally hear the door close again, their conversation carried into the hall. With that, you take a moment to let out a sob that crawled up into your throat as they spoke.

You’re barely composed by the time you make it back to the gym, immediately bee-lining for Marcus; only stopping dead in your tracks when you find his back to you, Courtney laughing in front of him, running a hand from his shoulder to his chest as she looks directly at you, a small smirk on her face as she takes in the look of pure devastation on your face.

You’re running out of the gym before you can see Marcus shrug her off, before you can see the look of disgust on his face. Before he can tell her he’s not interested; he loves you, and only you. He follows her gaze to see your retreating figure; the second time tonight where it feels like his heart is leaving with you, but this time, he does what he wanted to do the first time. He runs after you.

You try to rush faster when you hear his dress shoes click in the echoey hall, when he calls your name, but with a few quick strides, he’s caught up to you, stepping in front of you to stop you breathlessly and running his hands over your arms when you won’t meet his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Marcus. I just—I’m gonna go. I’ll get an Uber or something, you can stay,” you mumble smally, eyes on your toes as you try to push past him.

“What? What are you talking about? Why would I stay without you?” he asks exasperatedly; he doesn’t let you brush past him, grabbing your wrist as you pass. “Please—please talk to me.” He’s so gentle, almost pleading with you, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. How unbelievably devastated you were to see him with her, how everything was exactly how it was when you were still a student. How even Sarah, a complete stranger, had been lying to your face; Mr. Most Likely to Succeed deserved Ms. Most Beautiful. You truly would die alone, as predicted.

Instead, you spit out all you can.

“I—I just want to go home,” you stammer out smally, the air between you suffocating—all you can see is the gym floor where your uniform pulled in ugly places, the stage where the cool girls would sit during lunch and spit venom. The halls that left you feeling alone despite wading through a sea of students, the classrooms where they snickered about you in voices loud enough to hear, always “too much”—too quiet, too smart, too serious, too you--you took up too much of their precious space, and here you were, doing it all over again so many years later. 

“Okay. Okay, let’s go,” Marcus nods, releasing your hand to walk beside you back out of the school, fighting the urge to take your hand in his. You suck a deep breath of chilly night air, a shiver focusing down your spine as you exit the building. Marcus immediately removes his jacket, draping it over your shoulders—you fight the urge to roll it off, not wanting to be rude, but you pick up your pace, the car coming into sight.

You’re almost to the parking lot, almost at your escape. Marcus is matching your hurried pace as he hovers a hand over your back, too spooked to actually touch but sparing a worried glance to you every few seconds—when a male voice yells over the courtyard, you physically flinch and try to pull him along.

"Hey, man, how much is she payin’ you to be here with her? You some kinda hooker or something?” A group of guys laughs behind him; you don’t need to look to recognize the voice of one of your tormenters, and Courtney’s original object of affections, Rob. Marcus looks to you quickly, almost in shock, his steps slowing—you grab his hand to try to pull him along harder, but Marcus has stopped dead in his tracks, feet planted in the concrete. He squeezes your hand tightly before dropping it to turn to the group, an angry snarl over his lips.

“Marcus, can we just go? Please? You don’t—don’t need to pretend anymore,” you whimper, running a hand over his arm to get his attention, but the men speak again.

“C’mon, man. I’ll pay you double if you hump and dump her right now,” Rob chortles; you hear glass clinking behind him, no doubt illegally snuck in liquor fueling his words. Before the words can fall from his lips, Marcus covers the short distance between them, squaring up to the man as his compatriots “ooh” and “ahh” behind him.

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about. You gonna say that to my face, big guy?” Marcus practically growls, and you hear one of the other men chuckle, having made your way closer to the two. You’re gently pulling on Marcus’ hand, trying to eek him away, but instead he holds out a protective arm over you, stepping closer into Rob’s face to look him dead in the eyes.

“Oh, please. We all know she’s not putting out—she’s always been a frigid bitch,” Rob sneers, egged on by the men behind him, but before he can even finish his sentence, Marcus throws a hard punch, fist connecting straight with Rob’s jaw in a sickening crack. You can’t help but shriek Marcus’ name as Rob starts to fight back; a mess of arms and loosely balled fists as the liquor overpowers him; he lands a punch on Marcus, but Marcus is quick to take him completely to the ground, hovering over Rob’s face with his dress shirt balled in his fists.

“Don’t you ever—ever—talk about my girlfriend like that again. Don’t even look at her. In fact—don’t even think about her,” he snarls, and in his stupor, Rob’s been rendered too dumb to respond. A commanding voice calls out for them to break it up, Rob’s friends scattering at any hint of trouble, as Marcus climbs off Rob, hands in the air.

A security guard had meandered his way over as Marcus brushes his pants off, fitted suit still somehow pristine despite the trickle of blood running from his nose that he attempts to snort back up. When you reach out to him again, gently, like he’s a wounded animal, he finally takes you in—emotion written all over your face, trembling hands that don’t quite connect with his. He quickly takes you into a hug, giving in to his desire to touch you as the security guard talks with Rob, cradling your head with his stiff hand and breathing you in again. You let out a small sob, and he soothes your back—adrenaline finally wearing down, he can feel the pain blooming in his knuckles, the slight displacement in the bridge of his nose, but in that moment, he practically melts back into your touch.

Rob decides not to press charges, much to your relief, after Marcus, Rob and the guard talk it over in hushed tones—you left quaking a few steps out of earshot. The security guard sends you both on your way with a disposable ice pack from the nurse’s office and a warning not to come back around, which you tell him you will heed with vigilance—the same said to Rob, who you have a feeling will be back for the next reunion. You end up sitting at a picnic table by the football field as you activate the ice pack, both of you in tense silence as you tend to Marcus, silently offering his jacket back but shrugging it back on when he refuses it.

“I—I’m sorry I made you come tonight. I didn’t know—how bad things were for you back then, and I’m sorry I overstepped, I—” You cut him off as you press the pack to his nose and he lets out a hiss, then continues. “It’s just—I thought this would be fun for us, but you just looked so sad, and no one should talk about my—you like that. Ever.” You press a little harder on the ice, and Marcus is convinced he’s messed everything between you up, only the noise of incessant crickets filling the space until you speak quietly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you why I didn’t want to come tonight. It just—I thought I was past it. We were past it. They would see how I had grown and matured and things would be different. Apparently not,” you huff as Marcus takes the ice pack from you to press it in a better position. Your hand instead falls to your lap, chilly from the residual coldness of the pack—he quickly grabs it to warm it in his palm.

“You know—you don’t owe these people anything,” he replies, squeezing your hand when you look away. “You don’t. You grew into someone beautiful, inside and out; someone—someone who’s easy to love. Despite them, not because of them,” he says almost bashfully. You fiddle with his hand in yours, heat rising to your cheeks at his words. “That’s the superlative I would pick for you. Most beautiful, funniest, smartest, kindest, most well-read—” he chuckles, and you shake your head, “—they’re all true, but I’d pick Most Loveable.”

“You—you don’t mean that,” you sigh, but he pulls the cold pack from his face to toss it on the table to counter.

“I do.” Tears are brimming at your lashes, but you’re unable to look at him; instead, you choose to deflect with humor.

“Thanks, Marcus. You’re a very good fake-boyfriend,” you laugh smally, and he returns it. “Sorry about your nose.”

“Eh, it’s seen worse,” he shrugs, and you finally let out a true laugh; he smiles broadly, your reaction giving him some confidence to continue as your hand pulls away. “There’s that smile.” You shyly look to your feet, gaining confidence as you speak.

“Was—was that story you told David and Sarah true?”

“It was,” he admits. “I mean, you know everything that went down with Teresa—I don’t even know why I picked up that bookmark. I was still grieving what could have been, still figuring myself out. But when your whole face lit up when I gave it to you, I—I wanted to see it again and again.”

“You know, you’re the only person who’s ever done something like that for me,” you confess.

“I—I want to keep doing things like that for you,” he admits and you finally turn to him, wide-eyed. “Ugh, I—this isn’t exactly how I thought this was going to go, but here we are—I really care about you. As my friend, but also—as more than that. You—I think you’re Most Loveable because I love you. When I asked you to this tonight, I was asking you for real—a real date, though now I see how that backfired,” he chuckles bashfully, as you laugh along. “If you don’t want that, though, I get it. No harm, no foul. But—I guess now’s as good a time as any to finally tell you.”

