#my text post crashed twice lol

[undressrehearsal]

a bite of luxury

part 1

summary: you decide to look for a sugar mommy and stumble across this strange girl that seems to have more to hide

tags: sugarmommy!ellie, rich!ellie, vampire!ellie (yep, we got it all) alcohol, reader is poor lmao, reader uses she/her and is referred to as a girl once or twice, no smut in this one sorry gotta establish the world first

word count: ~8k

a/n: it's been so long since i posted a fic lol working full time and trying to finish my book is killing my schedule BUT i hope y'all like this this was my fiancee's idea and i'm running with it i got a LOT of plans for this one - plans i think y'all are gonna love

also the drawing in the cover is made by @nramv seriously go check out their work they're so talented!!

if you wanna be added to my tag list just lmk!

part 2

You hadn’t been searching for a sugar mommy. 

Truthfully, when your best friend had sent you the link, you had dismissed it immediately. She had been joking about it for months, talking about how much easier it would be if you just found a nice older woman to take care of you. You hadn’t even opened the link - you only rolled your eyes, replied with a middle finger emoji, and left it at that. 

And yet things kept piling up. The stack of bills on your kitchen counter was growing to a concerning height, a mountain of unanswered responsibilities that was getting harder to ignore. Your landlord kept calling you - you no longer answered, just watched the phone ring until it finally stopped and ignored the increasingly angrier voicemails. Your apartment was an absolute disaster; you could never be bothered to clean it, because by the time you got home from working both of your jobs, you only had enough energy to eat a bowl of leftovers and promptly pass out in bed. 

The link kept popping up in your mind, each bill in your mailbox a gentle reminder. You found yourself scrolling all the way up the text chain to find it again during sleepless nights. So many times you would only stare at it, your thumb hovering over the blue letters, before you closed the chat and threw your phone down. 

It was stupid, of course. But as time went on, the idea of letting yourself get buried alive under a mountain of debt - of getting evicted from your apartment and having to crash on your friend’s couch - seemed all the more stupid. 

So, late on a Thursday night, after you had had another anxiety attack staring down at your bank account, you went back up the text chain, and you clicked the link. 

www.seeking.com

It didn't take long for the messages to start coming in. You should have been flattered, honestly - you had at least a handful of people in your messages practically begging you for the honor of paying your fucking rent - but you really just felt like you were playing a part that you hadn't even read the script for. You had curated your profile with all the things that made you appear more cultured than you actually were: going to museums and pondering over Baroque art and reading poetry over a pretentious cup of coffee. Sure, these were all things you had done - you had photo proof, after all - but somehow you didn't recognize yourself. It felt like you were looking at pictures of a stranger living a life you wanted but couldn't reach. 

Most people were fine - charming, even. You got maybe one or two that felt like they would lure you into their sex dungeon to murder you, but that was expected with any dating site. You even went on a few dates, scrounging up the nicest dress you owned and getting pampered at a five-star restaurant or going for a ride on an older woman’s personal yacht. One person even took you for a helicopter ride, which was fun but she was a little too handsy on the first date to warrant a second. 

One name kept popping up though, a name that was becoming far too familiar in your notifications. 

ellie: meet me at 8 <3 

When she first messaged you, you had thought she was like you: somebody searching for a partner to pay their bills. Her pictures didn't exactly scream sugar mommy material. Her first picture was just a normal selfie taken outside; she wore a worn out leather jacket, her short hair tangled from the wind and green eyes squinting in the sunlight. She had stupid pictures of mushrooms and candid shots of her browsing a science museum, looking far too excited in front of a t-rex skeleton. Hell, in most of her pictures she looked like she was wearing clothes she had found at a thrift store.

You had thought she was like you, until she sent you a picture inside her fucking Rolls-Royce. 

“Fuck,” you audibly cursed into the quiet of your room. You had been talking for a few days, and she had begun to do that - sending you small selfies throughout the day. In the last one, she had taken a picture in front of the mirror at the gym, flicking off the camera, her lean muscles glistening with sweat. Before that, it had been a blurry picture of her dog, Riley - a huge German Shephard - splayed on her back at a park, leaves stuck in her fur. 

So, yeah, when you found out Ellie was not only rich, but rich enough to casually have a Royce, you were more than a little surprised. 

The selfie was cute, you couldn’t deny that. Her hair was wind-swept, catching in those long ass eyelashes. Ellie’s nose was scrunched up, freckles popping against her cheeks, holding up a peace sign. 

She was fucking adorable and you already knew it. But seeing her worn out leather jacket and messy hair against black and white leather seats that looked like they, alone, cost more than your entire apartment complex combined - it was a little jarring. 

And when she asked you out on a date soon after - after finding out she wasn’t Iike you but rather searching for someone like you - how could you say no? 

Ellie offered to pick you up - like a gentleman, she had said - but frankly, you weren’t quite convinced yet that she wasn’t some blood-thirsty pervert trying to lure you into her dungeon, so you politely declined. Instead, in your nicest dress and heels you hardly wore because they pinched your toes, you called an Uber. 

You had never been to this side of town. You had plugged in the address Ellie gave you - had double and triple checked it while your awkwardly chatty Uber driver tried asking you about what you do for a living - but the streets here were so unfamiliar you may as well have been in another city. You looked at the foreign buildings rising up around you, large windows giving you a glimpse of the life inside them. People were sitting outside in the chilly air, laughing over wine and dinner. Looking at them - with perfectly sculpted hair and clothes you would have to spend several entire paychecks on - you felt like a cheap impersonator dressed up in a costume. 

The Uber pulled up in front of a hotel, and your heart stopped. Surely, this wasn’t where Ellie had sent you - leading you to some fucking hotel room when you hadn’t even met yet? 

You turned to the driver, your home address at the edge of your tongue, when the car door opened. 

You had practically been leaning against the door to peer out the window, and nearly lost your balance when it was suddenly gone without warning. You looked up, ready to yell at whatever pretentious prick in Prada was trying to fuck with you - but your voice died in your throat. 

Ellie was shorter than you thought she'd be, honestly. In all her pictures, she had this commanding energy, like she would tower over you in person. 

Which, to be fair, she was. She had her arm propped on the doorframe above your head, leaning over so she could meet your eyes. Her hair was pushed back from her face, a few stray strands falling over her forehead, and she was looking at you with an intensity that hadn't quite translated through her pictures.

Ellie smiled - that adorably crooked smile you had seen in all her selfies - and said, “Hi.” 

And the only word you were able to get your mouth to form was, “Fuck.” 

Ellie blinked at you for a moment - long enough that you could feel the flush creeping up your neck and were ready to walk home if you had to - before she finally laughed. That wasn’t like what you had expected either; she had this deep, rough laugh, almost like she was trying to hold it in. 

She looked up at you through her lashes - you tried to ignore the way your heart inexplicably skipped - and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment?” Her voice tilted up at the end like it was a question. Ellie ducked her head down further, looking past you to meet the driver’s eyes, and pulled cash from her back pocket. With her most charming smile, she handed it to the driver and said, “Thanks for getting her here safe.” 

You didn’t see how much money she gave him, but after she took your hand and guided you out of the car, you turned back just in time to see his grin before he sped off. 

“Thanks for coming out.” You looked back at Ellie and found yourself speechless once again. (You, thankfully, were able to hold in the expletive this time.) The worn out jacket that had featured in just about all of her pictures was missing, replaced instead by a pristine, white satin shirt, the top few buttons undone to expose a sliver of collarbone and a gold chain beneath. Despite the chill in the air, she had a classy black jacket hanging from her arm as though it were an accessory. Ellie smiled and looked down, licking her lips before saying, “You’re quite the sight for sore eyes.”

You tried to smile at her but found that your eyes kept flitting behind her, looking at the looming monstrosity of the hotel. It was a nice hotel - the kind that had a huge fountain right in front of it and a chandelier in the lobby that sparkled through the window - but it was a hotel nonetheless. Despite the set in your jaw, traitorous tears stung the corners of your eyes; you wanted to kick yourself for actually thinking that Ellie might be different. 

Ellie followed your gaze over her shoulder, her smile dropping, before she quickly turned back to you with panic in her eyes. She stumbled over her words as though her tongue weren’t cooperating: “Shit, I’m sorry, this looks really bad doesn't it?” She grimaced and squeezed your hand she was still holding, scratching awkwardly at the back of her head with the other. “Fuck, this isn’t the first impression I wanted. I could promise it's not what it looks like, but maybe it'd be better if I just showed you?”

You honestly did think about telling her to fuck off. She was a complete fucking stranger that you only really knew from a dating app, and she was trying to lure you into a hotel in a part of town you were unfamiliar with - really, only an idiot would follow her. 

But she was looking at you with wide green eyes, the lights around you shining back like stars. While searching for the constellations, you found yourself saying, “Okay.” You blinked, pulled from a trance, and added, “But you should know, I do have a taser in my bag.” 

That pulled a shocked laugh from Ellie’s lips. She gently tugged on your hand, pulling you towards the door, and said, “Smart girl.” 

You knew that the hotel was outside of your price range because a perfectly groomed doorman opened the door for you, waving you inside with a gloved hand. You didn’t take much time to process the interior - the chandelier was just as grand as it had seemed from outside and elaborate columns rose to the ceiling - because Elllie was pulling you towards the elevators. It was like she wanted to ignore the fact that she had brought you to a hotel at all. You couldn’t decide if that was reassuring. 

In the empty elevator, you gently drew your hand back and leaned against the wall opposite her. You tried to ignore looking at the way her pinstripe slacks hugged the curves of her thighs, the fabric straining when she propped one booted foot on the wall behind her. 

“So,” you started in a desperate attempt to fill the awkward silence, “if you’re not leading me into a seedy hotel room on the first date, then what are we doing?” 

“Okay, one,” Ellie said, chuckling, “this is anything but a seedy hotel. And two, what kind of a date would it be if I ruined the surprise?” 

“And what if I don’t like surprises?” you countered. 

Ellie grinned. “I think you’ll like this one.” 

When the elevator doors opened, Ellie held her hand out to you as though it were a question. You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand back in hers and letting her lead you out into open air. 

You nearly choked on a gasp. 

The bar itself was beautiful - fairy lights stretched above your head, twinkling like stars and casting the rooftop in a warm glow. Wooden tables and plush couches were spread artfully around the space, far enough apart to provide the patrons scattered about with some privacy. 

The bar was beautiful - but the view was fucking breathtaking. 

The city stretched out beyond the railings, open in a way you had never seen before. The skyline rose around you, each building shining like its own little galaxy amidst a sea of stars. The city lights blocked out the actual stars - a fact that never failed to piss you off - but you could see the crescent of the moon rising over the city, casting a quiet glow like a veil. 

You looked back at Ellie, and whatever your face held made her grin. She leaned in just enough so that her murmur was for your ears only: “So, was I right?” 

You blinked, momentarily distracted by her proximity - she smelled intoxicating, spicy and warm with a hint of tobacco beneath - before you finally said, “What?” 

Ellie snorted, breaking whatever spell she had put you under. “The surprise,” she said, leaning away enough for your head to clear. “Was I right?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, pursing your lips as though you had to think about it. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the skyline stretched before you. 

You finally said, “That depends on how good the drinks are.” 

When Ellie laughed, her eyes crinkled in the corners, her nose scrunching. It was a full, rich sound, hanging in the air above your head like helium. It made something in your chest tighten, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. 

She squeezed your hand, a twinkle in her eye, and said, “The old-fashioned's to die for.” 

You pursed your lips again to hide your smile.

Ellie didn’t bother checking in with the host, simply shot her a smile and a wave as you walked by - you tried to bite back a giggle when you saw the host’s face turn red, her eyes tracking Ellie as she led you to a table right along the edge of the railing. She pulled the chair out for you - “Such a gentleman,” you laughed - before taking the seat opposite you.

As she waved over a waiter, you took a moment to lean your head over the railing. It was made entirely of glass, giving you a clear view of the city below. You could hear the distant sound of traffic, cars racing below you like shiny beetles, but it was like it was coming from a different world altogether. Everything seemed impossibly, wonderfully small from up here. 

You looked up at the sound of your name to find a groomed waiter wearing a fucking waistcoat standing before you. Ellie was looking at you with laughter in her eyes, her lips twitching. 

“Shit, sorry,” you said, immediately flinching at your own curse. You suddenly couldn’t remember the proper etiquette in a fancy bar, feeling out of place and underdressed even in your nicest outfit. You looked between Ellie and the waiter, wracking your brain for any kind of drink that wasn’t a trashy cocktail you’d find at a dive bar. 

Seeing you floundering, Ellie gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Do you like wine?” 

Relief washed over you as you nodded. Turning back to the waiter, Ellie ordered something that you couldn’t even hope to pronounce, charm lifting the corner of her mouth. She spoke to the waiter with the steady ease of familiarity, laughing at some inside joke; you briefly wondered just how often Ellie came to this bar. Surely, a nice place like this - at the very precipice of the world, looking down at the stars - wouldn’t be a regular stop on anyone’s schedule, but Ellie and the staff spoke like old friends. 

When the waiter left, tussling Ellie’s hair playfully, she turned back to you and the awkwardness of a first date finally set in. Sure, you had been texting Ellie every day for a week now, but you still hardly knew the girl. You knew she liked mushrooms and hiking. You knew that most of her clothes were from the thrift store even though she could afford any designer brand she wanted. You knew her favorite video game was Dishonored. But nothing you knew was enough for a relationship. 

But you weren't exactly looking for love, were you? 

After a moment of silence, Ellie cleared her throat, looking out over the city. “It's nice out here.” 

You snorted before you could stop yourself, covering your mouth; it didn't cover the laughter in your eyes. You said, “You're really talking to me about the weather?”

Ellie opened her mouth, an indignant sparkle to her eye, before shutting it again. It was like she was malfunctioning, opening and closing her mouth yet no sound came out. She furrowed her brows, looking at you as though you were something new and interesting, before finally chuckling, looking away. “Yeah, I-I guess I am.” When she looked back up at you, her eyes were surprisingly sheepish. “Not making a great first impression, am I?”

You couldn't stop the smile that crept up to your eyes. You leaned closer, propping your chin in your hand, and said, “I think you're doing okay so far.” 

Ellie laughed that wondrous laugh again, her nose scrunching up, and the cord in your shoulders loosened. 

“Okay,” she sighed, her eyes still alight with residual laughter. “Okay, damn. Tell me about yourself.” 

“Well now this just sounds like a job interview.” 

Ellie threw her hands up in mock frustration, trying to stifle her own grin. “Okay, fuck, knock me down again! You're obviously an expert, so show me how it's done.” 

She leaned back and crossed her arms, looking at you expectantly, and it was the perfect moment for your drinks to arrive. Ellie did, in fact, order an old-fashioned. The waiter set two wine glasses on the table, producing a bottle seemingly from thin air. He held it out, explaining to you in rehearsed prose the year, acidity, and complexity in words that passed straight through you. You nodded along even as you didn't process a single word he said. 

When he left, you turned back to Ellie and said, “How did you find this place?” 

Ellie took a sip of her drink. The lights of the city danced in the amber glass. “Just an old haunt of mine, I guess.” 

You took a sip of the wine, taking the distraction. It was warm on your tongue, tasting of wood and fruit and something spicy just underneath. The wine you usually drank was the stuff you could find in your nearest grocery store, often tasting concerningly like bug spray and bought with whatever tips you had managed to scrape together from work. It was usually shared with a friend on your kitchen floor, the walls and thoughts spinning over your head. 

You much preferred wine like this: The taste of warmth and fire on your tongue, the cool air brushing your shoulders at the edge of the sky, and a beautiful person sitting across from you.

When Ellie lowered her glass, you could see amber droplets of whiskey clinging to her lips before her tongue darted out to catch them. You tore your eyes away, but her smile said that she had caught you staring. A chill ran up your spine that you were sure was just from the cold. 

Seeing you shiver, Ellie wordless reached behind her where she had tossed her jacket over the back of her chair. Standing, she rounded the table only for a moment, only long enough to place the coat over your shoulders. Her hands lingered there for a second too long before she retreated, sliding back into her seat as though she had never moved. 

“So, why are you here?” she finally said. 

You pulled the jacket around your shoulders, distracted by the smell of it. The same smell that must be her perfume clung to it, spiced and warm like an open fire, but something else clung to the fabric too. It was strangely metallic, sharp and intoxicating, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was shockingly warm against your skin. 

“I’m here,” you said, raising a brow and ignoring her real question, “because you sent me this address and told me to meet you here at eight wearing my nicest dress.” 

The corner of Ellie’s lips quirked, a grin she was trying to hide. She clasped her hands, leaning across the table so you could smell the whiskey on her breath. “And you agreed to meet a stranger at a seedy hotel,” she murmured, mocking your remark from earlier. Her grin revealed itself when your cheeks flushed. “But why are you here - what are you seeking?” 

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s kind of a dumb question, don’t you think? It’s pretty obvious why I’m on the app.” You cocked your head, leaning across the table, feeling a strange thrill when her eyes flashed. Your heart fluttered at the proximity, and you couldn’t remember when you had become so easily starstruck. “The real question, Ellie, is why are you?“ 

Ellie’s eyes darkened, and you weren’t sure if you just imagined her eyes flicking down to your lips. She looked back up at you through her lashes, her voice rough when she said, “That’s a third date kind of question.” 

Your eyebrows shot up. “What makes you so sure you’ll get a third date?” 

Ellie tilted her head, a slow smile pulling at her lips, and said, “Call it a hunch.” 

The waiter came to check on you, appearing at your shoulder like a ghost. You hastily retreated, leaning back in your chair as though the electricity in the air had shocked you, and took a sip of wine that was more than a little overzealous. You tried to choke it down as Ellie waved the waiter away with that heartstopping crooked smile. What happened to you? Since when were you so easily charmed by freckles, green eyes, and smart-ass comments? You couldn't remember the last time you had been so infatuated during a normal date, let alone one with these kinds of strings attached. 

“So you don't want to be in an interview,” Ellie said once the waiter was out of earshot. “I guess all my typical getting to know you conversations are out of the question.” 

“I didn't say that,” you countered, your throat still burning from your accidental wine waterboarding. “But come on - what girl are you going to impress by asking her questions like ‘Tell me about yourself,’ or ‘Why are you here?’ or ‘Why are you more qualified for this position?’”

“Okay, okay, goddamn,” she said, laughing. Grabbing the wine bottle, she looked at you for permission before pouring you another glass.

You brought the glass up to your lips, taking a sip to hide your smile. The flush in your cheeks was surely from the wine and nothing else. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“I hardly know you.” On one hand, that felt entirely untrue - but especially after this recent discovery, you really knew nothing about this girl. “Tell me about you.” 

Ellie laughed that same rough laugh and your heart jumped. “Oh, so you're allowed to be the interviewer.” 

You nodded, twirling the glass between your fingers and looking at her expectantly. 

After a moment, Ellie rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, but you could see the humor in her eyes. She downed the last of her old-fashioned and, like a good sport, said, “What do you want to know?”

Turns out, there was a lot to know - more than a simple dating app would tell you. Ellie had an older sister, Sarah, who lived in Dallas. Her dog was named after her childhood best friend. Her jacket wasn't thrifted after all, but had been her dad's. Speaking of which, she used to go hunting with him every season (“I haven't been in years, though,” she said, her eyes distant). On the weekends, she'd go to antique stores to look for art and trinkets to fill her house - her favorite antiques were from the 17th century. She hated horror movies and was a sucker for a good romance. 

In return, you caved and answered her pressing questions. You told her about your best friend - Ellie laughed when you told her that your friend had sent you the link to the app in the first place. You told her about your favorite show that you binge-watched whenever you felt like you were spiraling. You did not tell her about your apartment that was probably the size of her closet or the fact that you'd have to watch your budget after taking the Uber tonight, not to mention the extra $30 Uber to get home later. You did tell her about your family, and a strange, unexplained sadness crept into the creases around her mouth. You did tell her about your job, but didn't mention the second one you worked to afford groceries. You told her you were hoping for a real, human connection, yet didn't mention that you couldn’t imagine finding it in a fucking sugar mommy. 

All too soon, the wine bottle was empty and your chest was comfortingly warm. The lights strung across the bar danced above your head like fuzzy stars, and Ellie's smile was the brightest amongst them. Her glass was still empty, her wine glass dry, and yet her eyes told you she was intoxicated by something far stronger. 

“Sorry,” you said, giggling despite yourself. “I didn't mean to drink it all.” 

“Don't worry about it, darling,” she said, her voice silky smooth, reminding you of melted chocolate sliding down your throat. She tilted her glass, letting the remnants of melting ice clink against the side. “I wanted to make sure I could drive home okay.” 

The waiter arrived then, pulling the bill from his pocket and handing it to Ellie. You couldn't read the number upside down, not through the haze of the wine, but the number of digits made your stomach clench. Ellie dropped a black card into the folder and handed it back to the waiter. 

“How much do you want me to Venmo you?” you asked when she turned back to you. You clenched your hands in the hem of your dress, already calculating the extra shift you'd have to pick up to afford it. 

Ellie tilted her head, her brows furrowed. “Nothing,” she said, as though it were obvious. 

“That wasn't exactly a cheap bottle, Ellie,” you laughed. “Let me give you something.” 

Ellie hummed, propping her chin in her hand and looking at you with those same intense eyes; it sent a dangerous shiver down your spine. “I like when you say my name.”

You blinked at her. “Excuse me.” 

“I want to hear it again. That's how you can repay me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ellie, I-” 

“Okay, now we're even,” she interrupted, smiling that crooked grin that you had started to crave. The waiter returned with her card and Ellie produced cash from her pocket, handing it to the waiter directly. He thanked her profusely before making his exit, grinning. When Ellie looked at you again, you were still watching her expectantly, dumbfounded. She finally rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what kind of date would I be if I made you pay?”

“You're not making me, I'm offering.” 

“And I'm saying no.” Ellie stood, straightening her shirt; when she tugged at it, the collar fell a bit, exposing sharp collarbones beneath. 

Rounding the table, she offered a hand to you, pulling you gently to your feet. You pulled her jacket tighter around yourself, knowing you needed to give it back yet unwilling to part with it just yet. 

Taking your arm, Ellie leaned in close enough that your breath caught in your throat and said, “I know why I found you on Seeking, okay? So, if it's alright with you, let me spoil you. Even if that just means one bottle of wine.” 

You laughed, but it sounded breathy even to your own ringing ears. “One very expensive bottle of wine.”

Ellie shrugged, a sparkle in her eye. “It's a small price to pay for your company.”

You were silent in the elevator, but you held on to her arm as though afraid to let go. You couldn't figure out why, but something in you urgently wanted nothing more than to be close to her. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt such a pull from somebody. 

Back on the street, the lights of the city seemed so much brighter than they had before. Ellie released your arm, turning to face you, and there was a strange pinch between her brows that you couldn't translate. 

“Do you want me to call you an Uber, or do you want me to take you home?” she asked, and your brain short-circuited. When you could do nothing but stammer, tripping over your own tongue, Ellie laughed. There was no mockery behind it, only quiet, bright amusement. “I meant I can drive you to your apartment so you don't have to drunkenly sit in an awkward Uber that smells sickeningly sweet and the driver tries to make mind-numbing small talk.” 

Your sigh of relief came out more like a laugh. 

Ellie tilted her head and stepped closer to you, her hand reaching out to graze your fingers, and that sigh was sucked right back into your lungs. Being so close to her made your head spin. Her breath fanned against your cheeks, smelling of warm whiskey, when she said, “Unless you want to come to my place?”

It had the uncertain tilt of a question, and Ellie wouldn't quite meet your eyes. 

“We don't have to do anything,” she continued in a rush. She scratched anxiously at the back of her head, a nervous laugh slipping between her lips. “We can just sit and talk more. Or watch a movie - my dad had this huge collection. I'm not gonna - You know, I'm not going to do anything you don't want.” She finally interrupted herself with a groan, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Fuck, sorry, I wanted it to sound more suave than this.” 

And you would be a fucking idiot to go home with this impossible stranger. You had been taught better - never get into a stranger's car, and for the love of God, never let them take you to a second location. You could let her take you back to your apartment at least - you were admittedly incredibly tipsy and didn't particularly want to endure another ride with an annoyingly talkative Uber driver. You could go home, back to your claustrophobic, quiet apartment, and maybe - maybe - text  Ellie about setting up a second date. 

You were not stupid enough to go home with somebody on the first date. 

Except clearly you were, because you took the hand that was still grazing your fingers and looked up at Ellie - the contours of her face were shockingly etched with insecurity. And your dumb mouth said, of its own volition, “Okay.”

You had expected something flashy, like what a wealthy person would own in a movie - like a penthouse overlooking the city with too-white walls and electric guitars hanging, unused, on the walls. Maybe she had walls completely made of windows so it felt like you were on a pedestal overlooking the world. 

You hadn't expected a house that was older than your great-grandparents. 

When Ellie pulled into the driveway, you were sure she was just pulling in someplace to turn around, that she had missed her turn somewhere. But she put her stupidly-expensive car into park and killed the engine, shooting you an awkward glance. 

“Sorry,” she said, chuckling. “I know it’s not much.” 

You could only look at her incredulously, speechless, before looking back up at the house before you. You couldn’t even call it a house really - estate would be more fitting. Maybe mansion. Fuck, her house was the size of your apartment complex. It towered over you, three stories of intricate woodwork, warm brown beams wrapping around the structure like an elaborate skeleton. With beautiful eaves winding around the roof and an entire turret reaching for the moon, it looked like something that had stepped right out of some 1800s southern gothic novel. 

Ellie cleared her throat, startling you from a trance. You looked back at her and, for some reason, couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

”Shit, sorry,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand. “I just - I’ve just never seen anything like it.” When Ellie’s eyes clouded over with uncertainty, you added softly, “It’s beautiful. Besides, Ellie,” you added, laughing again, “‘not much’ doesn’t really suit you.” 

Ellie opened and closed her mouth and yet no words came out. She was looking at you again as though you were something interesting - something new and exciting. Nobody had ever looked at you that way before, and the way your heart clenched at the sight was more than a little dangerous. 

Ellie finally smiled, huffing out a laugh - your heart was pretty satisfied with how often you were able to make her laugh - and said, “Do you still want to come inside?” 

And, surprisingly, you said, “Yeah, I do.” 

As Ellie got out, rounding the car to open your door for you, you discreetly checked that the taser was still in your bag. Sure, you had agreed to go home with a practical stranger, but you couldn't be too careful. 

The porch steps creaked as she led you to the door - double doors (of course), with stained glass and twisting vines carved into the wood. When Ellie opened them, it felt like you were transported to a different time on an entirely different world. 

The grand staircase caught your eye first - how could it not? Warm wooden steps covered in a blood red runner, a white banister winding up, those same vines that seemed to be the house’s signature carved into it. You could see a large, stained-glass window at the landing before it curved to disappear to the second floor. Moonlight splintered through the window in broken relief. 

As though in a trance, you wandered further into the house, walking to the fireplace situated right beneath the stairs. The wood stacked neatly inside was cold, untouched by a flame. There was a large mirror set atop the mantle, its gold frame a work of art alone. In the reflection, you could see the flush to your cheeks, and tried to convince yourself it was only from the cold. You still wore Ellie’s jacket, and you pulled it tight around your shoulders, as though it were a shield. 

You watched Ellie’s reflection as she walked slowly towards you, a small smile gracing her lips. She came close enough to touch - close enough that you could feel her cool breath against the back of your neck - and yet she didn’t put a hand on you. 

“There’s a lot more to see than the foyer,” she murmured, the words brushing your skin. “If you still want.” 

And you couldn’t stop your own smile as you turned back to her, your heart skipping at her proximity. “Show me.” 

She took your hand, her fingers shockingly cold, and led you into what must have been her living room - sitting room? Despite the fact that the house felt more like a museum - like you would get scolded for touching anything - the room was surprisingly cozy. A large, plush sectional was situated in front of another fireplace- this one also unblemished. Blankets and quilts were thrown over the couch and the accompanying chairs, leaving this time capsule looking strangely welcoming. 

“Okay, I have to ask,” you said, turning back to Ellie. She was watching you carefully, gauging your reaction with soft eyes, and you lost your train of thought. You opened your mouth but no sound came out; you weren’t sure if that was more or less embarrassing than the several curses you had said earlier in the night. 

Ellie hummed, raising her hand as though she wanted to touch you. She stopped only inches away from your cheek and dropped her hand, saying, “I’m an open book.” 

You had to turn away to collect your thoughts, wandering across the room if just to catch your breath. The opposite wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. You ran your fingers along the spines of vintage classics, an array of science books, and comics, enjoying the irony of seeing Savage Starlight in the middle of all this history. You picked up a copy to keep your hands busy. 

“How, um,” you started, stumbling over your words, “how did you end up here?” 

Ellie hummed again, and you heard her footsteps following you. “Here as in this town, this country, this world? You gotta be a little more specific.” 

You sighed, giving in and turning to look at her. She kept a careful distance, standing a few feet away from you with her hands in her pockets. “You know what I mean, smartass.”

Ellie chuckled, but her eyes had grown distant, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She took a few more steps closer to you, looking at the comic book in your hands. On the app, she hadn’t struck you as the type to get easily bashful, and yet she had proven you wrong a few times already. 

“My family lived here,” she finally said, quiet as a secret. You watched her carefully, jumping at the opportunity to stare at her without those intense eyes looking back at you. Her brow furrowed and she pressed her lips together as though she was in pain, her green eyes shining. “It was just… passed down, I guess? It’s kind of always been here ever since I can remember. I’m not entirely sure when it became mine.” 

You tucked the comic book back into its spot between The Iliad and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You said absently, “How old is this place anyway?”

”It was built in 1816,” she said automatically, as though it were memorized. 

“It’s an awfully big house for just one person.” You looked up at her through your lashes as she stepped closer - close enough that you could smell that same metallic warmth that seemed to cling to her. 

“It is,” Ellie murmured, smiling. She reached out again, and this time she allowed herself to touch you. Her cold fingers brushed against your cheek before she gently cupped your jaw, tilting your head so you’d look at her properly. Her green eyes were downright intimidating. “But I keep good company.” 

You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t convince yourself to look away. “Is that what you say to all the girls?” 

Ellie hummed, bracing her other hand on the bookshelf behind your head, and murmured, “No, I don’t.” She pressed in closer, her gaze dropping to your mouth, and you felt like your heart was going to leap from your throat. Ellie huffed out a laugh as though she could hear it pounding against your chest. When her thumb brushed your bottom lip, your lips parted on instinct. She didn’t look away, transfixed on the point where her skin touched your mouth, and you almost didn’t hear her when she said, “Can I?” 

And you had never been the kind of person to kiss on the first date, but she was looking at you with eyes hooded with want, her breath fanning against your cheeks. When she licked her lips, you couldn’t stop your eyes from following the motion. Her lips glistened, parted and plump, looking so impossibly soft. Somehow, past your haze, you heard yourself say, “Yes.” 

Ellie took her time in kissing you. She pressed you back gently, your shoulders pressing into the bookshelf behind you, and touched her nose to yours. She took a deep breath, breathing you in. Her hand was soft against your cheek, tilting your jaw up, and you hardly had to move to finally kiss her. 

Ellie tasted just like she smelled - spicy and metallic, the old-fashioned still hanging on her tongue. Despite the cold of her hand on your cheek, her mouth was impossibly warm, her breath slipping between your lips; it was intoxicating in a way that the wine couldn’t compare to. Her mouth moved against yours, soft and slow as a dance. 

Your hands reached out as though of their own accord, circling her waist and gripping at the slippery silk of her shirt. She pressed in close, crowding you against the bookshelf; you could feel her chest pressing against you, her hips on yours, the line of her body against yours making your head spin. And when Ellie’s tongue pressed against your lips, a gentle request for access, you felt like you’d faint altogether. 

Her tongue slipped between your teeth and you couldn’t stop the breathy sound it pulled from your throat. You could feel that infuriating smile against your lips and suddenly wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. You balled her ridiculously expensive shirt in your hands and pulled her impossibly closer, nipping at her bottom lip, and you wanted to swallow her gasp. 

Ellie pulled away, chuckling, but she didn’t go far. She pressed a kiss to your cheek, her lips trailing down to your jaw, and she could probably feel your pulse jump beneath her tongue. You could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Do you do this often?” 

Her teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear, and it took you a few moments before you could respond. “Do what?” Despite yourself - despite the way your fingers gripped her shirt, your head swimming and an unexplainable want burning in your veins - you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go on a date with somebody I met on an app for sugar babies and go back to their ridiculously old mansion on the first date and-“ 

You cut yourself off. You weren’t sure exactly what was happening, and you were afraid that voicing it would break whatever spell you were under - whatever spell made this impossible woman’s touch feel like lightning. 

But Ellie only laughed, biting at the spot where your neck met your shoulder. “Yeah, that.” 

You shivered against her touch. “No, I’ve never really done this.” 

“Guess I’m just lucky.” 

Ellie kissed you again, only briefly, before she finally pulled away. She was grinning, her eyes sparkling with those same constellations; her face wasn’t even flushed, making you feel embarrassed about your burning cheeks. You were panting, intoxicated from the night and wine and Ellie. Her absence felt like an ache, your body craving the feeling of her lips, her teeth, her hands. You were close to tugging her back in, your hands still gripping her shirt, but she gently untangled herself from you with a laugh. 

“I want to keep going.” She paused, and then emphasized, “I really want to keep going. But you drank an entire bottle of wine, and I’d be kind of a shitty host if I didn’t offer you something to drink at least. Or are you hungry?” 

You were hungry, but it was the kind of hunger that food wouldn’t satiate. Still, you let your hands drop back to your sides, feeling your senses return to you now that they weren’t so tuned into Ellie - how she smelled, tasted, felt. When you laughed, it sounded breathy even to your own ears. “Some water would be nice.” 

“I can do that,” she said with a smile. “Stay here.” She kissed you again, lingering for a few moments longer than needed, before she turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone in this ridiculously old mansion. 

With nothing else to keep yourself entertained, you did a slow lap around the room, eyeing the ironic blend of elegant antiques and silly trinkets that were so obviously Ellie. A cracked ivory trinket box sat on a shelf, intricate flowers engraved into the lid, set right next to a small figurine of an astronaut. Beautiful paintings lined the walls, signatures dating back to 1830 in elaborate script at the bottom, but there were also a few posters littered here and there - bands and video games. 

You walked over to the mantle, your fingers grazing over the marble top. The logs inside were untouched, and you briefly wondered if she’d light a fire soon to chase out the chill of autumn. A small jar filled with guitar picks sat at the corner, and you wondered if she really did have an electric guitar collection hidden around here somewhere. Your foot kicked an empty dog bowl, and yet Riley was nowhere to be found. Maybe Ellie took her to daycare when she knew she’d bring a girl home. You nearly laughed at the idea. 

Atop the mantle, hidden behind pictures of what must have been friends or family - hiking or traveling or laughing in somebody’s backyard - there was another picture frame. It must have fallen, face down so that the picture inside was covered. You reached out, careful to not disturb any of the other frames, and picked it up. You were just going to fix it, set it up next to the others, but something in the image caught your eye. You plucked it from its home, bringing it closer, holding it up to the light to get a better look. For a long time, you couldn’t figure out what you were looking at. Your heart hammered against your chest, your ears ringing, as though your body had figured it out before your brain did. 

It was an old photograph, grainy and sepia, faded and frayed around the edges with age. It was the house, looking just like it did today - the huge windows shining in the sunlight, the intricate eaves and wrap-around porch perfectly polished and new. A family stood on the lawn in front of the house, looking awkward and stiff. Back then, cameras took several minutes to actually capture a photo, so people tended to look a little awkward from trying to hold the same expression for so long. But that’s not what had caught your eye. 

It was a small family - a weary looking dad and his two daughters, looking just a few years younger than you. 

She looked a little different. Her hair was longer, falling in waves around her shoulders. She was definitely a few years younger, and she wore a sweet, full-length gown instead of a worn leather jacket. 

You checked the date in the bottom corner at least five times, but there was no mistaking it. The person in the photo was undeniably Ellie, standing in front of this house in 1816. 

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @peejayurple @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight @hobbybound

[a-gil-rebel]

Okay, last one for the night, the asks are such an inspiration for scenarios with the Triumvirate <3 I severly underestimated how long this would be?? @overlords-au how do you make comics so long and detailed and amazing?? (Also trying to post this made my app crash twice lol)

I PROMISE I'll add Alt ID for the text later, I have a feeling this is gonna upload blurry but hopefully not. Tumblr always has that click for quality thing anyway...