You’re completely shocked by his confession, here at the picnic table in what feels like the dead of night. You know the artificial lights are doing you no favors, know your dress is pulling in weird places and your heels are kicked off into the grass, but when you make eye contact with Marcus, you see it—pure adoration.  A look you had dreamed of, here at this very table while you got lost in fantastical worlds and whirlwind romances through the books you so often read, right in front of you—and aimed at you. You know you’ve waited too long to respond when Marcus begins to turn away, and you quickly grab his bicep, thick and corded even under his shirt, his jacket slipping from your shoulder at the sudden movement.

With that his face is grasped in your hands, pulled to yours as you meet his lips with ferocity. He takes a moment to realize what’s happening, but once he does, he leans further into you, sneaking his hands around your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You attempt to deepen the kiss, but feel Marcus wince when his nose brushes yours and pull away. He chases your lips, only opening his eyes when he feels your breath fan over his face.

“Sorry—I hit your sore nose,” you chuckle, running a gentle finger down the bridge as he smiles into your touch. “I—I love you, too, Marcus. I want to be that person for you. The one who makes you smile like you make me smile.”

He’s already smiling broadly, bringing his face toward yours for another chaste kiss before pulling away and pulling you to your feet to fully envelop you in his hold.

“You already are,” he looks into your eyes as he speaks, and you’re sure you both look like lovesick fools, but he continues. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here, I know a 24-hour diner nearby where I can take you on a real date,” he smiles with a plotting grin, and you laugh, bumping your shoulder into him as you begin to walk to the car. Instead of letting you pull away, his hand quickly grabs your opposite one, pulling you to his side as you smile coyly.

“Hey Marcus?” He hums in acknowledgement as he opens your car door for you, then gets in on the driver’s side. “How did you convince Rob not to press charges?”

“Flashed him my badge,” Marcus smirks, and you let out a full laugh, incredulous.

“You ridiculous man,” you tease.

“Hey, they said Most likely to succeed—they didn’t specify how!”

[jikookiekosmos]

When I Dream of You || jjk

➥Pairing: best friend!jungkook/reader, husband!jungkook/reader

➥Summary: Jungkook always imagined being with you was like a dream come true, and after years of pining he can finally say it’s all he could have ever hoped for and more. But what happens now when Jungkook’s dreams about you no longer have a happy ending?

➥Genre: established relationship, (somewhat?) heavy angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort

➥Rating: 18+

➥Words: ~6.2k (little much for a drabble i know, sorry)

➥Content warnings: story mostly told from jungkook’s POV, jungkook has a nightmare, feelings of insecurity and anxiety, mentions of harassment (not much), yoongi to the rescue (seriously he’s the voice of reason i love him), making out, grinding, slight hair pulling, riding on top, reader is in control (and jk is happy about it), unprotected sex (safe sex is great sex), cumming inside, cute times in the shower, jungkook is actually the sweetest, reader and jk are so in love with each other it hurts, also jk saying ‘only for you’ is a thing i started and can’t stop now oops

A/N: hello! This is part of my Only for You (OFY) Drabble series, but it can be read as a stand-alone! Their relationship will make a lot more sense though if you’ve read OFY beforehand. This fic takes place roughly around a year after the events of OFY. (I also mentioned this in the post for OFY but for those who haven’t read it, the Kun in the story isn’t referring to any other irl person specifically, it was just a name I chose to make the initial story easier to write.)

As always, thank you to @dntaewithluv​ for being so supportive of me and motivating me to keep writing when there are times I feel like I shouldn’t. And for also being my beta-reader and just generally an amazing person, one of the best friends I could ever ask for.

I’ve written a few other drabbles and will list them below, along with a general timeline:

Use My Best Colors For Your Portrait - ~6 months after OFY

Stay With Me - a few months after this dream drabble

I know this is the most angsty thing I’ve written so far (update: Stay With Me now holds this title), but I got attached to these characters and wanted to tell more of their story so here we are. I basically wrote this all in one sitting because I’ve had this idea in my head for a little while and I was excited to get it out. I hope that if you read this, you enjoy it~

➥OFY Spotify Playlist (songs I listened to for inspo)

➥Series Masterlist

➥All Works Masterlist

taglist: @inlovewiththemoonn​​

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

Jungkook was dreaming again.

It was a dream he’d had many times now, and it always started the same way. He watched as you appeared in the doorway of the chapel, ready to make your trek down the aisle.

You looked dazzling in your dress, and through the thin veil that covered your face, Jungkook could see the brilliant smile you wore, which caused him to break out into one of his own. Each step that brought you closer to him made his heart race faster, and it didn’t take long for you to finally be in front of him.

Well…somewhat in front of him.

He could only watch as at the last second, you turned slightly and were now standing in front of Kun, the man you were originally meant to marry. Jungkook’s stomach twisted with fear as he observed Kun lift your veil over your head and take your hands in his as you both stared into each other’s eyes. You, looking at Kun with all the love in the world, because that’s just how you were. And Kun, looking back at you, with a sinister expression that made Jungkook feel dizzy.

He opened his mouth to object, to speak, to do something but no sound would come out. Everyone around him that had gathered to see you get married were either oblivious to Jungkook’s obvious distress, or they just didn’t care.

They weren’t here for him, after all. They were here for you, in the same way that he was here for you, too.

When his legs could finally move without crumpling underneath him, he walked over to stand next to you and Kun as he tried to reach out to you. He couldn’t touch you, though, because it was like there was an invisible wall in between the two of you now. A wall he could still see through but couldn’t reach past. He moved back at the realization, only to be met with something similar hitting his back.

Jungkook whirled around and was met with the same thing, now surrounding him on all sides, trapping him inside some sort of box. A box where he could still see what was happening but couldn’t stop it despite what he did. He felt suffocated.

He was shouting from inside his new prison, banging on the walls, trying to make any sort of sound that would reach you. And he knew you couldn’t hear him; you didn’t spare even one glance his way. But he still had to try. The longer he let this go on, the greater the chance of losing you grew to be.

And the possibility of that, of losing you in any capacity, was something he couldn’t bear to even think about.

Jungkook could hear everything coming from your mouth. The cheerfulness in your voice was usually something he loved to hear under any given circumstance. But in this case, it was threatening to tear him apart. He listened dismally as the two of you started reciting your vows to each other.

And his heart started to break when he heard the words from the letter he’d tried to give you all those years ago. Tears were forming in his vision as he listened to Kun rattle off the words he’d written for you. Words he never got to claim as his own until much later, when it was almost too late.

He could feel his heart shatter at the sight of the breathtaking smile on your face as you two finished your vows, moving now to kiss each other and seal the deal.

He tried once more to call out to you, but any sound he could’ve possibly made would’ve been immediately drowned out by the cheering from everyone around you.

His legs gave out as he knelt down to the floor, helplessly staring at you as you linked your arm with Kun’s to walk back down the aisle as a newly married couple. It took the last bit of his strength to look up as you passed, and you didn’t notice him.

But Kun did.

Kun paused in front of Jungkook, still separated by that invisible wall, and he grinned. It was the kind of grin you’d expect from someone who’s sole purpose in life was to sabotage others’ happiness. Which, ironically enough, is exactly what Kun was now known for.

All Jungkook could do was look on while you left the chapel, followed by the many guests who had gathered for the ceremony. Only when everyone was gone was he able to move about freely, but he opted to remain seated on the floor there instead as the chapel slowly started to fill with darkness once the doors closed.

Jungkook awoke with a start, bolting upright and inhaling a sharp intake of air. He was covered in sweat that dampened his hair and made it stick to his forehead. His breathing was shallow, and it took him a few seconds to remember where he was.

He was at home, in his bed. It was nighttime and sleeping next to him was a figure who’d remained undisturbed by his sudden movement.

He cautiously looked over at your sleeping form. You were turned on your side, facing away from him, breathing peacefully. His eyes softened at the sight and he could feel his heartbeat start to slow down into a pace much less frantic.

He pushed his hair out of his face as he took a deep breath. He knew he should probably wake you, especially since you always told him to do so whenever he had nightmares. Lately, he hadn’t been having any bad dreams, so it had been a while since he last had to rouse you from your slumber.

He reached an arm out, only for it to gently fall by his side. He hated waking you unless it was really important, because he knew you sometimes had trouble sleeping, and this included falling back asleep if something made you wake up during the middle of the night. You’d been especially exhausted lately, what with the new exciting event that had suddenly happened in both of your lives.

Well, exciting wasn’t really the right word. Terrifying fit way better.

After managing to avoid Kun for over an entire year, he somehow turned up at your new place of employment one day, surprising you and frightening you all at the same time. He told the staff at the front desk that he was an ‘old friend, here to congratulate you on your new position.’ And they believed it, so they let him come up to your office unsupervised.

Let’s just say when Jungkook heard about that little ordeal, he was not pleased at all.

Ever since then, Kun had been borderline harassing you, even sometimes going as far as to try and talk to Jungkook during his shifts at the bar. That lasted for all of maybe 2 encounters before Kun found himself banned and unable to return.

You both thought he was out of your life for good after the break-up, but he was proving to be much more of a plague than you or Jungkook initially imagined. So yes, these recent events had maybe been causing Jungkook to have intrusive thoughts once again that translated themselves into the one recurring nightmare he used to have shortly after the two of you got together.

The nightmare of him losing you. You obviously didn’t end up marrying Kun, but you came a lot closer to it than Jungkook liked. And that wasn’t because he’d been pining after you for years; he could’ve dealt with that, if it ended with you being happy. It was more so the reason that your relationship with Kun hadn’t seemed genuine on his end, and Jungkook wanted better for you than that.

Sometimes he wondered if he was the right one to give you what you deserved.

He shook his head to keep more thoughts from seeping in, but he knew sitting here alone in the dark wouldn’t help with that for long. He glanced at the time on his phone. It was 2:08 A.M., so not too late, but most people were usually sleeping at that time.

Nonetheless, Jungkook pulled back the covers and swung his feet over the side of the bed to stand up. He moved as gently as possibly to not risk waking you, but on his way to the bathroom he had to pass by your side of the bed.

Your sleeping face was free of worry, and your lips were slightly parted as you were breathing softly. The sight made Jungkook’s heart thump. He couldn’t help himself when he leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

If you woke up, he’d just tell you he had to use the restroom and try to coax you back to sleep. You looked too cute for him not to kiss you, though, so he deduced it was worth the risk.

He padded off to the bathroom then, only wearing a pair of gym shorts. Every step he took was calculated so he didn’t make much noise, and when he finally made it to the bathroom, he closed the door as quietly as possible, listening to the faint click before he leaned against the sink.

He sighed and fished his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for. After dialing the number, he put the phone to his ear, and within 2 rings someone picked up.

“Kook? You ok?”

Jungkook smiled. “Yeah, Yoongs, I’m ok. Just needed to talk to someone, that’s all.”

He heard shuffling from the end of the line and he felt a small pang of guilt at the fact that he may have woken his friend up. But then again, it was Yoongi, and he wasn’t a stranger to being up at this hour.

Yoongi hummed. “Y/N not awake then, huh?”

Jungkook shook his head, despite Yoongi not being able to see him. Yoongi took his silence as confirmation.

“Hm, well you do know I love talking to you, but I am wondering why this time of night?”

Jungkook sighed. Better to get it over with than beat around the bush. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh no,” he could hear the somberness of Yoongi’s tone. “Is it the same one, or…”

“Same one,” Jungkook answered without hesitation.

“Kook, we’ve been over this-”

“I know,” he groaned, running a hand down his face. “I know. Trust me, I don’t want to keep having this happen either.”

“Can you think of anything that may have triggered it?”

Jungkook tongued his cheek then. The more he thought about it, the only thing he could see as being a potential trigger for these dreams to come flooding back would be Kun’s unwanted reappearance.

While he was still thinking, Yoongi continued.

“Do you think it has anything to do with that asshole showing up again?”

Jungkook smirked. He knew how much disdain Yoongi had for Kun, and for good reason.

“Yeah, it’s exactly that, I’m almost positive.”

It sounded like Yoongi was moving again and Jungkook could just picture him now, sitting up and shaking his head in disappointment, not at Jungkook, but at the situation.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna level with you.”

Jungkook gulped.

“I honestly have no idea why you’re letting someone like that affect you. He’s not worth your time, he’s not worth Y/N’s time, not worth anyone’s time if you ask me. Letting him continue to have this kind of effect on you isn’t healthy.”

Jungkook sighed again, his breath coming out somewhat shaky. “I know, it’s just…it’s hard. It’s really hard, Yoongs. I can’t help but think of how close I came to losing her and fuck it hurts every time I think about it.”

“First of all, you wouldn’t have lost her, and you know that-”

“Yeah but seeing him is a reminder that I came close.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi’s tone was stern now, and Jungkook immediately stopped talking.

Yoongi took a deep breath. “Like I was saying, you wouldn’t have lost her. You mean too much to her and she means too much to you for either of you to have let that happen. Give her a little more credit, yeah?”

At the mention of you, Jungkook’s lips curved upwards into a smile. He knows you’d never allow anything to take you away from him, outside of maybe some things beyond both of your control. But you certainly would never let someone come in between the friendship you both shared.

A friendship that had developed over several years and had now blossomed into a beautiful, loving partnership.

There it was again: you. Anytime Jungkook thought about you, it always made him happy. He was so in love with you and had been for so many years, so it was sometimes still surreal to him that you two were together now. Your smiling face was all he needed to get him through some days.

But right now the vision of you playing out in his head was the sight of you the night he found you in your house kneeling on the floor after Kun broke your marriage off. You looked so utterly broken, and Jungkook made a promise to himself then and there that he’d do anything in his power to make it so you never felt that way again.

“Kook? You still with me there?”

Yoongi’s voice roused Jungkook out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good. You know I worry about you, kid.”

Jungkook smiled. “I know.”

“This is the first time you’ve had this dream in a while, right?”

Jungkook leaned against the sink again, looking at the tiled floor underneath his feet. “Yeah, it’s been months.”

“Then I want you to do something for me, ok?”

Confused, but intrigued, Jungkook shook his head. “Yeah, sure.”

“I want you to take a look at your left hand.”

Jungkook did as he was told, splaying his fingers out in front of him.

“Now tell me what you see?”

Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at his gold wedding band as it glistened faintly in the light of the room.

“My wedding ring,” he answered softly.

“Exactly. Your wedding ring. It belongs to you. And it means you’re the one who’s married to her. Not him, not anyone else, but you.”

Jungkook could see exactly where Yoongi was going with this, and the thought made him almost tear up. Yoongi knew exactly what to say and when to say it whenever Jungkook needed reassurance about something, and this was one of those times.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna tell you this, and it’s something I want you to remember. Y/N loves you. She loves you so much. My God, sometimes it’s hard to look at you two because you’re always so lovey dovey like-”

Jungkook laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

He could imagine Yoongi smiling on the other end. “Good. I think as long as you remember that, you’ll be ok. It’d probably still help to talk to her, though. You know how upset she’d be if she knew you were suffering in silence about your dreams again.”

Jungkook shakily inhaled, his grip on the sink behind him tightening. “I know. I’ll talk to her, probably in the morning since she’s still asleep-”

Jungkook cut himself off when he heard the soft sound of you calling his name. “Yoongs, I gotta go, thank you for answering and for everything else.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Anytime. Night, Kook.”

Jungkook hung up the phone and peered from behind the bathroom door. He saw you sitting up in the bed now, rubbing your eyes before you stretched. He was so fond of you, the sight made his heart swell.

He also noticed how the t-shirt you were wearing had ridden up some during your stretch and he could see the exposed skin of your thighs now now. He even thought that something as simple as you wearing a t-shirt was breathtaking. And when it was one of his t-shirts, like it was now – on some days it was enough to drive him crazy.

Now wasn’t the time for that though. He watched lovingly as you focused your eyes on him and smiled. He wasted no time getting back in the bed with you, seated with one leg crossed under him, his hand coming down to rest on top of your own.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a lazy kiss. Jungkook melted into the kiss when you deepened it, because after everything he just went through, any touch from you now was igniting all his feelings for you.

All of them, which is why he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours.

“Hey,” he said with a smile, nuzzling his nose against yours before pulling away to look at you. He could tell you were still sleepy, but you wouldn’t attempt to go back to sleep without talking first. Especially since he knew you could tell something might be off.

Your brows furrowed. “Koo? What’s wrong?”

Jungkook took a deep breath, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I had another nightmare.”

The immediate look of concern on your face made his heart lurch, and not in a pleasant way. “Baby, what happened?”

He brought up your hand to place a kiss on your knuckles, right above your ring.

“I had that nightmare. You know the one…”

You frowned. “Jungkook-”

“But it’s ok, really. I talked to Yoongi and I feel a little better.” He was looking anywhere but your face now, so you placed a hand under his chin, tilting it up so he’d look at you.

“You know you can always wake me up and talk to me.” You brushed your thumb across one of his cheekbones and he sighed into the touch.

“I know. You’ve been having trouble sleeping lately so I-”

“You also know that if I have trouble sleeping, usually cuddling with you helps. So please don’t use that as an excuse.”

Jungkook felt guilty again because he knew you were right. Before he came along, sleeping wasn’t always easy for you, but in the comfort of his arms, you found slumber much faster these days.

You took Jungkook’s face in both of your hands, your own chest twisting with pain at the sight of him. His big, doe-like eyes were shining with so much emotion, and all you wanted to do was take away all his worries.