Anyway I was cracking myself up making this I hope you like! (I already see things I forgot but I'm posting anyway haha)

[iminmywritersdungeon]

okay so ive been going through my ao3 bookmarks (to clean them up. i dont have an account so i have actual bookmarks in my browser and they got too much for me :/ anyways i really should get around to making an account)

and i reread your original works. specifically the one with the knife was so evocative and so good like your writing omfg i would watch youtube videos of you reciting that one and cry. like, it is so simple, and it has this rhythm to it that makes me get sucked in and read it over and over and over again and still feel the same emotions while reading it repeatedly in one sitting

You bleed and you burn and you grow and you age and you grieve for what you might’ve done, for who you could have been, if you had never gripped the knife.

when i read this first, i just exhaled sharply and closed my eyes to just process it because what the fuck. wow.

And one day you sit in your ocean of blood that has spilled out of you a million times and you find that the knife does not hurt as much that your muscles are not as tense and maybe just maybe-

i have no words to describe how i feel about this

growing up is being unable to let go of the knife to grieve is to grip it harder acceptance is dropping the knife to move on is to bandage the wound

you continued the poem in the notes?????? like this is a punch in the gut that makes everything in the text actually sink in and it honestly makes for great closure. it feels like when you gently let go of a leaf and watch as it slowly falls to the ground and then walk away

sorry if it feels like im just rambling my brain is very scattered rn. you do not know the effect this has had on me

thank you so much for writing this. i kinda wanna see this one day as a part of a poetry book. also eep i feel kinda shy putting this and youre one of my fav mutuals which is why im not on anon

NOVA I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH I saw this and started jumping around squealing with joy this is amazing

Fun fact i replied to this twice already except tumblr crashed and deleted my very long responses so here goes again!! Im gonna ramble be prepared

So I wrote this when I was in a pretty dark spot. I was dealing with the inevitability of me growing up and leaving my parents house. I’m still dealing with that lol but it was much worse back then. I was so scared and I was in so much pain and I had the idea in my head (it has a name, but I’ve always referred to it as ‘the knife metaphor’ in my docs and notes) and one day I just sat down and typed out my thoughts stream of consciousness style, no plan just vibes. I actually didn’t even like it much when I first wrote it, though I’m much more fond of it now. It definitely has a much different vibe in terms of just like. The way it’s written compared to the rest of my works. I joke a lot about how I throw punctuation to the wind for emotional effect but really it is that one where I fully go for it.

Anyway it means so fucking much to me that my rambling writings resonated with someone else in the way they did for me. My fanfiction is my escape but my original writing is where I really put pieces of myself into it. I put part of myself and my experiences into all my writing but I think in general when it’s original I write about my own thoughts and my own life a lot more than I do for fan works. One of the biggest examples of this is this work which really is just me telling the reader about my experience with a wildfire that tore through my entire town. I love that it made you feel this way and that it had the intended effect

omfg i would watch youtube videos of you reciting that one and cry.

I do actually have a yt channel lol maybe some day I’ll actually post writing stuff there but rn it’s all vlogs and random shit. I do have a plan one day to make a video detailing the Barbie princess charm school succession crisis

For anyone wondering, the work in question is this one. It’s a relatively long poem/pretty short story that I wrote one day in a haze and uploaded to ao3

Also nova YOU are one of MY favorite mutuals I adore you so much <3

[typicalopposite]

*paces the room*

So I just finished season 5!

So MUCH happened I swear going back to look at the episodes synopsis’ for this post I was like… wait that was in this season too?!? I stayed up ALL night TWICE watching this season because I just couldn’t turn it off! It’s crazy that people didn’t like this season (like vehemently didn’t like it at least on Reddit… BUT they say they don’t like s6 because its Buck centric and he “needs to be more of a background character” sooooo clearly I won’t read too into their nonsense)

ANYWAY this season is possibly one of my favorites! From the hackers the gps wrecks and tower scare, the zoo breakout (THE ZOO BREAKOUT OMG… THE ALPACAAAAAAAS! And Buck being scared LOL) to Jeffrey escaping and then Athena’s whole story line following! I was terrified for her and for Harry and ACK!!!!

Maddie’s PPD and leaving arc was so heartbreaking and frustrating at the same time! And I felt so bad for Chim (and Buck) and baby Jee!

OMG the homecoming parade crash and the mixup I was so Heartbroken for them! :(

Claudette… :/ hated her and her ending… but mostly her

Of course Lucifer (spn) shows up as an extremely bad guy but he wants to play dad of the year (ok the guy here at least is thinking of his kid more than himself… but still PARALLELS!)

MICHAEL AND DAVID! I hated to see them go! And that montage had me all teary eyed during one of my all nighters!

Toni’s little love story <3 and the girls from the oil spill! <3<3

Eddie’s panic attacks and leaving the 118 was so sad! But I get it… I also know he will be back because I came from season 7 *shrugs* so it wasn’t too sad, yanno?

I love that everyone still came together for Christmas tho, i was like poor Bobby and Athena </3

Madney reunion… sort of </3 but again…. I know how this ends lol. Also JJ and Kate reunion (criminal minds)

The kiss might be the one thing I truly disliked from the season because it doesn’t really do anything beyond being annoying.

WHY DOES EVERYONE USE BOBBY’S PAST AGAINST HIM WHEN THEY ARE ANGRYYYYYYYYYYYYY :(

Well I have a fear of sauna’s now (and stop signs… and exercising)

The mom that falls saving her daughters had me BAWLING!

Bobby and May’s relationship is everything to me! And ack I knew I didn’t like Jonah

I take back my original assumption of Buck having the worst luck. It’s Chimney. What the hell. Give this man a raise and a vacation… some amazing life insurance and some bubble wrap. How he is alive is beyond me!!

THE LAST EPISODE

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH <3

Toni getting married, and the drama about her missing Hen and Karen’s wedding. Buck’s face when Maddie texts Chim first. Bobby </3 was not ok, but EDDIE CAME THROUGH! And when he poured the whiskey out I was whooop whoooping out loud! THEN THE WEDDING I love Toni so much omg and everyone coming! PLUS no more Taylor :) hahahaha (sorry i just never liked her)

(Omg the maggots in the hair might have too the cake as the worst thing to happen… at least visually… for me)

SEASON SIX HERE I COME! You better be all about Buck like the pissy people on Reddit said you are! And y’all, send me strength for that mid season finale i have seen it dozens of times but this is gonna be different and I have never been so prepared to be unprepared for something in my life! O.o

[kikiswriting7]

Seoul Connection ✈︎ JJK ✈︎ PJM

CHAPTER 8

Authors note: Hey guys! Another week, another chapter!! I was feeling a bit blocked writing this one, but decided to post it as is. Hope you guys enjoy it!!

Also, less than a month to have ot7 back and I honestly I simply cannot freaking wait!!!!! Hope they all finish it safely and get out as soon as possible. Word on the street that Joon is sleeping next to his 'leaving clothes' since D-30 lol

Also, if you would like to have notifications as soon as im done with the chapters, I post first on AO3, so I suggest you follow it there if you want the new chapters ASAP haha

Lots of love, kiki --------------✈︎

The news broke like thunder.

Not the cinematic kind that rolls through the sky in warning—but the kind that crashes down without mercy, right on top of you. Violent. Sudden. The one that leaves your bones rattling. 

Your phone vibrates so violently on the nightstand that it skitters off the edge, landing on the floor with a sharp, accusing thud. It doesn't stop. Just keeps buzzing like it’s trying to wake the dead—or destroy the living. Your groggy limbs don’t want to move, but something in your chest starts to twist, coil, squeeze. You force your eyes open.

5:47 AM.

You blink. Once. Twice. The numbers don’t change.

Who the hell is texting you before sunrise?

For a split second, you almost reach for Evi’s contact out of reflex—ready to half-joke, half-scold her for pulling you into some chaotic rabbit hole this early. But your hand stills before it touches the screen. Evi wouldn’t. Not unless it mattered.

Your fingers fumble over the edge of the bed, blindly searching until your palm grazes the phone’s edge. You squint at the screen.

Twenty-three notifications.

The cold dread begins to bloom before you even unlock it.

The first one, timestamped 4:13 AM, stares at you like a siren in the dark:

[Yoshi 💚]: Are you awake? Check Twitter. NOW.

You swipe down. Another from Evi, minutes later:

[my one and only true love]: girl its blowing out of proportions. I know you’re not PR but I’m sure the bomb is gonna drop in your lap at some point.

Your heart stutters, picking up a strange, off-beat rhythm as you scroll further.

Texts from the girls. Three missed calls from Seo-Jun—which throws you, given how distant he’s been lately. One from your supervisor.

And then Sana, which leaves your fingers frozen on the screen for longer then it should.

[San ✨]: Guess golden boy isn't so golden after all… Dating scandal with Ji-a just dropped. Everyone’s freaking out. Manager wants all hands on deck.

Your blood runs cold.

And then you're moving—sitting up too fast, legs tangling in the sheets, lungs tight as if the air has turned into smoke. Your fingers fly across the screen, launching your browser with practiced speed.

There it is. Headline after headline. Like digital shrapnel.

“Alleged Date: BTS’ Jungkook Spotted on Intimate Night Out with Actress Ji-a” “Golden Maknae’s Secret Romance? Late Night Rendezvous Caught on Camera” “HYBE Stocks Dip Following Dating Rumors of BTS Member”

The breath you suck in trembles through your chest.

The photos aren't explicit. No grand confessions. No stolen kisses in alleyways.

But you know that build. That silhouette. That casual oversized hoodie he wore just last week to the office, sleeves pushed up to his forearms like he always does.

And Ji-a’s smile—it’s the kind that reaches her eyes. Her hand is tucked into the crook of his arm like she belongs there. In another frame, she leans up—her lips brushing what looks like his cheek, but the angle swallows his expression whole.

It could be anyone. But it’s not. You know it’s him.

A sharp ache carves itself into your chest.

You swallow hard, but the knot in your throat refuses to budge. You blink, then blink again, as if that might make the headlines disappear. As if denial could overwrite truth.

He’s not yours.

He never was.

Still—your hands are trembling.

The screen buzzes again. Taking away the haze that had been taking control. 

[Manager Kim]: Emergency meeting at 7 AM. All staff required. Media response team assembling now.

You inhale, long and slow. A futile attempt to calm the chaos clawing through your ribcage.

This isn’t personal.

This is your job.

Your job.

You’re just staff. Intern staff, at that.

You tell yourself this again and again as you set the phone down. As you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. As your bare feet press to the floor.

But the words don’t land. They bounce right off the jagged glass now wedged in your chest.

You get dressed in silence.

Black slacks. Crisp white blouse. You tug your hair back into a low, tight bun. Not a strand out of place.

If you look like you have it together, maybe no one will see the cracks.

The mirror doesn’t lie, though.

Your eyes are red. Swollen in the corners. You look exactly like someone who barely slept, who was sucker-punched by a truth she never wanted to admit.

You stare yourself down for five long seconds.

Then you turn away.

The city blurs past the car window, a gray smear of buildings and movement. Your Uber driver hums along to a soft pop ballad, and your brain doesn't even register the lyrics until the segment changes.

A newscaster’s chipper voice cuts through the radio: “...breaking news in the world of K-pop today. BTS’s Jungkook was spotted late last night with actress Ji-a in what fans are calling a romantic date…”

You almost ask the driver to change the station. The words feel like needles under your skin, but you can’t summon the energy to speak.

You just press your forehead to the window, letting the cold glass anchor you. Ground you. Keep you from floating into the spiral that threatens to pull you under.

You don’t open your phone again.

You don’t want to see the trending hashtags.

Or the edits.

Or the commentary dissecting every inch of his posture, every pixel of her expression.

You already saw everything you needed to.

You felt it.

That silent confirmation that whatever sliver of hope you’d let flicker in your chest—whatever spark there was between you and him that night on the plane, or in the quiet glances at the studio—was nothing more than smoke.

Maybe it had been real for a second. Maybe not.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Now the world had a new power couple to obsess over. And you?

You were supposed to be the ghost behind the curtain. Not even a footnote.

You arrive at HYBE twelve minutes early and walk into a war room.

The energy is electric—tight with tension, exhaustion, and that specific brand of focused chaos that only comes with a PR crisis. Laptops are open. Papers clutter the table. Coffee cups, some half-empty, litter the surface like fallen soldiers. On the main screen, the photos—the ones causing all of this—are blown up in high resolution, each pixel scrutinized to death.

Your eyes lock onto them. Not like you haven’t stared at them for way too long at this point.

“—we need to control the narrative immediately. We have a statement drafted, but timing is everything. The longer we wait, the worse the speculation gets.”

A woman from legal adjusts her glasses. “We also have to consider contract implications. If we confirm a relationship—”

Manager Kim cuts in sharply. “Let’s not jump ahead.” He runs a hand through his short black hair, eyes scanning the table, reading the tension in everyone’s posture. “Thoughts? Anyone?”

There’s a beat of silence. You’re not even sure why you open your mouth. Maybe it’s because you’ve been staring at the same three photos for an hour and something about them keeps nagging at you.

You lean forward slightly, keeping your voice light. “It’s just… interesting how conveniently unprovable these are. No face. No tattoos. Even the outfit—yeah, it looks like something he’d wear, but it’s not exclusive. The angles, the hair, the framing—it almost feels intentional. Like someone wanted it to look like him, without ever proving it.”

A few heads turn. You pretend not to notice, keeping your eyes on the screen.

Manager Kim taps his pen against the table once, then looks directly at you. “You’re saying we don’t even need to deny it—because technically, it can’t be confirmed.”

You shrug, casual. “If someone wants to believe it’s not him, there’s just enough doubt to let them. We don’t have to say anything. The public will do it for us.”

There’s a pause.

Then, Manager Kim nods. “We hold the statement. No confirmation, no denial. We circulate this internally—to senior staff, the social teams. Get a few trusted fan accounts to point out the lack of facial ID. Let the doubt spread organically. Let the public talk itself out of it.”

“But sir,” someone from PR chimes in carefully, “the fans are already—”

“They’ll speculate no matter what,” he says firmly. “Silence is not admission. It’s refusal. And we’re not playing a game we can't win.”

Murmurs of agreement ripple around the table. The head of PR is already scribbling notes.

You sit back in your chair, trying not to overthink it. You hadn’t expected anyone to actually listen to what you said, let alone use it. But Manager Kim throws you the smallest glance—barely there, but unmistakably approving.

And suddenly, you feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

He turns to security. “Increase protection for all members. Especially Jungkook. No press contact, no comments. Adjust schedules only if absolutely necessary. We need to show this doesn’t touch us.”

The meeting moves on—action items, timelines, roles. You take notes automatically, keeping your focus on logistics: extra guards, backdoor exits, minimizing visibility. You bury yourself in the tasks. It’s easier than thinking about everything else.

An hour later, the meeting begins to thin out. Someone from the team walks over, clutching a folder.

“Y/N,” she says, “can you take these revised security protocols to the members? They’re in the practice room.”

You stay long enough to answer a few questions about exits and the new silent protocol for building arrivals. Jin nods seriously. Yoongi doesn't look up. No one asks about Jungkook.

You don’t either.

Your voice is even, measured, as if your pulse isn’t climbing with every second you stay in the room. As if your bones aren’t buzzing like live wires beneath your skin. You can still feel the aftershock of the meeting upstairs—the sharp, clipped tone of voices deciding how to erase the truth without technically lying. Your own voice, echoing in the room when you hadn't meant to say anything at all.

And then Manager Kim's approval, the way it had cut through the static.

Now here you are. Delivering orders about protection and secrecy to the very people who need shielding from the world—and maybe, in some way, from each other.

As you excuse yourself and are halfway down the hallway, you hear Jimin’s voice call after you.

“Y/N.”

You stop mid-turn. “Yeah?”

He jogs lightly to reach you, slowing as he gets close. His face is unreadable—his usual brightness dimmed, replaced by something quieter, more careful.

“Did you see him?”

You don’t ask who. The question thuds in your chest like a dropped weight.

“No,” you answer. “Not really.”

Jimin nods like he expected that. “He’s in the small studio. Said he needed air but didn’t want to leave the building.”

There’s a pause. The kind that stretches too long, not awkward, but full of things neither of you says.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

His gaze lingers on you—not sharp, not suspicious. Just… searching. Watching you like he’s weighing whether to ask more or let you go.

Then, softer, “You should… uh, go talk to him.”

You nod. Not because you understand, but because you don’t know what else to do.

“I’ll… bring him a copy of the protocols,” you manage, lifting a few spare sheets from the folder. It gives you something to carry. A reason. A script.

Jimin doesn’t smile. He just hums. “You don’t have to talk to him, you know. If it’s easier.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Nothing about Jungkook is ever easy.

With Jimin, things slip into place. His warmth is effortless. The way he notices without asking, how he makes you feel seen without the pressure of being understood.

Jungkook is different.

You can never tell if he’s trying not to feel or feeling too much. He’s quiet in ways that leave room for your own noise, but when he does speak—it sticks. Like he doesn’t talk unless he means it. Like everything matters.

He never pushes. He doesn’t chase.

But he makes you want to walk toward him anyway.

And that’s what makes it hard.

You nod again and turn, the walls of the hallway closing in around you. Each step toward the small studio feels like a dare. Like walking toward a cliff's edge in the dark—knowing something waits on the other side, but unsure whether it will catch you or let you fall.

When you reach the door, your hand hesitates on the handle.

There’s no sound inside. Not even music.

You knock.

No answer.

Another beat. Then, softly, you push the door open.

He's there, in the sofa, laying face down and one arm hanging off, hoodie pulled low. A water bottle sits untouched beside him. His phone is face-down. His body language is closed off, locked down like he’s trying to disappear into the cushions.

Your breath catches.

You should say something. Announce yourself. But you don’t.

Because for a moment—for a single, gut-wrenching moment—you just look at him. You let yourself see him. Not the idol. Not the subject of a PR meeting. Just the boy who sat beside you on a plane, who laughed at your jokes before either of you realized where this would all lead.

Your bones shake—not from fear this time, but from restraint.

He shifts then, sensing you. His head turns slightly. Just enough to glance over his shoulder, but not enough to face you fully.

You hold up the pages. “Security protocols,” you say, your voice softer than it should be. “They need you to review them.”

His eyes flick down to the paper, then back to you. He doesn’t reach for them.

He doesn’t speak.