“Do you know why you had that dream again?”

Jungkook nodded, absentmindedly brushing his thumb along your thigh. “Everything that’s happened with Kun lately, it- I don’t know, it just bothers me. It bothers me way more than it should. And I guess it just made me think again about- well, you know.”

Jungkook’s head hung then, and you leaned down so you could look into his eyes once more. He brought his head up to keep you from having to lean uncomfortably like that for too long.

“Koo,” you brushed a piece of his long, dark curly locks out of his face. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I know that things happened in the past that we can’t erase or change, but what we can do is focus on our future. Our future that we’re building together.”

He started to smile at your words, his heart lurching again now, but in a good way this time. Every time you told him you were in love with him, he felt like he could conquer the world.

“So please don’t worry about what almost happened or what could’ve been, because what matters is we’re here now. We’re here together. And I don’t plan on going anywhere,” you placed a quick peck on his lips, “Unless you want me to, that is.”

Jungkook quickly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you so you were straddling his lap, making you giggle as you tried to steady yourself. His hands rested comfortably against your waist and you placed yours on his shoulders. He looked up at you now with so much love and adoration.

“Never. I’m not planning on ever letting you go,” he accentuated his words with his grip around you by wrapping his arms more tightly around your waist to pull you closer to his chest. “Not until the day you decide you don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Well I don’t see that ever happening, so I guess we have nothing to worry about then, do we?” You booped his nose and he grinned, placing a hand on the back of your head to bring your lips down to meet his once more. The kiss was soft, yet passionate.

And it quickly turned into something more.

You deepened the kiss and Jungkook groaned into it, kissing you back now with a fervor that had you unconsciously moving your hips against him. He broke the kiss to lean his head back against the headboard, eyes shut and mouth parted.

“Fuck,” Jungkook panted. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Y/N. And right now,” he opened his eyes to stare at you again, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

His hand snaked underneath your t-shirt to brush at the skin he found there, pulling your head back down for another kiss.

“I want to show you how much I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “Will you let me?”

The sound of his voice shot straight to your core, and you were nodding before he could even finish his question. He chuckled against your lips before he started trailing them down your neck.

“Need to hear you say it, baby,” he spoke as his lips ghosted over your throat, his hold on you tightening.

“Please,” you breathed out, pulling at his dark tresses and making him grunt. “Please, Koo. I want you to make love to me.”

That was all he needed. Jungkook started placing kisses along your neck and down to your collarbone that was exposed from the collar of his shirt, his fists clenching around the material at the bottom of it.

“I love you,” he kept saying in between kisses. “Gonna take care of you.”

He started tugging your shirt up and you met him halfway, ridding yourself of the garment fast enough that it made him chuckle at your eagerness. He started peppering kisses all over your chest, kneading at your breasts, rolling your nipples in between your fingers and making your hips move faster.

You could feel him growing harder underneath you through the thin fabric of the shorts he was still wearing, so you sped up your movements, making him moan.

“These need to come off, don’t you think, baby?” You tugged at his shorts. Another moan came from Jungkook as he nodded, helping you move up so he could shimmy out of his shorts. He still didn’t think he could ever get used to that pet name coming from you, and he thought it was the sexiest thing ever when it fell from your lips.

Of course, Jungkook thought nearly everything you did was sexy. That was just the effect you had on him. Everything intimate was intense in the best way possible, and if this was what being in love felt like, he never wanted to stop being in love with you.

He loved you. He needed you. He wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. And he’d never felt this way about anyone else for.

He felt all of these things for you. Only for you.

Jungkook was pulled out of his thoughts of how much he loved you by the feeling of you grinding down onto him again, this time the only barrier of clothing between the two of you being your own panties.

Yeah, Jungkook wasn’t having that.

He made quick work of removing your soaked panties, laughing again at your enthusiastic impatience. He loved seeing that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

“Be careful, angel,” He cooed at you as you tried to steady yourself on his lap once more. He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs while you huffed, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Just wanna feel you already,” you said breathily, and the sound of your voice mixed with the words that fell from your mouth made him twitch. He knew he probably wouldn’t last long inside of you, and with the way you were already worked up, he figured you might not either.

But tonight wasn’t one of those nights where he planned on going for hours anyway (even though you both definitely could at times and boy did he love it when that happened). No, tonight was about him proving to you how much he loved you, telling you through his words and soft caresses and the way he took care of you.

And you did the same for him. Jungkook had never had anyone care about him before the way that you do. He knew you’d do anything to ensure his happiness, the same as he would for you.

And that’s also why he thought you were destined to be together. And he hoped he would never fuck that up, that anything would ever fuck that up.

Jungkook heard you whine from your place in his lap, still grinding against him to find some much-needed friction. You felt so good on top of him that he let himself enjoy it for a few moments, soft moans escaping his lips as he watched you through half-lidded eyes. You leaned down to give him another kiss, and in the same movement, he picked you up by your thighs under your ass and placed you back down where his tip was at your entrance.

He grunted against your lips as he felt you sink down onto him, waiting for you to accommodate to the stretch as you’d done many times before. You always told him you could handle it and sometimes you wanted him to be a little rougher with you from the get-go. Jungkook wasn’t at that level where he was comfortable with that yet.

But one day, he thought, especially with how good you feel around him, he just might be.

When he was finally completely inside of you, he waited just enjoying the feel of your warmth around his length. He brushed some hair out of your face, noticing how your eyes were glinting in the faint light of the room.

God, he could never get enough of staring into your eyes. He’d happily get lost in them over and over again.

Now, though, they were starting to close as you picked yourself only to drop down again a moment later. The action caused Jungkook to let out a throaty moan, eyes fluttering closed at the motion.

Hm. That was new.

Usually, Jungkook would guide you with his hands on your hips, and it wasn’t that he didn’t let you have control, it was more that you never really wanted to take control. So, seeing you decide to do it now was exciting and something he’d gladly let happen if that’s what you wanted.

To be sure though, he placed his hands on your waist. You placed yours on top of his and shook your head.

“Let me take the lead,” you said as you pushed his chest to where he was lying down more. “You can keep your hands here, but I want to do the work.”

Jungkook frowned, only because he knew you still had to be tired. “Angel, are you sure? I can help- fuck.”

You cut him off as you clenched around him before you started moving again, his hands constricting around your waist. You placed your hands firmly on your chest to help you get more leverage as you continued moving.

As you sped up, Jungkook leaned his head back into the pillow he was lying on, eyes screwed shut and the prettiest sounds falling from his lips. You watched as the muscles in his neck strained with the movement, and that alone made you want to mark him up.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

Jungkook managed to open his eyes and look at you riding him, the sight making him twitch inside of you. He thought you looked so beautiful like this, and you taking the lead was so hot to him, he knew he’d definitely not last long if you kept this up-

“Do you know,” you broke off to moan as his cock hit a spot inside of you that made your breath hitch, “do you know why I wanted to take control tonight?”

Jungkook swallowed and shook his head, rubbing his hands along your waist.

You smiled at him lovingly, taking one of his hands and bringing it to your lips before linking your fingers. The action made his heart soar.

“It’s because you always take such good care of me. I want to take care of you in that same way,” you squeezed his hand, letting your words wash over him.

“But you do take care of me,” he started to say, only to be interrupted by the feeling of your walls clenching around him again.

“I know. But tonight, I want to show you I know how to take care of you in this way, too. I want to show you how much I love you.” You leaned down, hitting a new angle that had both of you moaning as you brushed your lips against his. “Will you let me?”

Jungkook felt himself getting closer as you repeated his words from earlier. He nodded vigorously, kissing you with so much passion that you thought you might topple over. You sat up straight again and started moving faster, now pulling out as much as possible before dropping back down.

Jungkook’s high was approaching fast because of the combination of you taking control, the way you were riding him, and your words. He was feeling so many things at once and he tried to will himself to not let go.

He didn’t want to let go yet, not until you were there with him.

To help you along, he reached down in between both of you and started rubbing your clit, relishing in the feel of you around him as you stuttered in your movements. He smirked, knowing that even when you were in control, he still had an effect on you the same way you did him.

“Come on, angel, I’m right there, I want you to cum with me.” Jungkook’s voice was husky now, the pleasure threatening to overtake him any second. He bit his lip as he stared at you, watching as your head lolled forward on your neck and you started shaking from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“I’m almost there, Koo, I love you so much,” your sounds were increasing in pitch and becoming more frequent, so he knew you were close. All that was left now was for you to reach your high together.

He took your hand that was still intertwined with his and placed a kiss on the inside of your wrist. “I love you, too,” he said softly.

His response was enough to finally provoke your orgasm, it being so powerful that you fell forward on top of him. As you did, you were clenching so tight around him that his release wasn’t far behind. He grunted as he placed his head in the crook of your neck, filling you up, the familiar sensation of warmth making you shiver in his hold.

Both of you were trying to catch your breath, you now completely laying on his chest and his arms snaked around you. He placed a kiss on top of your head and you both just laid there for a few moments.

Jungkook was the one to break the silence. “Well, that was certainly something.”

You giggled. “Yeah, I enjoyed that, Don’t know why I haven’t done that before.” You felt his chest rumble with laughter underneath you.

“Me neither, but you can absolutely do it more often. I know I won’t be opposed.”

“Deal,” you said as you leaned up to place a kiss on his nose. “But only under one condition.”

“Oh?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow, intrigued at your proposition.

“You,” you said as you traced patterns on his chest, “need to stop being so cautious with me.”

A tiny frown etched itself onto his features. “Angel-”

“I mean it, Jungkook. I’m not some fragile thing that’s going to break anytime you stick your dick in me.” He couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from him, immediately apologizing afterwards because he knew you were being serious.

“I know you’re not, I just- I never want to hurt you.”

“And I’d let you know if you did. So promise me you’ll at least try to treat me a little less like I’m gonna break under your touch?”

He ran his fingers through your hair as you laid your head on his chest again. “I promise to try. I don’t just do it for you, though.”

You brought your head back up to look at him, quirking your own eyebrow. “Oh? What do you mean?”

He chuckled darkly, his stare alone making you throb. “I also do it so I can maintain some self-control.”

You laughed. “What’s so bad about losing control?”

He smirked. “Nothing, I guess. We’ll have to see though, won’t we?”

The suggestion made you tingle with desire, but you were unfortunately too tired to go again, so you figured it’d be best to leave it alone for the night. Jungkook finally pulled out of you, making you let out a small whine at the loss. Before you could say anything, he picked you up and carried you with him to the shower, as he did most nights when you two shared these intimate moments.

In the shower, he helped you clean off, and as he was washing your hair, you stared up at him, seeing his dark locks falling into his face with the weight of the water that drenched them. His lips were parted and his tongue was slightly sticking out as he concentrated on making sure he lathered every inch of your hair with shampoo. He looked so adorable like this that you couldn’t help but giggle.

You ran your hands along his chest now to help him wash off the soap, and your ring caught the light, glimmering faintly. Jungkook picked up your hand and turned it this way and that to watch the ring shine from different angles, before he linked your fingers together.

“I told you I’d get you a better one, didn’t I?” You rolled your eyes in amusement at the cocky smirk that tugged at his lips.

“You didn’t just tell me, you promised me.” You continued washing all the suds off of him as he wrapped his arms around you to bring you closer.

“And did I follow through on my promise?”

You pretended to think about it for a second, making Jungkook tickle you under the shower’s waterfall. “Ok! Ok! Yes, you did,” you said as you laughed. “You always follow through on your promises.”

“I try,” was his soft response. He nudged your cheek with his nose, which is something he did when he wanted a kiss, a habit you were very quick to pick up on in the early stages of your relationship. You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood up on your tiptoes, placing a gentle kiss on his lips that had him letting out a small sound of contentment.

“I love you. And I’m in love with you. Nothing, nor anyone, will change that.” You reassured him as you pushed his hair out of his face. Any doubts he still had you wanted to erase them all.

You wanted him to know that you loved him with everything you had.

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. “I know. And I love you more than anything. All the love I have to give is for you.” He placed another soft kiss on your lips before he pulled back to quietly add, “Only for you.”

Those three words meant so much to you, and every time you heard him say them it made you fall for him even more, if that was possible. The two of you continued to hold each other and exchange lazy kisses until the water turned too cold to bear. After drying off, you both snuggled back into bed, with you falling asleep almost instantly, feeling safe in Jungkook’s arms.

He kissed the back of your neck and wrapped his arms around you securely, resting his forehead against your shoulder as you both laid on your sides. Your soft breathing let him know you were already asleep and he smiled, elated that he could provide you the comfort you needed to help you fall into peaceful slumber once more.

When Jungkook inevitably followed behind you, he was met with nothing but pleasant dreams, and all of them were about you.

[widowsistersandfriends]

can you do a fic where natasha and yelena tag team kate and wreck her for whatever reason you chose? maybe she’s being a bit cheeky and sarcastic towards them so they teach her a lesson? thanks!

Thank you for this wonderful request! I loved writing this one! Hope you enjoy! <3

Word Count: 1230

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Natasha, Yelena, and Kate were all sitting on a large couch together, watching a show on TV. Kate was currently snacking on grapes, but was starting to feel a little mischievous.

The brunette could see how invested Yelena was in the show, and decided to throw a grape at her head. Kate lined her hand up perfectly, having no trouble with aim. She then threw the grape like a dart, pegging Yelena in the forehead perfectly.

“Ow! That really hurt, Kate Bishop!” Yelena exclaimed, being overly dramatic.

Natasha just rolled her eyes fondly with a smile gracing her lips at the chaotic duo in front of her.

“What’s wrong? I thought you were trained to have good reflexes and stuff?” Kate asked teasingly.

“Well, yeah, I’m way more athletic than you. I’m not stumbling around like an idiot all the time,” Yelena snarked back.

“Yelena! Be nice,” Natasha scolded playfully, as Kate was taken aback from that comment.

“What? She attacked me first, so I’m just putting her in her rightful place,” the blonde huffed.

“I have much cooler weapons than you,” Kate replied back suddenly.

“What do you mean by that?” Yelena asked.

“I have a cool bow and arrow and you just have some lame widow’s bites and that dumb stick you swing around,” Kate stated smugly.

“You too Natasha, since you both use the same weapons. That means you’re both lame,” Kate added.

The redhead raised an eyebrow at the archer, wondering when she got the confidence to speak to them like that.

“The bites are not lame! If I change them to tickle bites, you would be defeated in seconds!” Yelena declared.

Kate squirmed uncomfortably at the thought.

After a moment, Kate began to speak again.

“Well, you’re also both old, so that automatically makes me cooler,” Kate said, with a smug smirk on her face.

“What did you just call us?” Natasha asked, raising her eyebrow at her again.

“Old. Especially you,” Kate said, now giggling in glee.

“Oh and I almost forgot. You both have the dumbest poses on earth. I know Yelena calls you a poser, but you both are dumb posers,” Kate added.

“At least we have a cool pose. You can’t say the same,” Yelena said.

“Clint and I actually have the coolest poses to ever exist. Here let me show you,” Kate said, as she stood up and posed how she would if she were about to fire an arrow.

Natasha took this opportunity to sneak up behind her and dig into her exposed underarms.

Kate shrieked and immediately pulled her arms down, as Yelena helped her sister pin the snarky brunette to the couch.

“NATAHAHAHSHA STAHAHAHAHAP,” Kate laughed out.

“Maybe this will teach you to be more careful with your words around us,” Yelena teased, as she lightly dragged her nails over the brunette’s sensitive feet.

“YELEHEHENA NOHOHOHOHO YOU JEHEHEHERK,” Kate screamed out, trying her best to kick the blonde off of her.

Kate continued to laugh hysterically, as the two widows made sure to tickle her hard enough to make her laugh too much to say anything else snarky or sarcastic.

The two of them gave her a quick break, deciding where to torment the archer next.

“Plehehehase nohohoho mohohore,” Kate said, still giggling from the previous sensations.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Natasha asked, knowing that they were still going to tickle her even if she said yes.

“Yes, I’ve learned the valuable lesson that you two are a bunch of jerks who pose in their free time,” Kate quipped, as she had now sealed her fate.

Natasha wiggled her fingers up and down Kate’s sides, as Yelena now squeezed her knees rapidly.

Kate let out a ridiculously loud squeal, as she tried her best to twist away from the awful fingers that were causing her to laugh her heart out.

“PLEHEHEHASE NOHOHO MOHOHOHORE,” Kate cried out, definitely regretting her words from earlier.

“You’re the one who chose to be snarky. You dug yourself into this hole,” Natasha told the brunette, as she looked down at her with a ridiculously wide smirk.

Kate tried to respond, but was just overcome with barrels of hysterical giggles and laughter.

Eventually, Natasha got off of her, but before Kate could even think of making a run for it, Yelena sat on top of her waist, smirking at her evilly.

“You really think you could get away with all those snarky comments and not have any punishment?” The blonde asked.

Kate knew that she was going to get wrecked anyway, so she decided to throw in some last minute comments.

“Well, I never thought I’d experience an old dinosaur on top of me, but here we are,” Kate said, already giggling in anticipation.