The silence between you stretches, drawn tight like a thread caught between two pins. His face is pale. Tired. He looks like someone who hasn’t slept. Someone who’s been watched too closely for too long.

You swallow hard. “They’re not asking you to say anything,” you offer. “No comment. No confirmation. Just… let the noise pass.”

Finally, he speaks.

“I didn’t think it would matter.”

His voice is low. Rough.

You blink. “What?”

He turns his face a little more. You can see his profile now—the slope of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the hollow beneath his eyes.

“I didn’t think… going out for dinner with someone would matter this much.”

The ache in your chest sharpens. “It’s not your fault.”

He huffs, almost a laugh. “That’s what they all say, right? When it becomes your fault anyway.”

You want to step closer. You don’t.

He finally looks at you fully sitting up, and it’s worse than you expect. Because he doesn’t look angry. Or defensive. Or even embarrassed.

He just looks disappointed.

So you place the papers on the nearest table and nod. “I’ll let them know I gave these to you.”

You turn to go.

“Y/N.”

You took a tentative step forward back at him. "Are you... I mean... do you need anything?”

A hollow laugh escaped him. "Need anything? No. I think I've got everything covered.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between you. There were a thousand things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask. But none of them were your right.

"I should go," you finally murmured, moving for the door. 

His hand shot out, catching your wrist. The contact sent electricity up your arm, and you froze, eyes wide as you looked up at him.

"Do you believe it?" he asked, voice low and intense. "What they're saying?"

Your pulse hammered against his fingers. "It's not my place to—"

"I'm asking what you think," he interrupted, eyes searching yours with an urgency that made your breath catch. "Not what your job says you should think."

You hesitated, acutely aware of his grip on your wrist, the warmth of his skin against yours. "I think... I think it doesn't matter what I believe."

Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment? Frustration? You couldn't tell.

"It matters to me," he said quietly.

Your heart stuttered. "Why?"

He didn't answer immediately, his gaze dropping to where his fingers still circled your wrist. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he released you.

"Forget it," he muttered, stepping back. "You're right. It doesn't matter."

The sudden distance between you felt like a physical ache. You wanted to reach for him, to pull him back. 

Instead, you said, "I should get back to work."

He nodded, already turning away. "Yeah. Me too."

You watched him walk past you toward the practice room, shoulders squared as if preparing for battle. Just before he disappeared around the corner, he paused, glancing back at you.

For a moment—just a heartbeat—his expression softened into something so vulnerable it made your chest hurt.

Then he was gone.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of activity. As Manager Kim had directed, no official statement was released. Social media exploded with speculation, as expected. Fans trended supportive hashtags. Reporters camped outside the building. Security was doubled.

Through it all, you moved on autopilot, completing tasks with mechanical efficiency while keeping your emotions carefully locked away. You didn't see Jungkook again. Didn't seek him out. Didn't allow yourself to wonder where he was or what he was thinking.

It wasn't until evening, when the office had finally emptied and the crisis management had shifted to overnight monitoring teams, that you allowed yourself to breathe.

Your apartment felt emptier than usual when you finally returned home, the silence pressing in from all sides. You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes, and moved through the darkened rooms without bothering to turn on the lights.

In the kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring at nothing. 

You set the glass down harder than intended, water sloshing over the rim. This was ridiculous. You were acting like a lovesick teenager, not a professional adult with responsibilities and boundaries.

Whatever Jungkook felt—whatever that is—it couldn't matter. Not in the real world where he was a global superstar and you were a temporary intern who would be gone in seconds if compared to the timing of their life. 

Your phone buzzed on the counter, pulling you from your thoughts. Probably Yoshi or Mitsuki checking in. They'd been texting all day, offering support and distraction in equal measure, even though you don’t want to admit why they would do so. This doesn’t impact you at all. 

You picked it up, glancing at the screen.

Your heart stopped.

[Jungkook]: Are you awake?

You stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Three simple words that somehow felt monumental.

The response was immediate.

[Jungkook]: Can I call you?

Your pulse raced. This was crossing a line—a line you'd been carefully maintaining for weeks. A line that protected you both from complications neither of you needed.

The phone rang seconds later. You answered on the second ring, breath caught in your throat.

"Hey." His voice was rough, lower than usual.

"Hey," you echoed softly.

Silence stretched between you, heavy with all the things neither of you knew how to say. You could hear his breathing, slightly uneven, as if he'd been running. 

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For texting so late."

"It's fine." You moved to the living room, sinking onto the couch. "I wasn't sleeping."

Another pause.

"I wanted to explain," he began, then stopped. "No, that's not right. I need to explain. About the photos. About Ji-a."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "You don't owe me an explanation."

"I know." His voice softened. "But I want to give you one anyway."

You closed your eyes, clutching the phone tighter. "Why?"

The question hung between you, simple but loaded with meaning.

"Because," he said slowly, as if choosing each word with care, "I can't stand the thought of you believing something that isn't true."

Your throat tightened. "Jungkook..."

"It's not what it looked like," he continued, a note of urgency entering his voice. "Ji-a and I... we have history. We used to... see each other. But it wasn't serious. It was never serious."

You swallowed hard, unsure what to say. The confirmation of their past relationship wasn't surprising, but it still stung in ways you hadn't expected.

"She called Sunday night," he went on when you didn't respond. "Wanted to meet. I thought... I don't know what I thought. That maybe if I saw her, I could stop thinking about—" He broke off abruptly.

"About what?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

There was a long pause, filled only with the sound of his breathing.

"About you," he finally said, so quietly you almost missed it. "I can't stop thinking about you."

The world seemed to still around you, everything narrowing to the sound of his voice in your ear and the thundering of your heart.

"Jungkook..." Your voice faltered. You didn't know what to say—what you could say. This was too much, too fast, too complicated.

"I know," he said quickly, as if sensing your panic. "I know this is crazy. I know I shouldn't be saying any of this. But after today—after everything—I just... I can’t keep pretending."

You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady yourself. "I don't understand. Why would you go see Ji-a if...?" You couldn't finish the question.

He exhaled slowly. "Because I thought it would help. I thought if I was with someone else, maybe I could forget how I felt about you. But it didn't work. It just made everything worse."

"That's..." You struggled to find words, emotion clogging your throat. "That's a lot to process."

"I know." His voice softened with regret. "And I'm dumping it all on you at once. I'm sorry."

You both fell silent. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of everything he was saying. Jungkook—Jeon Jungkook—couldn't stop thinking about you? It seemed impossible, like something from a dream you'd wake up from any moment.

You took a deep breath. "I don't know what to say. This is... complicated."

"I know."

"You're you, and I'm me, and there are a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea."

"I know that too."

You closed your eyes, gathering courage. "And I'm only here temporarily. I go back in a few months."

"I know," he repeated, quieter now. "But none of that changes how I feel."

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice. Part of you wanted to tell him that you felt it too—that impossible pull, that connection that had been there since the plane. That you thought about him constantly, that seeing those photos had hurt more than you could admit.

But the rational part of you knew better. Knew that opening that door would only lead to pain for both of you.

"I don't know what you want from me," you said finally, your voice small.

"Nothing," he answered immediately. "I don't expect anything. I just... I needed you to know the truth. About Ji-a. About me. About how I feel. I hate waiting to see how things turn out and I’ve been doing it for too long with you. Its been driving me crazy not talking things out."

You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. "Thank you for telling me."

Another silence fell, this one heavier than before. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. Frozen into whatever it is that is stirring inside of you. 

"It's late," he said softly. "We should both get some sleep."

You heard his quiet exhale—disappointment, maybe, or just resignation. "Yeah. You're right." After a beat you added "Jungkook?"

"Hmm?"

You hesitated, then said, "I'm glad you called."

It wasn't much—nowhere near the confession he'd given you—but it was all you could offer right now. A small acknowledgment that his words meant something to you, even if you couldn't return them in kind.

"Me too," he murmured. Then, after a pause: "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, JK."

The call ended, but you sat there for a long time afterward, phone clutched to your chest, his words echoing in your mind.

"I can't stop thinking about you."

You wanted to believe him. Wanted to let yourself feel everything you'd been suppressing for weeks. But the reality of your situation loomed large—he was Jeon Jungkook, and you were just... you. Temporary. Transient. Already counting down the days until you'd leave.

Getting involved would only end in heartbreak. For both of you.

So why couldn't you stop smiling at the memory of his voice, soft and vulnerable, admitting he couldn't get you out of his head?

You fell asleep on the couch, still fully dressed, torn between hope and fear, joy and dread—and the growing certainty that whatever line you'd been trying to maintain had already been crossed, whether you were ready to admit it or not. Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

[scyphosunny]

wasn't planning on doing it , but , vargastober day 9 was posted !

i knew for a fact i'd skip day 8 or 9 . either of them . the prompts were just too similar , and even if i already explained that i had different things in mind for both of these i still couldn't find references i liked . i would still fail , too . . .

still , i had two references set for nothing . i remember having this concept in mind and wanted to search for a random reference to use it but i also didn't want a background . told myself i'd just make it a black void and fixed but still ! found something i liked more .

mm . . . i'm sleepy and i didn't write any notes . . .

i watched the new tadc chapter with nyne , then talked to brusk for a while and i did manage to get the smallest sketch ever .

of course i had to draw his face . glad i did , he looks so pretty . you know i like a sketch when i add freckles or blush to it lulz

then took a break , got distracted talking to ai bots and i didn't pick this up until past midnight . 2AM maybe .

i usually take a long time drawing , and i just had less than two hours to finish it ! it wasn't anything super complicated , so maybe i could get it done ? or finish it next day . any of them worked just fine .

still , i kept working on it ! just watched some random vids on yt , added some text from chapter 8 . . . i remember just opening the whole fic and searching the word empty . then i browsed through it until i found a paragraph i liked lol . had to add the same text twice ! just for it to take enough space . god , csp didn't like the text . it was lagging a lot , so i get paranoid and save the canvas just in case the app crashes . i try to modify the text once again and the app crashes . SO CLOSE . once i finished the drawing , it was almost 4AM and my honest reaction was to look at it , smile , sigh and say

god . i told myself i wouldn't stress too much about these but here i am looking at my piece and thinking god this is lame and not worth posting

okay . i've made some great pieces so far ! specially the first two . i really think i outdid myself with those . so , getting everything with the same quality level is HARD as someone that keeps on insisting can't think properly . i swear . so i just look at this one like man ts is straight buns

i don't remember how ? but i just got this idea of adding a tv screen effect . might look super cool . even if it makes no sense . hahahaha . alright i already said this most of these will just , look cool . ough . so i go to alight motion , search for a tutorial on tiktok and add it to the drawing . looks slightly better ! i think

i added a tv frame on it but i don't think it's like , super noticeable considering everything's pretty dark already .

so , this is how it looked at first !

and . well . i still thought it was lame . i go to twitter , post about it . . . hawker encouraged me to post it so i was like alright mmmmaybe i will ? something i do like about this version is that i was able to add some smart blur on the picture . i've been a smart blur enthusiast since i edited kpop pictures back in 2020 lolz makes everything soft and hazy . i really love it . also , the tv effect is much more noticeable here , now that there's not that much movement going on .

i keep looking at it and i'm like . . . . . . i'll try to get it better . maybe add actual static on the face . that would be cool . before going to bed i exported everything in separate pieces , the background and the character in png . should work ! then i'm like hey but i also need to have a bit of transparency on the background if i want to stack the pic above the static thing . okay . i screenrecord a video from youtube with the shittiest wifi ever considering it was now past 4:30AM and i was in bed already , add the effect , get it red and realize that idk how i liked it better , export the thing , change the pic i used first time i edited the gif to avoid adding all of the effects again and well that should work . well , alight motion didn't like this . i already had trouble trying to export butterfly ,

FILE TOO POWERFUL , i guess . i spent some time trying to get it to export and eventually it did . so , now we have this version !

the static thing did made such a big difference . it also made more sense this way , why add the effect in the first place ? looked so pointless and out of place . so having more movement going on in the whole thing helped a lot . i removed his glasses , added some shading on his clothes and ta-dah ! should be everything !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤshould be everything

FORGOT THE SHADING ON HIS NECK . UUUGGHH

i'd just fix it after waking up .

next day , both brusk and meta told me the thing was really cool and that i should post it so i just thought about it for a while . whatever . . . it was already done ! so why not post it ? i added the shadow and exported it . sssso now , for REAL we have the finished gif !

i honestly don't think it's that terrible anymore . still kinda lame . this one was originally for nothing , but works great with empty too . so i just posted it under that prompt . LOLOL i did end up doing nothing for day 8 . great . i didn't really care for tumblr ruining the quality , like it did with butterfly . this one isn't really about having great quality .

i'm sleepy . what else . . .

idk if i'll work on lies . i thought i wouldn't , but i checked on the thing i got to get my ideas together and i do have a reference set for that one , so it looks like i'll have to wake up early . UGH today i knew i wouldn't work on a piece so i tried to get myself to sleep past 12 and i woke up at 11 . I'M ALREADY SLEEPY AND IT'S JJJUST 1:30AM . i'm actually considering going to sleep earlier today because hawker won't come to twitter tonight . i'll miss her . don't tell her , but first time she had to stay away from social media to focus on school , i had a super bad meltdown and i cried myself to sleep because she wasn't there . i really enjoy talking with her ! it's one of the best parts of my day . she's chinese , so i need to wait until 4AM so she gets back from school and we get like 30 minutes to talk before i fall asleep . she's just the sweetest , i swear ! so endearing and nice . i really like her . and , i started waking up earlier recently to try and take care of vargastober's pieces before 3:9999999999999999AM and that small thing actually threw my whole internal schedule off . it's annoying , because i get sleepy as soon as i lie down in bed and i don't get to talk to her . i keep struggling to even write a good night text . ssssigh !

anyway . . . right know i think i'll work on a small sketch for a birthday gift i want to make for a friend . i've been wanting to draw her william design for so long now ! and today's her birthday , so i'll make a small sketch . . . god , i also need to take care of brusk's bday gift . WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAPPEN IN OCTOBER !!!!!! i already have three more parties to attend throughout the month . one of them is mlp themed lolz

might be all . see you later !

edit : i said i'd draw william for my friend and here it is lolz

[brianil]

To all the elders i met till now.

Don't mark this as some old humans I met but just older than me be it 1-2 years, though most of them were really older than me. today I am writing to everyone I met through Simran di at THT. Talk happy therapy was such an eventful part of my life. Although whatever I did during my time there could be seen as goofing around with my time for some project but well it was something big for me. I saw a post once in facebook, it might as well be an article, about a girl saving someone live through a phone call. Well I don't really remember the article or the headline but I was moved. I saw the app attached to article and downloaded it so that I can contribute whatever I can. I can at the very least spread the word.

I used the app and it was just okay but I was cool with it as, how much a single human can do on their own, no? lol I just git reminded this was supposed to be the letter...

hii di,

So i saw the teh volunteer word there and I did not think more than, I clicked on it and send the mail or details whatever was required and that day changed my life. I saw you on the scooter with pranesh bhaia, all though I did thought for a bit how you would be coming, well I did see you as a founder, but scooter was cool too, I did not put too much attention on anyone travelling after that in my entire life anyway... I remember all of the people, well Kanishk Bhaia did an amazing job for that as I remember most of the introduction people did there, someone was like Doremon, Sandeep Maheshwari, I think I chose Detective Conan, their was Hesignberg I thought he chose that as the scientist name but maybe it was not that reference but who knows, well I guess my memory Is not that great hehe, I learnt a lot from you, also went to so many places too for the first time and also last time as of yet, I hope you are doing well, I do write you letter twice a month but not sure if you have that id still or not. anyway, I guess this is a bye for now. anil To kirti di, rishabh bhaia, sarah di, c,v,apd, a, s2, maggo di, singer bhaia, legend bhaia, comedian bhaia, quizzer di, well hehe, and baaki...

i mean i thought i can write letters to you individually but looks like I would either fall of memories or the words for you. and I do still write some of you letters even now. Should I text you guys like a quiz ? well it may not be good, but if I have a letter or something I might do it. whats bad in a positive letter, cheese cake and dhokla. i have yet to eat a cheese cake though...

I was going to write some generic words like how you inspired me, and bla bla, than I thought how not fun that is so I stopped. i will do a quick activity like a words associated with the you guys and the memory ... so R-Pokemon go-teaphics k-mysterious-lead q-encyclopedia-movies k-funny-relevant apd-cute-happy ad-pahad-bhaari p-wow-amazing l-legend-. S-well-good s2-ding-ding-travel s3-singer-happy s-soulful-eng m-rapper-cause c-well-good c-cha..-neah v-holy-vibe s-gone-enog p-whyyhw-ieei I think my brain will crash if I tried to remember rest of the participants, anyway I hope you all are doing great I wish I get to meet you once more . till we meet again brianil.

[burnt-enough-starlight]

I’m it Tag

I was tagged by @hakyeon-go-go and @reila-ravkong, thanks you thank you😊😊😊😊

I was also tagged by @ravissant-xxiv and @wonsik-chic for the 10 biases tag, thank you lovelies.

I tag you: @achahakyeon @tranquies @nxnight You don’t have to do it~

Under the cut because of length

Your top 10 biases?  

GOD DAMN RA V I HUSTLE YELLOW (V I DOUBLE X IN DA HOUZ)

Mr.Tigger Bang YongGuk (B.A.P)

Onew (Shinee)

Kyungsoo (Exo)

Baekhyun (Exo)

(I didn't repeat members from the same group for the sake of diversity cuz you know all of my VIXX babies and Lay are supposed to be there)

First group I listened to/liked? TVXQ, Super Junior, Mblaq, 2am/ 2pm.

Do you prefer boy groups or girl groups? even tho my bias groups are boy groups, I don’t have a preference of gender, If the music's good I'd give it a go.

Favorite female group? Orange Caramel!!!

Favorite male group? VIXX!

Favorite female solo artist? Hyolyn 

Favorite male solo artist? John Park

Top 3 Groups? VIXX, SHINee, B.A.P

Favorite Kpop Song? I can't choose, too many!!

Favorite happy Kpop song? All Orange Caramel songs!

Favorite Kpop sad song? TAEHYUN 좋더라 (I'M YOUNG) (It depressed me for a week when it came out)

Favorite Kpop smut song? Jonghyun - Moon (this is tmi but I literally described it to my friend as a dick riding song I'M SORRY!!!)

Favorite Kpop song of 2017 so far? RAVI - Rose Feat. Ken

Favorite debut? B.A.P!!! TILL THIS DAY NO ONE MATCHED THEM!!!

Favorite debut of 2017 so far? Highlight  😏

Favorite mv of 2017 so far? Ravi - Bomb (the original version!!!!)

Favorite mv? VIXX - Error.

Favorite album/mini album? VIXX Kratos

Favorite album/mini album of 2017 so far? The only album I’ve listened to in its entirety is R.EAL1ZE  

Your ultimate bias? My marshmallow KIM RAVI!!!

Favorite GIF of your ultimate bias? 💘💘💘

Favorite picture of your ultimate bias? 💀💀💀💀

Favorite thing about your bias? his scrunchy nose when he laughs

Was he your bias from the start? No, Leo was my first bias.

Have you ever changed biases more than 3 times and in what group? in VIXX it’s hard to stick to one but my ass always goes back to Wonshik.

If so; what group and what members?

Favorite Ship? all the exos

Do you ship the “mom & dad” in your favorite group? Neo!

Who’s the mom and dad in your favorite group? N and Leo

Who do you end up liking more in groups; Leaders, Maknaes, mood makers, vocal, rap, “mom”, “dad”, English speaker, drummer, guitarist, pianist? Leaders and Rappers

If your bias got a girlfriend/boyfriend how would you feel? I’d be so happy for him and supportive because he deserves the world.

How would you feel if your bias came out gay/lesbian/bisexual/etc.? I’d be proud of him/her for being so brave and comfortable with his/her sexuality and will support him/her all the way.

Do you think any kpop idols are gay/lesbian/bisexual/etc.? I don’t like speculating and I don't really care for their sexuality, it doesn't affect my view of them.

If so; who?

Favorite kpop blog? I follow so many great blogs!

Favorite kpop scenario blog? Favorite kpop smut blog? Favorite Kpop fanfic?  I made an entire post about this.

Favorite show with kpop idols? Weekly Idol?

Do you prefer saying “Oppa” or being called “Noona”? Neither; I’m not korean.

Is it cuter when KPop Idols know your language or don’t know it and try to speak it? I appreciate their effort to communicate with I-fans either way :’)

BIGBANG: “Bang Bang Bang” or “We like 2 Party”

iKon: “#WYD” or “Rhythm Ta”

Monsta X: “Perfect Girl” or “All in”

BTS: “Save Me” or “Fire”

EXO: “Monster” or “Growl?”

Astro: “Breathless” or “Hide&Seek”? (I’ve never heard any of their songs)

Red Velvet vs. EXID: “Ice Cream Cake” or “Up & Down”?

4Minute: “Crazy” or “Hate”?

NCT U vs NCT 127: “The 7th Sense” or “Fire Truck”?

Got7: “Just Right” or “Fly”?

Amber vs Ailee: “Borders” or “Insane”?

History: “Queen” or “Might Just Die”?

KNK: “Knock” or “Back Again”?

Day6: “Congratulations” or “Letting Go”?

Block B: “Her” or “Toy”

ZICO: “I am You, You are Me” or “Boys And Girls”?

B.A.P: “Feel So Good” or “Young, Wild & Free”?

Seventeen: “Nice Very Nice” or “Adore U”?

Taeyeon: “I (feat Verbal Jint)” or “Why”?

G-Dragon Vs. Taeyang: “Who you?” or “Eyes, Nose, Lips”

BTS: “The Most Beautiful Moment In Life Series” or “Dark & Wild”?

Day6: “The Day” or “DAYDREAM”?

BIGBANG: “A” or “M”

Monsta X: “The Clan, Pt.1 ” or “Rush”?

Seventeen: “Boys Be” or “First Love&Letter”?

EXO: “Ex’ACT” or “Love Me Right”?

Astro: “Spring Up” or “Summer Vibes”?

Vixx: “Chained Up” or “Error”? (How dare you!)

EXO or BTS?

SISTAR or Red Velvet?

NCT U or NCT 127?

Girls’ Day or Girls Generation?

Seventeen or GOT7?

Winner or iKon?

Block B or Beast?

Romeo or Astro?

Jimin or Jungkook?

Xiumin or Chanyeol?

Taeyeon or Ailee?

Jay Park or Dean?

G-Dragon or Taeyang?

Amber or Henry?

Wooshin or Hwanhee (up10tion)?

Jeonghan or Dino?

Taemin or Jonghyun?

Seulgi or Irene?

Got7: Markson or Markjin?

Red Velvet: JoyGi or WenRi?

BTS: VKook or JiKook?

EXO: Hunhan or Kaisoo?

Monsta X: Showhyuk or Jookyun?

Topp Dogg: Hanjoo or Xenissi?

NCT: TaeTen or JaeYong?

Seventeen: Meanie or Jeongcheol?

iKon: Double B or Double J (Junhwan)?

[cherryonigiri]

nanami kento [evenings with you]

nanami kento x reader || cw: descriptions of blood/injuries, light angst

a/n: this is just self-indulgent writing for me but i'm v stressed about school rn and this is the result. just imagine that y/n is a bio/medical phd candidate lol.

Nanami can tell that you're stressed. Usually you savor the nights he's not on overtime, asking him about work and refusing to leave his side for most of the evening. He's used to you being attentive, so the fact that you've asked him the same question twice within the last ten minutes is already setting alarm bells ringing in his head. You're constantly fiddling with something, or flashing furtive glances towards the bedroom when you think he's not paying attention.

It only gets worse after dinner. You insist on washing up, something about how you want him to 'enjoy his night off.' Nanami compromises, silently grabbing a towel and drying the dishes. It's clear that your mind is elsewhere. Your hands scrub the porcelain on autopilot, and he can hear you muttering under your breath.

Every now and then you'll mutter a list of tasks under your breath. Nanami remembers you mentioning that things were hectic in lab. You're almost always still working when gets home from work, even when it's well past when you eat your dinner. It's clear that you've had a busy day-- the apartment is far more cluttered than it usually is. There are post-it and pieces of scrap paper stuck to every single surface, and a forgotten pile of folded laundry rests on the couch.

An intense burning sensation across your palm causes you cry out. "Shit!" You drop the knife you were washing in favor of cradling your already bleeding hand. Nanami is instantly by your side, firmly pressing the dishcloth against your cut. There is a worrying amount of red seeping into the fabric, so he silently ushers you to the bathroom.

It's a strange reversal of roles. He's used to being the one leaning leaning against the counter while you bandage his wounds. Instead, it's you who is perched on the marble surface, wincing as he dabs an antiseptic soaked cotton ball against your injury. "Sorry, I'm almost done," he says when you let out a loud hiss.

"It's fine," you reply, sheepishly looking away. "I should have been paying more attention."

Nanami chooses to only respond with a nonchalant hum, focusing on cleaning your palm. The two of you sit there in comfortable silence while he applies ointment to the cut, adding gauze once he's finished. It's only when he reaches for the bandages that he decides to ask. "What's stressing you out?"

Your eyes widen as you realize you've been caught. Nanami is rarely home early these days, especially since he's been mentoring Itadori on behalf of Gojo. (Not that you mind - in the few times you've met Itadori through video call with Nanami, the pink-haired student's sunny disposition has never failed to cheer you up.) When he'd texted you saying he'd be home by dinner, you'd jumped at the opportunity to spend some much needed time with him. You'd pulled out the stops, cooking something a little fancier, and intent on spending the earlier part of the evening cuddling with him. Secretly, you had planned to sneak out of bed after he'd fallen asleep (he always goes to bed early on days like these) and finish preparing for the gauntlet of meetings and presentations you had tomorrow. It was your fault for putting off the tasks, and you didn't want to let your own bad habits get in the way of some quality time with your boyfriend.

"It's nothing, I just have a lot on my plate tomorrow." You do your best to laugh it off, but quickly trail off once when you catch Nanami's deadpan expression. He's always been too good at seeing through your white lies. "I put off some work..." A raised eyebrow from him prompts you to continue, "And I was planning on doing it after you went to bed..." You can't help it when your face scrunches into a pout. After all, now your carefully-laid deception has been revealed.

When Nanami bursts into amused chuckles, you're momentarily surprised, but quickly go back to sulking. "Stop laughing at me Ken!" you whine, "I'm a--"

"Self-aware procrastinator," he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. "I know love, I know. I've seen you write far too many papers within 24-hours of a deadline to be surprised." He presses an affectionate kiss against your wrist.

You scowl at your boyfriend, snatching your bandaged hand away from his grasp. "I'm glad that my suffering is entertaining for at least one person." You stomp back to the bedroom in faux-anger, smiling when you hear Nanami's footsteps not far behind you.

When he steps into the bedroom Nanami drapes his frame over your shoulders, his warm torso nestled against your back. "It is one of your more...endearing traits," he murmurs into your ear before pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. You can feel your cheeks and ears tingle at his words of affection.

"Sometimes you can be such a sweet talker," you mumble to yourself while you change into your pajamas. This week it's been an old Jujutsu tech hoodie and a pair of well-worn athletic shorts.

"Only for you," Nanami replies while he undoes the buttons of his outfit, chucking his tan pants and blue button up into the laundry basket in the corner. He dons a pair of sweatpants before returning your side to recapture you in another affectionate hug. It's a well kept secret of the Kento-Y/N household that Nanami Kento likes to lounge around shirtless in the privacy of his apartment. (You've been sworn to secrecy, but only because your boyfriend claims that Gojo and the students would have a field day teasing him if this information were to be made public amongst the jujutsu sorcerer community.)

Turning around, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your nose against his torso and taking in his comforting scent. It's been so long since the two of you have had a moment to yourselves, and for once your hectic thoughts are silenced in favor of sharing a moment of calm bliss with Nanami. He hums in appreciation, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips.

"Do you want to watch anything tonight?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.

"No," he replies. "I was actually planning on reading the briefing Ichiji just sent me. Gojo apparently has another scheme up his sleeve." You giggle when your boyfriend lets out a pained sigh. On more than one occasion, your boyfriend has ranted to you about Gojo's unorthodox approach to exorcism. "I swear that idiot shaves a year off my lifespan every time I go on a mission with him," Nanami complains. "He's taking away the years I could spend in Malaysia."

You hum thoughtfully before responding, "Then do you mind--"

Once again, Nanami already knows what you're going to say. "Just remember to bring your laptop charger, I know you have a thousand tabs open on your computer right now," he says while exiting to the living room. After a few moments you join him, overburdened laptop and charger in hand. You both take your usual spots in the living room, him resting comfortably in the center of the loveseat and you sitting on a floor cushion, nestled between his legs. Soon you've fallen into a groove, fingers steadily typing on the keyboard. The warmth of Nanami's presence next to you brings a sense of calm, giving you the grounding focus you need to finish off the last of your tasks.

As he thumbs through the printouts Ichiji gave him, Nanami can't help but let his eyes drift towards you every now and then. You look so adorable when you work. From the way your brow furrows whenever you reread a line, to the way you unconsciously chew on your lip when you scrutinize your draft for any errors. Every now and then he'll gently run his fingers through your hair, relishing the content sighs you let out in response.

It only takes about another hour before you're (finally) closing all your tabs (he still doesn't know why your laptop hasn't crashed yet). As you scroll through social media, your head begins to droop. Soon enough you've fallen asleep, breaths coming in soft and even puffs as you rest against his thigh. Smiling to himself, he puts down his papers and gently lifts your body from the floor. He's careful not to wake you as he slowly makes his way back to the bedroom.

Setting you on the bed, he tucks you under the blankets before lying beside you. The moonlight coming through your window softly illuminates your relaxed features, and he softly traces the outline of your face with his thumb. As he continues to caress your cheek, his eyes are drawn to the dark circles under your eyes. He rarely falls asleep after you these days - between his physically demanding occupation and the ever growing number of things you are responsible for at work- he's often the first to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion while you work well into the night. Not to mention that he's had to spend an increasing number of nights away from you, either on challenging missions or accompanying Gojo's students. And while he knows most of your stress comes from being a student, he can't help but feel guilty about all the additional distress his status as a jujutsu sorcerer has caused you.

When you started dating him, you insisted that Shoko teach you how to suture. He hates how much your stitches have improved since then. The neatness of your stitches is a constant reminder of how much you've endured because of him. When he hears you trying to muffle your sobs into a pillow, he swears he can feel his heart crack in his chest, hurting more than any kind of physical wound from battle. Those nights end with him holding you tightly to his bandaged chest, murmuring reassurances and affection into the crown of your head until you've calmed down enough to fall into a fitful sleep. Even when you're unconscious he'll still continue, words morphing into apologies for the sadness he's inflicted upon your shoulders.

Feeling his eyelids being to droop, Nanami presses one last kiss against your forehead before laying down. He wraps his arms around your waist, surrounding you with warmth, hoping that his presence will be enough to keep your nightmares away, at least for tonight. I love you, y/n is the last thought he has before he drifts away, ready to dream of a tropical sunset and a peaceful future with you by his side.

[strawberrymilkgeorge]

okay this is super long sorry and unedited (not as great as your writing lol) i'm okay with it being posted and hope you have a good sleep!

“Well Bugsy, you’re down to your last two options. Mr QuackityHQ-” Austin announced as Quackity waved his hand before saluting to the camera, “-and Mr DreamWasTaken!” Dream’s discord lit up as he let out a whoop. Austin paused for dramatic effect, “okay before we let these two have their final chat with Ms BugsyGames, I want them to DM me their decisions.” His phone pinged twice before Bugsy and Dream were left to talk.

“Come on Bug! Sweetheart! We have a treehouse and two children!” Dream announced passionately, “Are you really going to leave your loving family to be with the guy who can’t cook pizza babe?” Bugsy giggled, flustered by all the pet names Dream was using during the game. “-and you can cook pizza?” she asked with scepticism in her voice. She heard a crash from Dream’s side, “Well not pizza, but I can cook! What do you say, baby? Let’s take the leap.” Bugsy opened her mouth to send a retort, face on fire but was cut off by Austin announcing the end of Dream’s time. He protested but it was to no avail.

Quackity entered the voice channel with his usual auto-tuned scream. Bugsy joined in, without the auto-tune of course. “Ms BugsyGames, I have never shied away from my affections for you. Unlike a certain someone, I flew out to meet you and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Bugsy laughed as Quackity continued, “I’d never host you in Minecraft, in Love or Host or even in a Jackbox. I wouldn’t kill your children in lore because they’d be our children, mi amour.” He wiggled his eyebrows, even bowing for good measure. Austin entered the voice channel and announced that they had to enter the main chat. “Okay Bugsy, please send me your choice.” she looked at Naomi and Karl who were both sitting on her bed. The two of them flashed her thumbs-ups as she DMed Austin.

Quackity started praying in Spanish, expecting Austin to announce the winner. “As we all are aware, Bugsy is technically a mother and how could we continue without talking to her sons? So please give a round of applause for Tubbo_ and Ranboo!” Both boys logged in and greeted Bugsy who let out a squeal. “Okay, who would you prefer, just know we already have the result,” Austin said as Quackity pointed to himself. “I’d say Quackity but Dream did mail me a 20 dollar note so I don’t really know,” Tubbo said holding up a note in his hands. Ranboo nodded, fixing his facemask. “That’s pocket money! I’m being a responsible husband!” Dream shouted above Quackity’s screams. “Austin!” Bugsy said with laughter in her voice, “I think we should announce the winner!”

“-The winner of Ms BugsyGames’ Love or Host is, drumroll please.” Taboo and Ranboo patted their desks, “MR QUACKITYHQ!” Dream let out a scream. “Bugsy be glad to know Quackity chose Love!” Bugsy turned the rest of Quackity’s victory speech out, busy with the text messages Dream was sending her. - 🔥

HAHAHAH OH MY GOOOSSSHHH DUDE THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD OMG omg omg okay this made me SO happy hahahah thank you so much this is so cute (thoughts below the cut bc WOWOWOW)

also you said he was texting her after Quackity won so I made these

wait okay there's so much to process (in a good way) okay I broke it down because what you wrote is AMAZING AND I LOVE IT AHAHAH

dream pleading his case by just using a bunch of pet names like THAT would win her over it might and slamming his desk when she's like oh you cook??

QUACKITY ENTERING BY YELLING IN AUTOTUNE HAHAH his speech almost won ME over dang I woulda picked him too after that are you kidding me???

"I flew out to meet you and wouldn't hesitate to do it again" 💀💀 facts. don't be shy Dream, go fly out to bugsy and meet her

"I wouldn't kill your children in lore because they'd be our children mi amor" OKAY HE KNEW TO USE TUBBO AND RANBOO TO GET TO HER HEART HAHA

Naomi and Karl just sitting on her bed both going 😄👍 oh my gosh I love them

Dream bribing Tubbo that's so accurate oh my gosh

also Tubbo and Ranboo drumming on the desks for the drumroll why did that make me go 🥺 I love them so much

Dream would ABSOLUTELY spam text her after bc he was so confident he was going to win bc why WOULDNT he so "what the heck bugsy this needs to be addressed" type spam

🔥 I would 10/10 die for you tysm

[upward]

A Journey: If I don’t write this here, I will scream. A novel, or perhaps a poem

I have the flu.

I tried to take PTO but that was not allowed because reasons I don’t have time to get into but will complain about later. The point is.

I have the flu and I worked all day, straight through lunch.

Now it is not work time and I would like to relax. 

Work on my novel, knit some shit, I don’t fucking know. Anything,

And would like to watch Game of Thrones or some other horseshit so I decide to say fuck it and spring for HBO Max.

My partner continues to make AN ENORMOUS AMOUNT OF NOISE downstairs and if I didn’t have the flu I would murder him. 

I try to get HBO Max on my PS4 because it is on my TV upstairs.

It informs me I must go to a computer.

I go to the computer and it informs me I have an account.

I log in.

My partner crashes through the door to (not kidding) floss his teeth. I am irate because it is all so loud.

My head hurts.

I attempt to sign up for a monthly plan as he crashes back out the door.

The form on the site does not work. The fields to enter the information that will give this massive probably terrible company money will not let me give them the money.

I restart my browser and we all know the pain of losing 54 tabs about fungus metabolism, crochet moss stitch borders, misophonia and flu symptoms.

The form does not work again. I submit a ticket because that’s some bullshit.

My partner crashes through the door again as I am trying to log in to my account on the PS4.

Success! 

I see shows! And movies! Fuck you! I want Game of Thrones! I know I do NOT! but for background comfort Seasons 1-4 I DO!