With that, Yelena didn’t even respond. Instead she just stuck her finger inside of Kate’s belly button and wiggled her finger around, causing the archer to squeal and burst into hysterical laughter.

“NOHOHOHO NOHOHOT THEHEHEHRE PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHOHOHO,” Kate shrieked, as Natasha just watched the poor, young archer suffer.

Yelena couldn’t help but giggle at how ticklish Kate was, but still kept her mean tactics up.

“Just say you’re sorry and it’ll stop,” Yelena said teasingly.

“OHOHOHOKAY IHIHIHIHM SOHOHOHORRY PLEHEHEASE IHIHI CAN’T TAHAHAHKE IHIHIHIHT,” Kate cried out, desperate and willing to do anything to get that tortuous finger out of her belly button.

“Hmm, okay,” Yelena said flatly, still torturing the brunette.

“PLEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAP ALREADY IHIHIHI SAID IHIHIHI WAHAHAS SOHOHORRY,” Kate screamed, before falling into silent, wheezing laughter.

Natasha knew her sister was relentless and that she would eventually have to intervene. As much as Kate deserved that wrecking, the redhead knew she had enough.

Natasha came up behind Yelena and dug her fingers into her ribs, causing the blonde to shriek and fall off of Kate’s waist.

Natasha then pinned Yelena to the ground and tickled her sides until she had tears in her eyes, just for the fun of it.

Kate eventually caught her breath, and saw Yelena being tickled to pieces on the ground.

However, she decided not to get her revenge just yet, knowing that she was outnumbered.

“NATAHAHAHASHA STAHAHAHAP,” Yelena laughed out, finding it ridiculous that she was just wrecking Kate and was now being wrecked herself.

The redhead eventually let her up, giggling at her silly baby sister.

“So Kate, have you learned your lesson?” Natasha asked, turning towards the brunette.

“Yes.” Kate said, not adding anymore snarky comments.

“What did you learn?” Natasha asked again.

“That I will always lose a tickle fight against the two of you,” Kate grumbled unhappily.

“There we go, that’s the answer I was looking for,” Natasha said, ruffling the brunette’s hair affectionately, as Kate swatted her hand away.

“Same goes for you Yelena. I know you were on my side this time, but you’ll never defeat me,” Natasha said, poking the blonde’s ribs, causing her to giggle and squirm away.

“What about that time where Kate, Wanda, and I all wrecked you? I’m pretty sure we won then,” Yelena replied back.

“And then I wrecked you until you almost peed your pants,” Natasha pointed out, as the blonde sighed in defeat and embarrassment.

Kate smiled at the two of them, knowing that even though they would wreck her for every snarky comment she made, she would forever have two girls that loved her more than anything.

[yandere-sins]

Remember that Beast!Reader fic with the yandere prince? I loved that one! Can I please request ‘Tears’ from your prompt list for this please?

I was thinking that maybe a few years pass by while the reader is still stuck in beast form, but during that time the person appointed as an alternative caretaker for the reader (obviously the prince can’t be around ALL the time if he has to maintain his kingdom and keep up his image) slowly starts forming a friendly relationship and with even something as small as a forehead kiss to the beast, it is enough to break the curse. But the two don’t get enough time to celebrate before the prince barges in👀

I’m uncomfortable with nsfw and anything too sexual but I enjoy the creepiness and horror that follows a yandere character so I hope you can write it like that please😭🥺 Oh! And please let there be some hope that the reader will either be saved or she saves herself. Even better if the reader decides that she wants to save herself and the boy who broke her curse🤩

Thank you! So sorry if I’m requesting a lot😭🙏

Oh, my sweet little anons, when was the last time I gave you a happy end, huh? But thanks for requesting a continuation, I am glad you all enjoyed it so much ^-^ What a good idea you had there!

Tears - “Sweetie, don’t cry.. they didn’t love you as much as I did.. I’ll help you over the heart break.” 

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Panting, you urged your legs forward, always one step further than you made at a time. The chilly night air burnt in your lungs, and your bare feet were icy and wet from the forest ground, but neither you nor the person holding your hand so gently in his thought about stopping. Only wrapped in a big rag, you should have been cold, but when he squeezed your hand encouragingly, you believed you could manage it all.

It hadn’t been too long since you started your way on foot down the hill the old castle sat upon. Sooner or later, the prince would find out you escaped, and surely, they would also notice your Beloved having fled the scene. There had been no reason for him to stay. Losing you was enough to get sentenced to death, his lifeless body thrown into a bog rather than buried. So why wouldn’t he leave with you? There certainly was no reason for him to stay in the wretched service of the king. 

But sooner or later, they would come for you, that much was sure.

So, you two had to hurry, but even so, you couldn’t keep from smiling, especially when he looked back over his shoulder, his warm, green eyes shining without any regrets. You two had known each other far too little, but he never once hesitated to show you his affection for you, even when you still were the hideous atrocity that you had turned into to escape the prince for the first time.

Perhaps, everything that happened was fate. Even if it had been harsh and awful, it happened so that you two could meet and start a better life together somewhere new. Even if you wished now that you two could have met under different circumstances, now, you didn’t regret your life from before anymore. Now, you could simply look ahead to the future that waited for you.

Or so you thought; you should have known better.

The soaring of arrows pierced through the silence of the night. One hit the bark of the tree before you, fire spreading from its alcohol-soaked peak. Your eye widened, as did you’re companions, and you soon found yourself ducking as another one flew over your heads.

You couldn’t spare a second to look back over your shoulder as you two urged onwards, picking up the pace. Your legs were tired and shaking, but you knew that you had to go faster and faster, or else you or he would get hit. It were moments like these in which you wished you were still a beast. One which could run faster than any arrow. One that could fight and protect what was important to you. But that was no longer, true love’s kiss having sealed that specific fate already.

It was too late when you realized that the arrows so far had not been to stop you two from getting away. Instead, as they began to light up tree after tree, you realized they were there to banish the secrecy of the forest and make the dark disappear. At the same time, they made you two run into the directions your followers wanted you to go. If you looked back now, you knew who you’d see, no robbers smart enough to roam the forest around the prince’s castle, so there really was no reason for any other armed party to hunt you down.

And yet, you did, too afraid that if you didn’t, things would go way worse. 

The moment you looked over your shoulder, another arrow flew past you, grazing your cheek. You knew where it would hit way before your companion cried out in pain, his hand letting go of yours as a reflex. He sank to his knee for a moment, cursing under his breath as you hurried to his side, seeing the arrow lodged in his shoulder. “Oh god,” you stammered as you sank next to him, hands hovering over the wound. “W-We can fix it, I’m sure, we just have to--!”

“There’s no time!” he interrupted you firmly as if he hadn’t just been shot with an arrow. Without wasting even another second, he got up again, grabbed you by the wrist, and moved forward. You caught a glimpse at his face, determination brimming from his features, but pearls of sweat collected at his forehead. He was clearly in pain, showing it in the way he held his own shoulder with his free hand, but he hadn’t given up yet. He would move on until you two were safe, and though you sympathized with his pain, you were so thankful he didn’t give up yet.

You two ran as fast as you could, but soon you couldn’t ignore the sound of armor behind you anymore, hooves trotting closer while torches lit up the forest more and more. It was almost spooky that no words were muttered, and you expected someone to call orders every now and then, but you had seen the clothes of your followers briefly; you knew who they were. The prince’s guards, clad in the finest silver and trained to the point of being nothing more than human dogs. They ceased speaking if not absolutely necessary, their eyes were soulless, and their hearts without a hint of benevolence. Them being after you could only mean one thing.

The prince wanted you back.

Another arrow getting stuck in the tree you just passed. You knew everything they did wasn’t fun but coldly calculated tactics. They wouldn’t hurt you. They couldn’t. Your cheek bleeding would probably cause one of them to get degraded to a chair for three months at least, so they really couldn’t afford to hurt you more seriously. But they did know who they could hurt you with. Someone whose pain would hurt you more than your own.

The next arrow missed completely, lost in the leaves on the ground. You two were running out of all the adrenaline you had, slowly and surely having exhaustion catch up to you. No! Please no! You begged the entities above that this wouldn’t be the end! There was so much more to live for, so much to see and experience! You wanted to be with your former caretaker, the only one who ever took you and your feelings seriously enough. You two could build a house and keep far away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, farming and taking care of livestock until the end of time. So please! Don’t let this be the end of it!

However, against your expectations, the one to collapse first was him. This time, the arrows didn’t miss, one hitting him in the lower back, one scarily close to his spine. Teardrops pearled from your cheeks as you fell into to mud with him, your hands scrapping along the roots and stones of the ground as you crawled back to where he laid, softly whimpering. Reaching for an arrow, you wanted to pull it out in desperation, but he began to cry out in pain before you could even start pulling.