No success. Subscription deactivated January 31, 2020 (lol)

To the computer. Now I know I can just log in! Right?

FUCKING WRONG, DING DONG. 

I log in and it takes me to the pages of shows. And moves. And Game of Thrones. It has my settings and playback. Parental controls. Informing me that my subscription has expired. 

I click and click and click and click. WHY IS IT SO HARD TO GIVE YOU MONEY I SHOULDN’T GIVE YOU.

I fucking lose it and open tumblr. to write this UNHINGED post. 

I have a fever. This is not my fault.

Oh look my partner is back crashing through the door AS I WRITE THIS because he believes I want cheese sticks.

I do not.

I want him to go. 

And be fucking quiet.

I have submitted a ticket telling HBO their form sucks and now I have to go find it again. I feel shamed by this company who sucks at getting money I want to give them. 

I begin to question this decision but I want Game of Thrones.

Oh my god he’s vacuuming downstairs and it is hitting the coffee table again and again.

And again.

Even though my first part of this 17 part journey made me log in, I log out again to find the part where they tell me to give them money to try again. 

I find it. But first must check to see if my complaint about their stupid form registered.

It did and now a person named Anne is asking me for billing information over email that everyone in 2022 tells you NOT TO SEND OVER EMAIL. 

HBO WHY ARE YOU RELYING ON ANNE TO COLLECT YOUR PAYMENT INFORMATION THERE ARE FARMERS WHO DONT HAVE THE INTERNET WHO DO BETTER THAN YOU I HAVE PURCHASED YARN FROM THEM SO MUCH MORE EASILY THAN THIS WHAT IN THE BLUE FUCK IS THIS

I use the form because cybersecurity awareness month training (mandatory thanks to my my employer who made me work today) told me not to send information to Anne over email.

I consider sending a ticket to my company’s infosec bragging about this moment but that is too unhinged even for this. 

at least right now.

My partner is arguing with the vaccuum.

It’s ok because the form works. Sort of. The fields highlight in a very “website I made on geocities in 1998″ kind of way. Cybersecurity training did not cover this. But I don’t know many Anne’s I like, so let’s do this.

SUCCESS.

I am ready. I am ready to watch Game of Thrones. And I am ready to send this entire text, unedited, to Anne.

And if my fever gets high enough, my infosec department.

~fin~

Credit scene: my partner storming through the door twice while I fucked with the tags

[appleciders]

Rachel + Leah + Water, the Director’s Cut!

Okay, so I made this gifset exploring Rachel and Leah and the ocean, but because there’s a ten gif limit and a major point of gifsets is for them to look nice, I had to sacrifice a lot of the behind the scenes thoughts and initial versions that came along the way. I still wanted to talk about them though, because I found a lot of them really cool, so I figured I’d stick all that in this post. It’s gonna get long, so you can find the rest under the cut!

So first up, we have Leah as we first see her in the water. (I’m using shitty screenshots because tumblr has a 2mb limit for gifs on text posts and I don’t feel like compressing these down lmao.) Here, she’s face-down, unconscious, floating on a fragment of the plane. This is the first time we see any of the girls in the water.

As Leah gives her dramatic speech talks to the detectives, we see flashbacks to the girl’s lives pre-island. There we see that one of them already has a very strong relationship with the water already, in her before-life: Rachel.

Rachel, as we know, is a diver. We see her take a magnificent tumble into the pool, but when she surfaces, her coach is sternly head-shaking. She corrects Rachel’s form, and after she walks away, Rachel echoes the correction, clearly frustrated with herself. 

Back to Leah. We next see Leah waking up on her lil chunk of flotsam. When she realizes what the hell’s going on, she does what we all would do and starts screaming in terror.

Her panic gets interrupted by Jeannette’s classic Raise Your Glass ringtone. (This was my alarm for two years in high school, and when I watched this for the first time I did have an out-of-body experience). She swims her way over to the Hello Kitty suitcase and—irrationally—unzips it, but we’ll cut her some slack because she’s in some serious shock. As she tries to get the phone, it slips through her fingers and starts spiraling down to the bottom of the ocean. She dives after it.

Unfortunately, she quickly runs out of air and has to give up. She then spots Jeannette floating nearby, checks her out, judges her to be “just a little roughed up,” and then sees land and has a big oh-thank-fuck moment. Because we saw Gretchen’s team placing all of the girls, we know that Linh and Leah were the only two that were put out in the open water. The other girls were put in the beach, or, in Martha’s case, near the shore. This was probably done to quell some of Leah’s suspicions about the crash, but it does give me a couple questions about how they got the other girls wet—did they hose them all down? Pour a couple buckets over their heads? Bob each of them up and down a couple times in a big net like fries in a fryer?? 

Anyway, not important. 

Next that we see, Leah has pulled Jeannette/Linh in from the water. (My Australian parents, who can never pass up an opportunity to give ocean safety tips, chimed in at this point in our first watch to say “See how she’s doing it! You always want to hold someone from behind and pull them in that way. Good job, well done.” So there’s some approval for you, Leah.) As Leah nears the shore, Dot and Toni come tearing in and they help pull the two of them out. 

The rest of the episode after that really only concerns fresh water—Toni and Shelby set out in search of it, to no avail, and Nora helpfully plugs Diet Coke reminds us multiple times that sugar’s heavier than water, so “sugar sinks.” We do set up a goal for the next couple episodes, though: Rachel says, “I'm gonna swim out to the plane tomorrow. See if I can find anything,” and Leah volunteers to come with. Rachel gives her a nod of respect.

Moving on to episode two, we have Rachel and Leah’s (iconic) first real conversation. Rachel says she’s still going out to the wreckage. Leah looks out and looks back at her, incredulous, and says, “Rachel, the water’s insane.” Here’s a big recurring association—the water and “insanity.” (I use insanity here because that’s the language they use, along with psycho/crazy. In no way does that reflect my actual beliefs about their behavior nor am I condoning the way they use those words.) Leah points out the rip current (“well done,” said my mum), and explains her very brief stint as a norcal surfer. Rachel still looks set on going, but then Leah says:

Turns out, Leah can be as ripe with foreshadowing as Fatin. This marks the appearance of their second main association with the ocean—death. After she says this, Leah turns Rachel’s attention inland, and the two agree to climb a big hill to scope out their situation.

Episode two is also obviously Rachel’s episode, so we see a lot of her relationship with diving. 

We see her plunge over and over and over again, drilling technique and form, but despite all her hard work, we learn her coach advised her to quit the team. Instead, Rachel throws herself in twice as hard, and ends up with an eating disorder. By the time the nationals come around, she’s too physically weak to dive safely, and she ends up hitting her head as she goes down. She surfaces in the pool with blood flowing around her.

She refuses to see that as the end of her diving career. She says she’s gonna “get back out there” and “be fucking great again” and she tells Nora at the end of the episode that she needs her to let her believe that.

In episode three, we finally see Leah and Rachel’s trip out to the plane! Nora comes along with them, her relationship with Rachel smoothed over after the events of ep two. “Nora’s a good swimmer,” Rachel explains as she invites her, “We were both water babies.” Water’s clearly been central to Nora and Rachel’s identities since they were really young. 

The three of them make their escape from the rest of the girls as the topic of building a shelter comes up. “Not interested in putting down roots!” Rachel calls. In keeping with the elements theme, Rachel isn’t looking to be grounded. She climbs super high into the air and she dives deep into the water, but earth isn’t her thing. (See: the quicksand scene. Whoops.)

Anyway, the three of them paddle out into the water. Rachel dives down, scopes out the plane, tells Nora she doesn’t expect her to “fucking free dive in open water,” and then looks to Leah and asks if she’s ready. Leah reluctantly agrees. 

We get our first shot Rachel swimming down into the ocean and our second shot of Leah (first the phone, second the plane). In the wreckage of the plane, they discover the black box, affixed to the wall. They keep trying to wrench it free, but it’s stuck, and Leah—who’s primary activity is, like, reading—keeps having to surface for air. Rachel gets frustrated and grabs her leg, holding her down. 

Leah screams and fights, but Rachel doesn’t let go. We cut away, and when we see them again, they’ve emerged victorious (Rachel) and drowned as dogs after a bath (Leah and Nora) with the black box in hand. Later, Leah mutters the above line to Fatin, calling Rachel a “psychopath.” For those keeping score at home, here’s where we refer back to the association between water and “insanity.”

In episode four, the ocean benevolently bestows a bag of takis upon Nora, and we have our whole shelter-building shebang. It’s all very land-based until Leah and Fatin go head to head, which ends with Fatin smearing her blood all over Leah’s face. Leah, with her usual flair, strips off her clothes as she walks into the ocean. She stays down there, passively letting the water wash the blood from her face.

This shot parallels a couple things. First, the drifting blood visually parallels Rachel in the pool after her diving injury. Second, we have Rachel staring out at the water where Leah’s disappeared and going, “Man, that is some real Virginia Woolf-type shit.” Dot has no fucking clue what she means, so Fatin interprets: “It means that bitch is crazy. She said you were the psychopath of the group.” Now it’s Leah who’s done something in the water that’s been deemed insane. The water and “insanity;” the water and accusations of insanity within their relationship. 

Those accusations pop up in episode five, but the episode is pretty focused on the inland search for Fatin, and revolves around fresh water, not salt water. (That could be a whole nother post lol.) It’s in episode six where we again see these two return to the ocean. 

Rachel is diving in the ocean! For fun! She’s picking up pretty shells (which granted isn’t the safest thing to do in the pacific, cone snails are not our friends), and she’s grinning, and she’s generally enjoying herself. With the, uh, finale situation, we’re probably not gonna get to see her smile for a bit, which is sad, because she should get to do this more often! This shot visually echoes her diving for the plane and Leah diving for the phone, except she can be in a better mood because there is no end goal. 

So she goes diving, ends up finding a bunch of mussels, gathers ‘em up, and brings ‘em back to camp. They all chow down, but wind up with serious food poisoning. Martha and Toni ring death’s doorbell a couple of times. Rachel blames herself—she’s the one that went swimming out there, she brought the mussels back. Again, we see that connection between the ocean and death.

And that association comes back bright an early in ep seven! The tide surges higher than they’ve ever seen, taking down their shelter and leaving them all scrambling. 

While Leah convinces Fatin that her life is more important than her suitcase, Rachel is left with a decision: help Nora, screaming to her from where she’s clinging to a rock for dear life, or grab the black box. In a move that contrasts Toni’s immediate and unquestioning aid of Martha, Rachel picks the black box. 

After, when they’re debriefing, Nora’s quick to bring it up. She doesn’t hide her hurt. “It happened so fast,” she says, “we all acted irrationally. Like Fatin, who jumped into a rip current to save her toothbrush. Or Rachel, who left me for fucking dead.” I think this counts as a double whammy for the “insanity” and death count—I think “acted irrationally” is as close as Nora gets to calling anyone crazy, and is honestly a better descriptor of all the other instances of “insanity” that we’ve seen, and the ocean was the source of the very real risk to Nora’s life. 

(Honestly, I think Rachel thought she was making a rational choice here—just with some grim fucking calculus. Still, given that nobody’d responded to the black box by then, I think it was a decision fueled by the need to keep hold of hope more than actual rationality.) In a fun contrast to the rest of the episode, it’s Leah that keeps a level head in this situation. 

The rest of the episode is low on water scenes, though Leah’s paranoia about Shelby is fueled by her sneaking off to the water, which could fall under the “insanity” category. It also marks where Nora begins to take an active role in breaking apart Rachel’s fantasy about diving again. 

Ep eight has one of the best montages in a series of great montages, with the playing in the water scene! A plane has seen them, they’re gonna be saved, and they all get to get high and act like kids. 

I have this lingering and probably irrational concern that the entire water play scene is choreographed and that it’s chock-full of foreshadowing. Like I know to some extent they likely were just like “yeah guys go goof off in the water,” but like...the wave pulling Rachel and Nora apart here...I mean.... (Rachel is probably gonna get more blood on Dot in the near future, too. ) That aside, their horseplay gets interrupted when Leah notices some blood on Dot, which Rachel realizes is her own period blood.  

Fatin then chimes in with her ever-gleeful foreshadowing: “Shark week for Rachel.” So while this whole encounter with the water actually seems mostly good for a change, it’s colored by the tie-in to what we know is coming.

In ep nine, reality has set in that rescue isn’t imminent. Everyone’s starving, Leah has started to spiral, and Rachel’s unusually skittish. By the tide’s edge, Nora asks for her help fishing, but Rachel refuses, saying that she’s weak. Nora flicks water at her, and Rachel flinches, clearly scared.

Starvation seems to have triggered Rachel’s trauma around the water leftover from her diving accident. In response, Nora reaches out a hand and says, “Let’s go for a walk.”

Meanwhile, Leah’s spiral has reached critical. She starts ranting about the ocean and the water and pushes past Dot, sprinting into the waves:

And so she’s taken to heart the way they think Jeannette’s body “escaped” the island—the tide—and it’s been spun like cotton candy in her head. She’s right, technically—Jeanette/Linh’s body was moved off the island by boat, and there’s definitely an argument that if they really did all swim out Gretchen’s team would save them, or at least try to. This is also a very real suicide attempt. So it’s kind of a culmination of the threats of death and mental health issues that’ve been wrapped up in the ocean since the start.

On Rachel’s end, Nora has taken her up to a cliff. Rachel calls the whole thing “borderline insane,” walking up when they’re so low on energy, but Nora tells her she needs to make a truce between herself and the water. 

“You’re afraid of it now,” she says, and Rachel replies that, “All it ever did was make me sick.” Nora immediately surges forward to say “That’s not true!” Rachel, incredulous, says, “Isn't this what you want? For me to hang it up? For me to forget the whole fucking diving game?” Nora says, “No. I don't know. I don't want you to forget you.” She then tells Rachel she should dive off the end of the cliff, that she marked it to make sure it’s safe. Rachel says she can’t.

There’s a lot here. First, there’s the first time we’ve seen of Rachel explicitly call herself sick. In episode two, even in a treatment center, she still denies it, says she’s just an athlete who knows what it takes. But now she’s reached a place where she acknowledges her eating disorder—and also probably her recent illness with the mussels—and ties it directly to the water. It’s the reason she’s sick.

Nora’s fear that Rachel will forget herself also just hammers home how central the water has always been to Rachel’s identity. Cutting herself off from the water would be cutting off a core part of herself. (...whoops) And we’ve seen that it does bring her actual joy, when she’s allowed to relax with it, but she’s had such traumatic associations rolled up into it now. Nora doesn’t want Rachel to do diving as a sport anymore, because of how badly it’s hurt her, but she does want Rachel to keep diving and swimming as like, a form of unevaluated personal expression.

At the moment that Rachel’s refusing to jump, she and Nora hear shouts from the mainland. They see Fatin and Dot screaming after Leah. Confused, Nora asks, “Where is she going?” but Rachel understands immediately, with absolute certainty, without needing to be told—“To fucking drown to death.” Seven episodes after Leah called heading into the water a death wish, she’s finally proving it true. Rachel squares her shoulders, takes a few deep breaths, and sprints into a dive. 

Unlike all her other dives high altitude dives we’ve seen her do, this dive isn’t qualified based on aesthetics. This dive matters because of what it will do, not on how it looks. And what it does do is bring her into the ocean, where she needs to be for her friend. So with strong strokes, she swims out towards Leah.

When she reaches her, she takes hold of her, pulls her into her chest from behind. She begins to swim with her back to shore. This rescue directly parallels Leah’s rescue of Linh that we talked about above. It also, as the Out in the Wilds podcast insightfully pointed out, really calls Rachel and Leah’s relationship back to the beginning. Whereas Rachel had initially held Leah down in the water, putting her in danger of drowning, Rachel here pulls her out of the water, saving her from drowning. Together, they make it all the way back to the shore.

Finally (and, like, if you’ve made it all the way down here? bless you. thank you), we have episode ten. The ocean doesn’t really figure into episode ten until the very end. Rachel has had a long episode of healing—she’s happy to be full and she’s in a good place with her sister and things seem to be going pretty okay. She decides to heal her relationship with the water, too. She heads out, telling Nora that she’s “Just gonna float, Nor. Just float.”

Just floating. After all the times we saw her plunging into the water, purposefully, with frustration, with drive, with so much to prove and with so much sacrifice and self-abuse to prove it with, Rachel finally just wants to float. She wants to let herself relax. She wants to let the water carry her.

Of course, that means there has to be, like, a massive marine carnivore waiting to mistake her for a seal.

Visually, this shot really parallels the opening shot of Leah on the fragment of plane. Instead of being face-down, though, she’s face-up, and she’s conscious, just not of the threat from below. 

The shark bites.

In a horrible parallel to Leah’s Virginia Woolf moment and Rachel’s diving accident, we see blood pool in the water. Rachel is pulled under. The girls on the land start screaming and running toward her. We know Rachel doesn’t die, but this is still a near-death experience, one that probably cost her her arm. Leah, covered in dirt and her own blood after crawling out of the pit Nora led her into, can only stand and watch, shocked and horrified.

So that got! Way longer than I meant it to! And honestly most of this was condensed into very concise tags in a post I made a few days ago! But if you made it all the way down here, you’ve now seen everything I wanted to fit into that gifset but couldn’t. Thanks for sticking with me, friend <3

[wtf-yoongi]

Stage lights. ‹‹part I of III››

pairing | jungkook x reader

summary | you visit jungkook on tour for the first time

genre/warnings | high levels of fluff + relatively new relationship + warning: features jk being extremely tired in between sets + but it’s ok because you look after him afterwards and now my heart is clenching 

words | about 7k total (part I is 2,034)

note | kinda belongs in the same universe as this one, but can be read separately. i got carried away and wrote this huge thing, so i decided to separate it into three parts. i hope you like it 🖤 p.s.: the other two will be posted in the next few days. also: have i mentioned i love jk and want him to have the whole world?

Your phone vibrates repeatedly inside of your pocket, but you can’t really reach for it while trying to get your luggage out of the conveyor belt, can you? You run towards your red, small-sized suitcase, thankful that you were fast enough to reach it before you had to wait it go around again.

When the tiny wheels are finally on the ground, you retrieve your phone to check the texts.

Hae is there to pick you up, ok? She has expert level English like me lol

She’s also wearing a bright orange jacket so you recognize her

Let me know when you’re with her?

You don’t really feel like replying now, choosing to look in the direction of the exit to see if you could already locate a bright orange spot somewhere instead.

It’s not that you are trying to ignore him – quite the opposite. To be completely honest, your nerves are killing you.

It all feels even more real now that your feet are on the ground and your brain keeps telling yourself oh my god he’s somewhere in this city breathing this air while at the same time trying to calm down. It has been months since you last saw each other, work and classes getting in the way, but the day has finally come. 

And you couldn’t be more thankful – or nervous. There’s something about seeing him after such a long time that, deep down, worries you. Yeah, you talk every day, but texting and video calls only go so far. They’re not the real deal. And even though 99% of the time all that comes to mind is how badly you want to hold him close and hug him for hours, there’s 1% of doubt there for some reason. 

Seeing someone after a very long time just gets awkward sometimes. And you don’t want things to be awkward, not even a second. You only have a few days together before you have to go back home, there’s no time for that – no time to lose.

You finally start moving again, holding onto your phone a little bit too tightly and dragging your suitcase behind you. The exit doors are not far from carousel number twelve and you can see there are a number of people waiting for arriving passengers: family members, friends, nicely-dressed people holding up iPads with fancy last names… And a young woman wearing the most absurd orange jacket.

Jungkook must have shown Hae a picture of you before – she’s quick and doesn’t think twice before waving shyly in your direction as soon as you’re through the automatic doors. You smile at her kindly and notice she’s immediately reaching for her phone to text someone. It wouldn’t surprise you if it is Jungkook himself or another staff member that could let him know the news.

“Hi,” she greets with an excited smile. “I’m Hae, it’s a pleasure to meet you! How was your flight?”

It intimidates you a little seeing such a sweet-looking person your age be so formal and polite around you. She looks like she could be your friend – a friend that insists on carrying your small suitcase even though you have no problem at all doing it yourself.

When you’re inside the black SUV, you text Jungkook back.

I’m on my way now, please tell Hae to relax and treat me as a friend

It’s kinda freaky how diplomatic she is

A few seconds pass before you get an answer.

Let her be, she’s nice haha

She’s an assistant to the head of PR. Literally her job description includes being as diplomatic as possible

You smile at your phone and then raise your eyes to Hae, who’s sitting on the passenger seat next to the driver. They exchange a few words in Korean, but remain quiet for most of the long ride to the venue.

There’s a little bit of traffic when you’re near the stadium, the influx of cars coming and going more intense the closer it gets. It’s great to see people lining up, singing and dancing in anticipation. The line itself isn’t as long now and you assume most people are already inside. With that, you also realize this is, in fact, your first BTS concert. How weird is that?

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to put this on,” Hae interrupts your thoughts and you turn to her to see a simple black baseball cap in her hands. “I’m really sorry about this, no one’s going to see you, this is just extra precaution. If you could hold onto this and wear it every time you’re outside, that would be ideal.”

You don’t say anything, settling for just nodding in agreement and taking the cap from her hand. As you put it over your head, you wonder if these are going to be some curious few days, filled with first timers. But even if the thought of hiding a relationship is foreign to you, you know, in this case, the price is totally worth it.

The closer you get to the stadium, the louder the cheering seems to get. When Hae opens the door, you find yourself parked next to many other cars and vans, and you can finally hear the sounds clearly – thousands upon thousands of people filling up every seat. She moves to get your luggage from the trunk and you just want to yank it out of her hands to carry it with your own, but stop yourself from doing so at the last second with pursed lips and a let her be in the back of your mind.

With a “follow me, please”, Hae leads the way through a maze of corridors, doors and temporary structures built solely for the single show that’s going to take place in this stadium. It surprises you just how big everything seems to be, the scale of it all, and Jungkook’s pressures kind of seem more real now. Putting yourself in his shoes becomes just a little easier as you can feel the buzz from the fans building some sort of anxiety inside of you.

“They’re inside this room,” she finally speaks again and points to a door with a sign that says ARTIST in big, bold letters. “I’ll see you again when the show starts, ok? Oh, and I’ll take care of your luggage, you don’t have to worry about that.”

You nod and let out a small “thanks” just when she turns the knob and opens the door, moving her hand to signal you can go in. You can hear many people talking before even seeing anything, but you’re not ready for the sheer amount of people working in a single room when you finally peak inside.

Everything looks like the most organized mess ever. There are black labeled boxes and bags everywhere and people moving up and down with Canon cameras, freshly-ironed shirts, makeup brushes and everything in between. They all seem to be speaking or laughing quietly and in a rush, their Korean rolling out of their tongues so easily it startles you when you hear something you can actually understand. 

“Hey, you’re here!”

You suddenly stop scanning the room to turn to your immediate left, where a familiar face is smiling at you. Namjoon has a water bottle in his hands, which he promptly leaves on top of a table to greet you properly.

“It’s so nice to see you! How are you doing?” He asks and leans in for a quick hug. When you separate, he’s once again speaking, but this time you don’t understand a word except for Jungkook-ah in the beginning of the sentence.

All of a sudden, you feel like all eyes are on you. People working all around stop for a second to see you for the first time and you start to wonder what exactly Namjoon said after calling Jungkook’s name.

It all lasts less than a second, though, as the staff at least looks like they have more important things to do than looking at a stranger – and you’re deeply thankful for that. To your right, you see both Jimin and Hoseok waving hello from their seats where they're having their hair done. You wave back at them with a smile and it isn’t until you turn your head to face forward again that you see him quickly moving towards you.

Jungkook has the most absurd smile on his face, dimples in full display – and, somewhere inside, you melt completely. There’s something different in him and you can finally see it now that he’s in front of you. His jaw looks more defined, his hair texture is healthier than the last time you saw him and there’s something about the way his eyes glimmer that certainly can’t be captured on camera. You have to be face to face to see it.

He takes longer strides the closer he gets to you and you feel like he’s fighting the urge to run altogether. It all happens so fast – you can’t even extend your arms in his direction before he’s crashing into you, the air leaving your lungs in a low humpf. Jungkook surrounds you with his body, his arms tightly holding on, while you do your best to press a hand to his back at the same time you’re trying to hold the cap on top of your head so it doesn’t fall to the ground.

It is overwhelming, but in a good way. Suddenly, that 1% of doubt is a thing of the past.

Jungkook lets go all of a sudden and looks into your eyes, soon grabbing your hand to lead you out of the room again without saying a word. He’s taking long steps and you have to be quick on your feet to follow.

“Where are we going?” You ask and you have to adjust the strap of your backpack before it falls from all the moving around.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, though, and swiftly pulls you into another room nearby. This one is much smaller, you notice, and there’s no one inside. When he closes the door behind you, it gets quiet and, somehow, familiar.

“My God, I’ve missed you,” he says under his breath, pulling you close again. He’s calmer now, taking his time to bury his face in your neck and take a deep breath. “I’ve missed you so much, I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I’ve missed you, too, you know? A lot,” you reply, running your hands up and down his covered back to comfort him. “A whole lot.”

“I’m sorry I had to drag you out of the room like that,” he speaks quietly before taking a deep breath – and you can feel the air he exhales soon after. “Too many people watching.”

“It’s ok, I understand.”

Everything feels so still you can swear, for a moment, that the whole world has stopped. Jungkook is slowly rocking both of your bodies from side to side, humming a song you can’t recognize, and it seems impossible to fall more in love with him than right now. You close your eyes, taking everything in, and you can smell the slight scent of fresh laundry in his clothes.

“And I wanted to kiss you,” he admits out of nowhere. “Can’t do that in front of everybody.”

Jungkook gently disconnects his body from yours, taking his time to look at you now. He softly places a hand on your face as if he’s struggling to believe you’re there and you’re real. When he smiles, your heart melts further – and you don’t know how that’s even possible.

“Can I?”

You smile back, nodding at the same time you reach for the back of his neck. “You can kiss me a hundred times.”

“Just a hundred?” Jungkook asks with a disappointed voice, leaning in closer now. “What happens if I want more than that?”

“You get… Refills,” you say and laugh at your own choice of word. “Endless kiss refills. Does that sound good?”

“Hmm,” he hums, kissing you and tasting your lips for the first time in what seems like forever. “Sounds great.”

He laughs and leans in again.

☁️ read part II here ☁️

Read more ›› masterlist

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Resentment Ch. 1 (Ethan x MC)

Summary: After 2 months of not seeing each other, Ethan and Naomi do not have a pleasant reunion.

A/N: So...I’ve been writing this for the past 2 weeks. Open Heart 2 is ripe with angst and untapped drama. Tbh, this is my 5th draft, and I kept deleting and writing, and deleting and re-writing this, and I had to step away multiple times, as this was probably be one of my more draining fics to write. But anyway, if you’re still reading this long winded ass note, thank you lol. And enjoy, as always!

Tags: @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @doroshi-desu @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @dr-nancy-house @adrian-motherfucking-raines

~v~

Seeing Ethan Ramsey again nearly knocked the wind out of her. It feels like she saw a ghost. But here’s here, at Donahue’s, strolling through the garden as if this is any other night. As if he didn’t disappear off of the face of the earth for 2 months.

Naomi didn’t plan on having such a visceral reaction to seeing him, but she has little to no control over her body these days. Her heart speeds up, beating twice as fast, a cold sweat breaks out, starting at her forehead, and there’s the flip of her stomach and unmistakable taste of bile rising in her throat.

‘Do not throw up,’ she silently begs herself. ‘Do not throw up. Please, keep it together, Valentine.’

The chant doesn’t work, the nausea hitting her hard, like a wave crashing against the shore. She jumps out of her seat, ignoring the looks of confusion from her friends, and makes a beeline to the restroom, pushing past the other patrons at the bar. She barely makes it into a stall before she’s on her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach into a dirty public toilet.

Naomi isn’t sure how long she’s like this, embarrassingly clutching the toilet, but a knock at the stall door breaks her out of her trance. “It’s occupied!”

“It’s Sienna,” the voice on the other side says softly. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

The door swings open slowly and Sienna attempts to squeeze into the small space. It’s a tight squeeze, but she manages to make it work.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Naomi mumbles weakly. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

“Yes I did,” Sienna argues. She helps Naomi to her feet and pulls at the roll of cheap toilet paper. She bunches it up and wipes the corner of Naomi’s mouth. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

“I feel like I’ve just seen one,” Naomi quips back. “Let’s just say I did not expect to see Dr. Ramsey here tonight.”

“You didn’t know he was coming back?” Sienna asks. “I thought you two were close.”

Naomi thought they were close too. But she got ghosted. It was jarring, going from sleeping with Ethan and openly flirting with him, to him being her boss again, to him disappearing and cutting off all communication within a span of 3 days. “I thought we were too.”

“How do you think it’ll be, working with him tomorrow?”

“I have no idea what to expect,” Naomi replies honestly. “Hopefully the rest of the team is nice.”

Sienna lifts Naomi up, helping her stand on her feet again. They exit the stall and Naomi washes her hands furiously like she’s about to perform surgery.

They walk out of the bathroom, Sienna with a protective arm around her friend’s waist. The rest of their friends are now inside, at their usual booth.

They all stare at Naomi, and she hates it. Now they’re probably going to think of her as the weirdo who threw up upon seeing her boss (an ex-lover, though not everyone is privy to that information).

“You just missed the wildest shit,” Bryce says, almost breathless. “Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Thorne nearly got into a fight!”

That was the last thing Naomi expected to hear. “What?”

“Thorne was being a real creep, and he tried to feel up some young girl. He touched her and she broke his hand!” Elijah exclaims. “He got loud and rowdy, he pushed her down, and Ethan came out of nowhere, swooping in like freaking Batman. I thought he was going to snap Thorne’s neck at one point.”

“Where is the girl?” Naomi asks. 

“She ran out of here as soon as she could.”

“I hope she’s okay,” Naomi murmurs, mostly to herself.

“Are you okay?” Bryce asks. “I’ve never seen you get sick before.”

“Whatever virus is fermenting in your body, please keep it away from me,” Jackie says, not even giving Naomi the chance to respond.

“Jackie!” Sienna tsks in annoyance. “Have some compassion.”

“She’s either drunk or it’s the stomach flu,” Jackie says with a shrug. “She’ll survive a little teasing.”

“It’s okay, Sienna,” Naomi insists. She loves her friend’s protective nature, but it really isn’t necessary. “You don’t have to go into mother hen mode.”

“Fine. But I’m making you soup after work tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

Reggie announces last call, and the gang starts talking about their post-bar plans. Be it getting food, going downtown, or just going home. Naomi drowns out the conversation as her eyes settle onto Ethan. His back is turned to her and Naomi notices that he’s the only one left at the bar while Reggie is cleaning up.

“Does last call not apply to you?” Naomi asks, getting his attention.

“Reggie and I go way back. We have an arrangement,” Ethan says simply.

“An arrangement.” Naomi rolls her eyes as she repeats the words. “Is that what you call a friendship?”

“I don’t have friends. But...I wouldn’t mind you joining me if you were so inclined.”

Naomi weighs her options. She can go home and put this night behind her, or she can stay out with Ethan. And actually talk to him.

She turns back to her friends. “You guys go on ahead. I want to check in about tomorrow with Dr. Ramsey.”

She doesn’t believe that excuse for one second. And if her friends don’t believe it either, they don’t say anything. Sienna just tells her to not stay out too late, before they all leave, going their separate ways.

Once they’re gone, Naomi joins Ethan at the bar. She looks at, really looks at him. He’s still the same handsome guy, just more...rugged. He’s much more tan than she remembers, it looks like he’s gained weight—muscle, not fat—and he’s sporting an entirely new look.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a brand new Ethan Ramsey,” she muses.

Ethan looks down at his green jacket, a vast departure from the sweaters and button ups he usually wears.

“This jacket’s been through a lot with me,” he explains, toying with the sleeve.

“I like it.”

She doesn’t miss the way he perks up at the compliment, almost as if he was hoping she’d say something. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Duly noted. And the beard?”

Ethan doesn’t know why he needs her stamp of approval so badly, but the validation she gives him feels nice. He likes to know that she thinks he looks good.

“It looks good on you,” Naomi answers honestly. Ethan scratches the beard, his fingers flying towards it unconsciously at her words. He nods, soaking in her praise.

“I’ve gotten used to it.”

Naomi looks around as an almost awkward silence settles between the two of them. She’s now actively aware of the fact that it’s just the two of them, alone.

“Why don’t we move this outside?” Ethan suggests, some of the tension dissipating. “It’ll be winter before we know it. Might as well enjoy the weather while we can. You want something to drink?”

Naomi’s stomach flips at the mention of alcohol. “You know what I want? A cup of ice water.”

Ethan’s eyebrow quirks up at the answer. They’re in a bar and she wants...water? He shrugs but heads behind the bar, nonetheless. Grabbing a Pilsner glass, he fills it to the top with ice and he also finds a bottle of water. He hands them off to Naomi. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” They make their way outside. It’s so quiet now that everyone is gone. It feels peaceful. Ethan drops down in a chair near the fire pit and Naomi joins.

“I can see why you like it here.”

“Because nobody’s annoying me?” Ethan jokes.

“More or less,” Naomi concedes. “It’s peaceful.” Ethan nods in agreement. “So...how was it, being in the Amazon?”

“It was quite the experience. It kept me on my toes.”

“Fighting an epidemic in a different country sounds...thrilling. And scary. You’re brave for doing it.”

Ethan snorts. Naomi always manages to see the best in him, even when he doesn’t deserve it. “That wasn’t bravery.”

Naomi looks down at her lap. “You didn’t keep in touch. Two whole months without any form of communication seems extreme, don’t you think? Especially after everything that’s happened with us?”

“Everything that happened between us is exactly why I didn’t contact you.”

“192,” Naomi says. 

“Huh?”

“192. That’s how many times I’ve called you in the past 2 months. I also sent 75 texts and 30 emails. You could have responded to at least one of those.”

Hearing the numbers out loud makes Naomi feel ridiculous, like a stalker. And Ethan just feels...awful. He remembers his chest going tight every time he saw her name flash across his screen. He remembers the restraint it took him to not call her back, or reach out in any way. He needed to stay away. It was for the best, for both of them.

“Naomi, if we’re going to work together on the diagnostics team, we need a fresh start. Your professional development is too important to jeopardize it with whatever...what is was that we had.”

Ethan probably would’ve been better off taking this glass of ice water and throwing it in her face. The callousness in his voice chilled her to the core. “That’s how you’d describe it? As ‘whatever’?”

Ethan sighs heavily. Of course his relationship with the younger woman meant something to him, but if he was going to be her boss, they needed boundaries. There had to be a line.

“Pouring my heart out to you on multiple occasions and vice versa, secretly saving our boss’s life, you bringing Mrs. Martinez’s son to my ethics hearing, the sex, it all just culminates to a...whatever. What? Is what we went through just a casual experience in the life of Ethan Ramsey?”

“Of course not, but Naomi, I can’t go down this road with you again. We need to have a reset if things are going to work.”

She doesn’t know why the word ‘reset’ makes her laugh, but it does. She laughs, hard, almost maniacally, until her sides hurt and she can barely breathe. Ethan says nothing, staring at her in confusion.

“You know what, Ethan? Fuck you.”

That catches him off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me loud and clear. Fuck. You. You’re a coward. And a runner. You run at the slightest hint of something being hard, or if you have to face your own emotions and vulnerabilities. You run off, drinking yourself silly and keeping your head in the sand, and then you come waltzing back as if nothing happened, but guess what? Life still happens. There is no reset, no do-overs, no pauses. Time still moves forward.”

Tears prick the corners of her eyes and she wills herself to not cry in front of him. He doesn’t deserve any more of her vulnerability. She doesn’t know why it hurts so much, but it does. The idea of him moving through life as if what they shared was minuscule and insignificant burns. It causes a sharp ache in her chest she didn’t realize she had the capacity to feel.

“While you were in South America, ignoring the almost 400 pieces of correspondence I sent, I was still here, still dealing with shit, still caring about you, worrying about you and your safety every fucking day. I don’t have the luxury of turning my feelings on and off whenever I see fit, and I don’t get to delude myself into thinking I can turn back time.”

How many times are they going to play this game before she realizes she’s always going to be the loser? She and Ethan get close, he rejects her but leaves just enough space and opportunity to keep her hanging on.

Naomi wraps her arms around her midsection and slightly curls into herself. Not even her own embrace is soothing at this point. The rejection stings, and she feels...stupid. Why does she keep holding out hope for Ethan, hoping he’ll want her the same way she wants him? Why does she keep coming back, waiting diligently like a little puppy, nipping at his ankles for the slightest bit of attention? Maybe she’s just a glutton for pain.