“LEAVE!” he screamed. “LEAVE AND RUN!”

You couldn’t hold back the sobs hearing these words. “Please...” his hand reached for yours as he tried his best to look up to you. “Go, find a safe place to hide! Leave for another country and never come back!”

“No...” you sobbed, bringing one hand covered in mud and blood to your face. “I don’t want to leave you...”

“They are after you, not me,” he tried to reassure you, but you knew better. The sounds of their heavy footsteps drew closer and closer, and finding him, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill this ‘traitor’. If you went, then he’d die. But if you stayed and got caught, he’d die as well. No choice you could make would end happily for the both of you. “Please, go. I want you to-- ARGH!” Interrupted by his own scream, you began to panic, calling his name and shaking his arm, only to look up as a shadow was cast over you.

“[Name],” the prince sighed, relief showing in his face. He had this small, exhausted smile on his lips, happiness in his features as he looked at you. However, the moment he looked down at your companion, his face began to contort into a hateful grimace, his leg lifting once more to give your Beloved’s back a not-so-gentle kick. “No! Stop!” you cried, latching onto his leg as the kicks came down, your partner’s screams echoing through the forest.

“Don’t worry, I will get rid of the scoundrel who kidnapped you. I will save you! Just like I always do!”

“No! You’re hurting him! Stop it! Please... Please stop!”

Never had you imagined that you’d ever find yourself so low again that you’d beg the prince for something. Before, it had been for your life, but now, it was for the life of the only person that really mattered to you. “Oh, Sweetheart,” the prince cooed, his fingers finding their way under your chin, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. “Don’t cry... he didn’t love you as much as I do. I’ll help you over the heartbreak once we’re done here.”

The prince let go roughly as he pulled his sword from his sheath as you fell to the ground next to your partner. For a moment, time seemed to stop as you stood up in a matter of seconds. Panicked, you decided to throw yourself in front of the sword instead, but a hand grabbed yours before you could. Looking down at your Beloved, smiling warmly and encouraging as he muttered the final words you’d hear from him.

“Go.”

It was like he set you free, even if your definition of free originally included him. “Eh, Darling?!” you heard as you took off in a second spurt of adrenaline, the prince screaming your name after you. But your mind completely shut off the moment you passed the last lit-up arrow, sinking back into the darkness. Everything was blurry, your vision stained with your tears that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you rubbed your eyes with your dirty hands.

Your feet must have started bleeding as you kept running faster and faster, but you gave them no mind, not even feeling the pain. All you felt was the wound in your throbbing heart, something that the prince couldn’t heal no matter how much he believed he could. You wanted to understand your former caretaker’s action, telling you to go rather than defend him. If you had been in his place, surely, you had done the same. But it was as if you were the one who got betrayed by yourself by running away. By giving up on something hopeless, you felt like you were betraying everything you had ever stand for. How pathetic you were, running, trying to get the better future you had hoped to build with him.

Next thing you knew, you stumbled as the ground gave away to a slope before you, your body tumbling down the wet leaves and sturdy roots, your skim getting scratched by the branches of bushes all around you. It was pure luck that your fingers closed around one big tree root the moment they did; otherwise, you surely would have fallen from the cliff that opened up beneath you, instead of just hanging on to it now.

Only now your ears regained their function, the rushing of waves sounding far too deep and far too rough beneath you as to simply be a river. Had you run all the way to the shore? Was it the big sea beneath you? Either it had been closer than you thought, or you did develop some superhuman abilities after changing into a beast.

Groaning, you tried to pull yourself back over the edge, the slightly forward-leaning stone not being any help in rescuing yourself. Even more so, you had to realize the light of torches drawing closer and closer by the second, while you still struggled to escape the death by falling into the unruly water from a great height.

“[Name]!” you heard the screech of your name, genuine worry resounding from it. The prince’s face was the last thing you wanted to see, especially as he looked so damn horrified at the sight of you barely holding on to the cliff. “Don’t move! I’ll pull you up!” he called as he slit down the slope as best as he could without falling himself until he reached you. It was strange. You should have been happy that you wouldn’t be dying. That someone would save you from this horrific fate.

But all you felt was pure despair.

If he pulled you up, then that would be it. He’d take you back, lock you up again and do as he pleased with you. Who knew if you’d ever get a chance on escaping again, especially if he made an example out of your previous companion about what would happen if anyone ever helped you. You’d have nothing left but to live your life as a mere plaything, captured by the prince that was so beloved by everyone, and you didn’t want to think about all the things he’d do to you now that you were human again.

His hands reached out, and you noticed them faintly in your vision. Your decision fell only seconds before he could grab you by the arms. It was too dark to see, too dark to even speculate how deep it was, but you decided it was better than becoming an empty shell of a person if you stayed with the prince.

No matter what would await you in the depths down below, it couldn’t be worse than being a subject to his twisted, self-righteous love, you decide. Letting go was easier than you thought, making you realize your body must understand this situation very well even if it might cost it its life. The face of the prince as you slipped from his grasp was a priceless last sight to see before you closed your eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

Until your back hit the water, engulfing you wholly like the hungry, desperate maw of an animal. Deeper and deeper until it was everywhere, and only then you opened your eyes again for one last glimpse of the blurred light above.

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

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Hello Mojo, hope you're doing well and that you had a good break! I wanted to signal boost the MDZS May Diaspora event collection on AO3, and point out my favorite fic from there: 归心似箭 | Longing to Go Home by dragongirlG! It's both tender and bittersweet and it features such mature writing. The author got some hate for it when it initially got posted so I wanted to counter that and give it some love instead! [Who would do such a thing?!  @dragongirlg-fics I’m sorry that happened to you, and here, have *so many hugs!* I’ll try to do a thing just for the diaspora event, but meanwhile, I’ll just treat this as a follower rec.]

归心似箭 | Longing to Go Home

by dragongirlG (M, 8k, wangxian)

Summary:  The destruction of the Yin Tiger Seal does not kill Wei Wuxian; it ages him instead. He takes shelter in a cave expecting to die, but instead he lives, slowly learning to embrace life with each new day.

Thirteen years later, a young man with a Lan forehead ribbon stumbles into the cave. His name is Lan Sizhui.

~*~

Hi Momjo!!! I recently read the most *adorable* fic, and I loved it so much that it dragged me out of seclusion (read: social anxiety cave) to rec it. It's called 'Covered in Bees' by ScarlettStorm in which the Cloud Recesses is an apiary, and Wei Wuxian has suddenly found himself host to a swarm of bees. ~ @akyra-talanoa

Covered in Bees

by ScarlettStorm (T, 8k, wangxian)

Summary: “Cloud Reccesses Apiary,” says a toneless, deep masculine voice, with zero question in it. Wei Ying doesn’t care, because whoever possesses that voice is probably going to come save him from bees like a fucking hero while wearing like, a suit of armor. That’s what you wear to catch bees, right?

“I have like, so many bees outside my front door right now,” he says, mouth running out ahead of him before he can even begin to think about reining it in. “It’s like a sandstorm of bees out there. There are so many bees. I got out of my car and there were just bees and I don’t want these bees. Do you want these bees? Please tell me you will come get these bees. I can’t leave my house and I have enough food for maybe a week but then I’m gonna have to learn how to cook dry beans and no one wants that, especially not me.” Wei Ying runs out of air, takes a breath, and belatedly adds, “My name is Wei Ying. Hi.”

Or: The beekeeping AU that no one asked for.

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Hi, you are a bless to this fandom. Your blog feels like a library, so thoroughly arranged and always within hand reach. [Thank you, wow!]  Recently, I was going through Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn is a Wēn tag and came across a fanfic, it has 3 chapters till now and is so intriguing that i thought to recommend it to you. I don't know if I can recommend or if you have already checked the story, The legendary Phoenix and his Dragon by Devipriya. I am in love with this story. I hope you will enjoy it too, do check it out

The legendary Phoenix and his Dragon

by Devipriya (T, 7k, wangxian)

Summary:  Wen Wuxian, the essence of who he is, he is a naughty child, a prankster, an enchanting dizi player, a graceful dancer, an irresistible lover, a truly valiant warrior, a ruthless vanquisher of his foes, a man who left a broken heart in every home, an astute statesman and kingmaker, a thorough gentleman, a righteous individual of the highest order, and the most colorful incarnation.

He has been seen, perceived, understood and experienced in many different ways by different people. Different people saw different facets of who he is. For some, he is God. For some, he is a crook. For some, he is a lover. For some, he is a fighter. He is so many things.