“If you want to hit the reset button, you can do it by yourself. I’m not playing that game with you.” Naomi abruptly stands up, clutching onto the back of her chair for stability. “Goodnight.”

Panic settles in his chest. He doesn’t want things with her to end like this, with her hating him. He wants her to stay. He wants to take back everything he just said. “Naomi, I–”

“Save it!” Whatever he’s about to say, whatever line it is that’ll feed her just enough false hope to keep hanging on, she doesn’t want to hear it.

After gathering her belongings, she turns on her heel, looking for the exit. Her entire body is rigid, defensive and ready to strike at any given moment, and she feels like she’s going to throw up again, which is something she truly does not have time for.

She’s fully prepared to walk away from him with whatever shred of dignity she still has, but she stops herself. She turns around, facing Ethan again.

“I called you a lot while you were gone. I left countless voicemails until your mailbox was completely full. Did you listen to any of them?”

“I haven’t listened.” Ethan feels ashamed by the answer, and he refuses to meet her big doe eyes, opting to look at the ground.

Naomi doesn’t dwell on the answer. She shakes off the hurt, and powers through.

“Last Wednesday, at 5:21 am, I called. You obviously didn’t answer, and I left a message. I’ll set the scene for you because I’ll never forget the moment. I was sitting in my bathtub, crying, almost hysterically. It was the type of crying that gets Meryl Streep and Viola Davis Oscar nominations, the kind that makes you feel sick to your stomach. But I live with 3 other people, so I had to sob into a face towel until the worst of it passed. And then I called you. Logically, I knew you probably weren’t going to answer, but I figured one last Hail Mary couldn’t hurt so I did it anyway. 

In the voicemail, I practically begged you to talk to me. To answer at least one of my calls. It was so...desperate. And pitiful. The old Naomi would rather get buried alive than to ever be so emotionally available and needy, but I didn’t care. In that moment, I needed you, I needed solace that I thought only you could give me, but I know now that it won’t happen. You’re way too emotionally stunted and unavailable.”

She inhales, something shaky and full of vulnerability, and every bone in her body is screaming out to just shut the fuck up and turn away.

“But you didn’t answer, you didn’t acknowledge it, and I was just absolutely gutted,” Naomi continues. “Because had you answered that call, or called me back some time that day, I would’ve told you that I’m pregnant.”

With that confession, Naomi visibly deflates. It feels like a crushing weight has been lifted off of her chest.

But Ethan feels the exact opposite. Unable to move, he gapes at Naomi. “You-you’re what?”

“Pregnant. 9 weeks, 5 days. It’s the size of an olive at this point, and before you ask, yes, it’s yours.”

Paternity hadn’t even crossed his mind at this point. He’s still stuck on the fact that she’s pregnant. 

“So while it hurts to know what you want a reset, and to pretend we didn’t share anything, it is also literally impossible to do so,” Naomi says with a humorless chuckle. “But don’t worry, I’ve received the message loud and clear. See you at work tomorrow, Doctor. Oh, and congratulations.”

Ethan watches as she leaves, even though he calls her name, asking her to stay. His chest feels tight like someone is squeezing him from the inside, and he struggles to inhale. The revelation stifles him, and he can’t get his bearings.

Unable to do much else, Ethan falls back into his chair. Despite trying his damnedest to get things back on track, it feels as if he’s made everything so much worse.

[chilly-me-softly]

would you like to write one where You and Ben are best friends and do flirts a lot like everyone would think you guys are in a relationship. even Ben and You had a kind of promise that whenever Ben scores a goal you need to give him a reward no matters what he wants. One day he scored a goal, and he asked for the reward by giving him a kiss (lol idk if its weird) and ended up by making out🥺

You and Ben have been friends for so long, you don't even remember how long now. No matter what happens, you are always there for each other; he's that special person you would always call, even at night, because you know he would answer no matter the reason or what he is doing.You're so proud of him, you're not afraid to show it when you go to see the games he plays in, and Ben has certainly managed to make you known due to all the videos in which you're the victim of his jokes.

You're each other's anchor, always ready to cheer each other up if you  need it or kick your ass when you deserve it. And that kind of promise really did come about by accident. Often you used to do something like that to tempt each other to go on at a difficult time or just to challenge each other, to have a few laughs at each other's expense. There was the 'If you bring home that result, I'll buy you dinner to that place you like so much' or 'I bet you can't get that guy to give you his number' and stuff like that. But most of all you liked that Ben took himself a little bit more seriously as a player, that he realized more and more that he was indispensable to the team, to took more initiative.

So you came up with something before the start of that season. You still remembered how proud you were of him the previous season with that goal against Tottenham, even though the team had beaten them sensationally. But you were so excited about that goal that it was impossible to sulk about losing, and that's what you always aimed for.

'For every goal you score this season, you get to choose your prize. Anything you want, Chilwell'

You saw the determination in his eyes, and you regretted not putting up some boundaries because well Ben is unpredictable when it comes to collecting prizes. But a promise is a promise.

The first goal came in October, the first one that paved the way for that game that had seen Leicester win 0-9 against Southampton. And Ben is so happy, but he also played more than ninety minutes in the torrential rain so all he asks you is to snuggle up and enjoy the dinner you made him, because needless to say, once he got off the bus he came straight to you.

The second one arrives in February, and even if it's a draw at the end, there's no way you won't celebrate one of his goals so you wait for what he has to offer you.

"You're such a boring person Ben" you huff and puff by picking up the phone to do what he asked you to do, post on IG your voice text after his goal. You screamed like crazy for minutes, in the background the other fans who were cheering with you.

"Just post it" he giggles, crashed out on his couch.

"Done. But seriously, I thought you would have been more mean. But instead you've already scored twice and each time you were more banal"

"It's not my fault, you ask me right after the game and I don't have the strength to think anything complicated. Next time I'll take my time, okay?"

"Oh so you're already thinking of a next time" you grin raising your eyebrows, he throws you a pillow straight away. "Don't"

You take the pillow off your face and hold it to your chest smiling, happy that your little challenge is taking the right turn.

And there really is a third time. June is when it happens, the first game of the team after the quarantine stop. On the couch at home out of breath because you cheered like crazy at that goal that came after ninety minutes and even if they couldn't take home the three points, you don't care.

You didn't see each other except by video call, both with your families at that time, and you think it was the longest time you've been apart since you met. Even when you fight you don't spend so much time apart, in one way or another always in touch.

You give him some time to think, he already knows the first thing you will ask him as soon as you see him and you don't want him to complain again that it's your fault if he can't think of something more creative.

You see him the next day, he knocks on your door after texting you he was coming. "So?"

"Well, I might have something for you" he's vague as he walks over to the couch and you roll your eyes to the sky.

"Should I guess, or are you gonna tell me sooner or later?"

He giggles, moving slightly on the spot before looking at you. "Can I ask everything right?"

You nod, "Everything. Although maybe the only thing I wouldn't do is kill someone, I mean I'd help you bury them, but the biggest punishment would be yours" you shrug and he laughs, signalling you to go and sit next to him.

"Why would I want to kill somebody?"

"I don't know, that guy took all the glory out of you yesterday with that last-second goal..." you minimize it with a wave of your hand and he looks at you shaking his head.

"Relax, it's nothing illegal"

"Oh, thank god" you put your hand over your heart, relieved, and he sighs.

"So what I want as a reward is... a kiss. A real kiss"

"You what?" you ask wide-eyed, "what are we in high school Chilwell?"

"Why you're always complaining about everything?"

"You should know me by now" you shrug.

"But okay okay, every promise is a debt. I hope you didn't eat onions to make fun of me because I swear this is the time I'm gonna kill you"

He giggles while you're already inches closer to him, "Shut up and kiss me"

Your lips meet immediately afterwards, it's a little touch that proceeds insecure, almost as if you were afraid that he might burst out laughing at you at any moment and make fun of you for actually do it. You move away and your eyes fall automatically on his lips, one of your thumbs touches them gently while neither of you says anything. And then you take that hand to the back of his head, pushing him against your mouth again and give him the real kiss he wanted.

There's something inside you, a strange sensation that doesn't want to let go of that lips. You only do it when you run out of air, resting your forehead on his because in the meantime you've even straddled him.

"We need to talk"

"Yeah, but keep kissing me now" and you don't make him tell you again, the mess you're feeling inside will sort itself out later.

Tag: @emwritesfootball

[khunvegas]

For @tothetrashwhereibelong because this mess deserves to be in this hellsite too lol this post  was the catalyst, my trigger.

Read on AO3    (includes images ;)

---

There is something to be said about the lengths a man would go to woo another man and Alec is sure as hell not going to think about it twice. He’s going above and beyond to woo this particular man.

Magnus Bane, the shy fortune teller that crashed the Mad Hatter Party a few weeks ago. Alec likes beautiful thing and Magnus checks all the boxes but as beautiful as he is, the man is very slippery and Alec barely had the chance to get a name because he could disappear.

But it doesn’t matter. Alec likes challenges— as a party planner, he knows all about challenges and last-minute changes— and Magnus Bane proves to be a challenge worth trying.

Nothing prepared Alec to find Magnus’ Instagram account; he was elated. There were no pictures of the man in question, just about his business and the name of it but that didn’t stop Alec to keep pursuing him. With just a follow he was one step ahead and it was just a matter of time until he could catch the man’s attention.

Wooing requires patience and Alec is all about patience when beautiful men are involved.

He can’t be too straightforward but also not too distant. He knows the moves, he knows what to do and most importantly, he’s not letting this man go.

“I haven’t seen you this glued to your phone since Lady Gaga announced Born This Way. What’s going on?” Simon asks next him, amusement in his voice.

“Excuse you. That song was a hit. Shut up,” Alec grumbles. He doesn’t have to look to know that Simon is rolling his eyes; the man in his screen is more important.

“He found a new beau,” Maia butts in and this time, Alec looks up to see her waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

He narrows his eyes while hearing Simon choking on his cereal. “Are you dating again? Since when?”

“That’s the best part,” Maia says, smiling, before Alec could chime in, “he’s been moping around and he hasn’t even said hi to the man. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

Alec keeps his eyes narrowed and shook his head. “I’m waiting for the perfect moment, okay? This is important.”

So, yes. Ever since he found Magnus on Instagram, he hasn’t said anything yet. Not because he doesn’t have anything to say but because he’s waiting. Alec is not a creep and he’s not going to send something to him if Magnus doesn’t remember him. There has a to be a moment of recognition from the party, a few likes to his photos and then a follow.

It’s a process, a lot of patience, perfectly executed photos and subtle likes here and there so he doesn’t come off as desperate.

He’s desperate but Magnus doesn’t have to know that.

“How is that going?” Simon asks, his gaze fixed on him. Alec knows his friend and his waiting for an opening to give him shit about his process.

“Well, it’s going…” Alec trails off and Simon raises one eyebrow and smirks, like the fucker knows that this is going pretty slow.

He’s going to shut him up again when he hears the notification sound coming from his phone; looking down he sees that it’s from Instagram and if he’s being honest with himself, his heart stopped for a hot minute.

themagnusbane liked your post

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Everybody shut up!”

Simon throws him a weird look. “No one was talking. What–”

“Shut up. He’s online! I have to post a shirtless picture.” He’s scrolling down his pictures. He needs to find the perfect one, something very aesthetic-like because he’s not basic and he doesn’t just have shirtless pictures.

But this one already caught Magnus’ attention, so he doesn’t want to fuck his opportunity here.

“Alec, what the fuck?” Maia asks.

“I have a limited window to work here.” He’s still scrolling, this has to be perfect. No mistakes here. “It has to be perfect, Maia.”

Alec has no other choice but to rely on the Thirst Bait folder, a folder that is only designed for Magnus. Did he take a bunch of pictures ever since he found him on Instagram? Yes. Are those shirtless? Absolutely. Alec is not ashamed of his body and he’s going to use it to grab attention, sue him.

A little more scrolling and there. The perfect picture.

Some editing here and there, no caption because he wants the attention to be on the picture and post. He puts his phone down, waiting for the amazing sound of another notification while enduring Simon and Maia’s weird look after that outburst.

Again, he’s desperate.

“We don’t even know who this man is. Are you–”

Whatever Simon was going to say was cut off by another notification sound and Alec took his phone, smiling at it.

themagnusbane liked your post

It’s working. Fuck, yes!

He stood up, still looking at his phone and went to his room but not before hearing a “You could just flirt with him directly” from Maia, which Alec responds with a “don’t tell me how to live my life!” over his shoulder.

And after that, over the next few days, Alec post more of him now that it seems Magnus is online more often and whenever he posts a picture of his back and shoulders, Magnus likes those immediately.

Of course, he talks to the man. No time to waste and is then that Magnus admits that he has a thing for hands. Alec doesn’t really remember how they got to that subject— they talk every day all day now— well, okay, he does remember. Magnus said that since he reads hands, he had seen a couple of hands that were beautiful. Alec wasn’t going to judge. In fact, Alec went ahead and send a picture of his own hands and may he say, it was a hit.

Alec is proud. Patience has its fruits. Now he just has to find the moment to ask the man on a date.

 **

 Magnus promised himself that he would stay low and keep his head on his business but his brain is a treacherous thing and the moment Alexander found him on Instagram, Magnus was weak not to take a look.

And what a sight.

Alexander looked good that day when he crashed the party but nothing prepared him to what he saw on his account.

The shirtless pictures are something to behold. Tentatively, he liked one, thinking Alexander wouldn’t see it and color him impressed, because it seemed that it caught the other’s attention.

And then it was a barrage of Alexander, Alexander, Alexander on his feed, gradually, but it was enough for Magnus to want.

He’s a warlock, for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be wanting a mundane but, God, Alexander might be the exception at this point. His body was clearly made by the angels but the hands were a sin because that triggered a whole another part of his needs that Magnus is almost embarrassed to think about.

Alexander’s hands on his throat, right there on this pulse point; on his waist, keeping him in place on the bed; his hands his inner thighs, forcing him to open his legs even more, his fingers inside him, his fingers on his mouth. Alexander’s hands griping his hair, forcing him to stretch his neck and giving him more space to abuse the tender skin, right there where his neck meet his shoulder.

His hands everywhere.

Yes, he had fantasized about it. It was fine, though, because he was not going to indulge on those fantasies and it’s not like Alexander would ask him on a date anytime soon. It’s a mystery to him that he sent that picture, now that he’s thinking about it.

“You’ve been online lately,” Raphael commented nonchalantly.

“Well, you see, Alexander…”

Raphael raises an eyebrow. “Still with that?”

“I’m still thinking if this is worth it.” Because if he’s going to risk the safety of his life for whatever this is that could potentially turn into something else in the romantic spectrum, he needs to think about the cons and pros. “It’s too early to say.”

“It’s not that I’m interested in your romantic life but you’ve been dragging this for a month. I’m annoyed.”

Magnus turns to send him friend the nastiest look he can muster, to which Raphael only reply with a shrug of his shoulders.

But he’s right. As much as he likes staring at Alexander’s abs— and he likes to do that very much— there’s got to be a point when he says enough is enough and just take a leap. He might be old and jaded but he still can sense when someone is interested in him and Alexander looks like he’s interested.

The problem is Magnus can’t seem to gather the courage to ask the man out, mostly afraid that he’s going to get rejected in the end. It’s what happens when he’s been out of the relationship business for too long.

“I do want to take this to the next step–” There’s a groan of disgust coming from Raphael and well, okay. Point taken. He does want to take that step too but he will keep the details to the minimum– “not that step. I meant a relationship. If that’s something he wants.”

Raphael glances at him and Magnus can already see the gears turning in that head of his but before Raphael can say anything— probably that he’s being stupid— there’s a chime from his phone.

And lo and behold, it’s a text message from Alexander. Somewhere along the barrage of messages on Instagram, they decided that the best course of action was to swap numbers and well, Magnus is delighted with that decision.

Because Alexander is asking him out. On a date. In his house.

Magnus is on cloud 9. Elated.

“If you keep smiling like that, your lips will get stuck,” Raphael mumbles but Magnus can’t be bothered. He’s happy.

 **

 After one amazing date that won’t end in bed because it’s too early for that, as much Magnus wants, it’s time to say goodbye. Magnus feels like when he had his very first date those decades ago: the butterflies, the giddiness, the I-can’t-stop-smiling feeling. It’s all surreal but so perfect.

“I really had a great time,” Magnus says, looking up. He had forgotten the few inches Alexander had on him but it doesn’t change anything. In fact, that gives him the advantage to look at those clear, hazel eyes.

Magnus could write sonnets about them.

Alexander smiles at him, shuffling a little closer. “I had a great time too,” he says. They are standing closer to the door but none of them move to open the door or to move.

In fact, Magnus might have moved a little closer, enough that he can smell Alexander’s cologne and the aftershave. It’s intoxicating and Magnus just wants to latch on his neck and stay there for the rest of the night.

Alexander looks at him, like he’s searching for something. Magnus just wants for him to take the leap for both of them because he doesn’t feel like he’s strong enough to get rid of the few inches between them and finally kiss those lips that has been on his dreams since that party a month ago.

Alexander’s eyes drift from his lips to his eyes, then back to his lips. “I might sound way too straightforward but… Can I kiss you?”

Yes. Everything you want. Yes. Magnus nods, not finding his voice.

But he doesn’t need it because from one second to the next, Alexander is tilting his head back and kissing him thoroughly, like Magnus has never been kissed before. A nip on his bottom lip has Magnus groaning, opening his mouth for Alexander. Big hands come to rest on his hips, drawing him closer to Alexander’s, giving him the opportunity to feel the hard planes of his body.

That body that Magnus has been dying to touch, to feel, to taste. Nothing compares.

When they, sadly, break the kiss for much needed air, Magnus takes a few seconds before opening his eyes just to bask in the glory of how that kiss felt. The first thing that he sees is Alexander smiling at him and Magnus can’t help but to giggle. After way too many years on the low, he can honestly say that this was the most exciting thing he has done and he can’t wait to see where this goes.

“I was hoping you would do that,” Magnus whispered, still in that closeness they have.

Alexander shrugs, keeping his hands right on Magnus’ hips, grounding him. “You know what they say,” and the smile turns mischievous, “patience is key.”

Alexander dives in again and Magnus meets him in the middle.  

------

(buy me coffee?)