But the phoenix, seen from the eyes of time was just a playful man. A man who plays with his awareness, with his imagination, with his memory, with his life, with his death. An individual who does not just dance with somebody. He dances with life. He dances with his enemy, He dances with the one he loves, He dances even at the moment of his death.

To taste an essence of who is Wen Wuxian, be with me in the journey of exploration, NO! playful exploration of life of a playful man.

~*~

Hi! Thanks for running this blog, it's helped me find so many fics. For your next follower recs post, I wanted to rec "This love like a flood, a fire, a fear" by natcat5. Its summary is vague (which I suspect is why it isn't better known) but it is a beautiful retelling of canon from LWJ's POV with slight canon divergence. I love the author's characterization of him and the prose is gorgeous. It is easily my favorite fic in the entire fandom, and I don't say that lightly. ~ @nyanja14

This love like a flood, a fire, a fear

by natcat5 (M, 57k, wangxian, lan wangji & lan xichen)

Summary:  “I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch everything go wrong.”   - Lemony Snicket

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i came to this ask to rec this baseball one called "Waiting for Spring" by thievinghippo on ao3. It somehow made me care about baseball soooo 'nough said ~ @scifikimmi

Waiting for Spring

by thievinghippo (E, 131, wangxian)

Summary:  “It is a well-known fact across the major leagues that one does not smack Lan Wangji’s ass.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. Everyone smacks everyone’s ass in baseball. It’s how the game is played. Lan Wangji does not get to be exempt from this most sacred of baseball traditions.

Wei Wuxian will make sure of that.

Or, a Major League Baseball AU

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hi mojo! i wanted to rec Something Good by boxoftheskyking (a loose sound of music/canon divergence au) and also MDZS: The Golden Engine by iffervescent (immortal wangxian modern au where they gotta solve a mystery and save china, featuring jiang cheng/lan xichen)

Something Good

by boxoftheskyking (T, 43k, wangxian)

Summary:  "That Wei Wuxian, you know he used to be such a promising cultivator. Head Disciple of the Jiang Clan, can you believe it? You see, juniors, the punishment for traveling the path of demonic cultivation. No golden core, not so much as a whisper of spiritual power."

As a punishment for real and imagined crimes, Wei Wuxian is sentenced to work at Cloud Recesses as the lowest of servants. When a surprising reassignment lands him with eleven children to care for, everything changes again.

A Sound of Music AU

MDZS: The Golden Engine

by iffervescent (E, 82k, wangxian, xicheng)

Summary:  In the modern era, immortals Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian return to Gusu. New evil and old friends + new friends and old evils.

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Hi Mojo! First of all let me just tell you that you are amazing and this blog is like a gift from the gods! Bless you and your endless patience and hard work. [Oh, thank you so much!]  I know that you have just accepted follower recs and I have missed miserably but I still wanted to write and bring attention to a writer by the pseudo Xiao_Hua on ao3, I think they are quite good and I just recently found the account with so much content. If you do have the time to check them out, I'd rec catfish, my fox or the red ribbon.

The Red Ribbon

by Xiao_Hua (M, 21k, wangxian, TGCF crossover)

Summary:  Wei WuXian died but not before saving HanGuang-Jun and A-Yuan, leaving so much more behind than just his ribbon.

My Fox

by Xiao_Hua (E, 13k, wangxian)

Summary:  Once he headed to YiLing that all changed for him. His priorities have been mingled with and ordered in complete disarray even without him noticing as he was left heavily influenced by a creature.

Or one where Lan WangJi is a dragon-spirit and he finds his mate in the form of a fox.

Catfish

by Xiao_Hua (E, 15k, wangxian)

Summary:  Wei WuXian has a common sense that believes it has a nine-to-five job while Lan WangJi finds that incredibly hot.

Or one where two catfish realise that neither of them truly catfished.

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Hi Mojo i'm recommending this amazing fic it is called song of joys and regrets. it's a time travel AU it's amazing. And your Blog is a Godsend Thank you! [Aw, you’re so sweet!]  ~ @highgoddess

Song of Joy and Regrets

by HelloKitten (not rated, 59k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  The Archery competition at Qishan this year has hit a snag. As the Sects face the wrongs perpetrated by their future selves, Wei Wuxian finds himself adopted by half of the cultivation world who are determined to save him from himself.

Baby Wangxian suffers. Adult Wangxian's job here is done.

"I'm starting to see a pattern to all his plans..." "Do they all involve him being bait?" "Yes" came deadpanned responses.

~*~

Here’s a 2021 Reverse Big Bang entry, in time for Father’s Day; [Oops, my bad, sorry!]  Under a Blanket of Black Wings, by ChaoticAndrogynous (#31398395); LWJ, recuperating from the 33 lashes, tells A-Yuan a series of fairytales about a heroic monster and the brave little boy he befriended. Vampire! WWX (in the framing story as well as the story-within-the-story); happy ending.

Under a Blanket of Black Wings

by ChaoticAndrogynous (T, 19k, wangxian)

Summary:  Lan Wangji tells A-Yuan a bedtime story about a beautiful monster and the brave little boy who was his friend. Thirteen years later, the monster returns.

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Hello Mojo! Have you read ‘Key Differences’ by Pupeez4eva? Its a MDZS!WWX meets CQL!WWX and its really good! [It’s on my list!]

Key Differences

by pupeez4eva (T, 6k, wangxian)

Summary:  “I don’t understand,” Wei Wuxian said, while his alternate self continued to stare at him with almost a look of hurt in his eyes. There was longing in there too, which Wei Wuxian would have easily recognised if he paid enough attention. “How could you not get together, after everything. What even went on in the Guanyin Temple if you didn’t confess?”

“The Guanyin Temple,” Wei Ying repeated incredulously. “You’re asking me if I confessed at — honestly, a lot went on that day. It was a life and death situation. There was no confessing.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him, appalled.

(Wherein Wei Wuxian ends up meeting an alternate version of himself who, much to his horror, never married Lan Wangji. Obviously he has to do something to fix this).

~*~

Hey Mojo i would recommend this fanfic if you already haven’t, it’s called “ take me back to a time “ by DizziDreams. It’s sooooo good

take me back to a time

by DizziDreams (T, 144k, wangxian, 3zun)

Summary:  Wei Ying has a lot on his plate right now.

It’s finals week -- which isn’t so bad. He’s never had to study much to do well in classes. But that just means that things are that much more tense with Jiang Cheng, who, as far as Wei Ying can tell, only takes study breaks long enough to glare at Wei Ying where he sits on the couch playing video games.

It’s not studies that have Wei Ying stressed out. It’s everything else. It’s the recruitment for the research trial he’s coordinating. It’s jiejie and her impending marriage to His Royal Douchebag Jin Zixuan. It’s the volunteer work at the palliative care facility. It’s Wen Ning’s worsening condition. It’s Wen Qing working herself thin to care for her brother and Wen Yuan. It’s the way Wen Yuan never seems to have enough food.

So, yeah. There’s enough on Wei Ying’s plate already, meaning it’s not entirely welcome when he comes home and finds a man standing in his bedroom. A man in extravagant white robes, a ribbon tied around his forehead, long hair gathered into a topknot, fist clutching a sword at his side, who asks him, “Where am I?”

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Idk if this has already been rec’d (I’ve been off the grid for a while now), but there’s this absolutely incredible fic called Restitution by an anon on ao3 people should definitely check out!

this one?

on restitution

by Anonymous (M, 78k, wangxian, jin ling & wei wuxian, lan sizhui & wei wuxian, WIP)

Summary:  When Wei Wuxian regains consciousness, he is in a bed. A real, proper bed, not the slab he called a bed in his cave in the Burial Mounds.

Jiang Cheng is glowering above him.

Wei Wuxian doesn't die during the siege of the Burial Mounds. Rather, he is captured in secret and confined at Lotus Pier. Things change accordingly.

~*~

Hi momjo! I feel like every time I come to your blog there's twenty more new and amazing fics for me to read. Thank you for everything you do for this fandom!  [Thank you, sweetie!  And yes, I think there ARE 20 new fics every day out there in the fandom.  It’s amazing!] Today I come bearing my own rec to you. I've recently read this and it's IMO one of the best fics out there. It's called Lapsteel by carriecmoney and it's a modern stormchaser AU featuring country songs and coming home. ~ @manaika-chan​

Lapsteel

by carriecmoney (T, 42k, wangxian)

Summary:  Now and then, I think about you now and then...

It's been thirteen years since Wei Ying ran for the prairies, leaving behind a family in shambles and a secret on the Pacific wind. What happens when the storm he swirled catches up to him?

Modern AU with country music star Lan Zhan, stormchaser Wei Ying, and shared crossroads.

~*~