#nor using cursive

[superbeachbum27]

I was forced to learn, but I still use it to this day when I journal

Reblog this if you had to learn cursive writing as a child

If you were ever told or were made to learn cursive writing when you were in grade school. I wanna see how many of you suffered like I did.

[celesterayel]

something out of my dreams | luke castellan

pairing : luke castellan x dionysus!reader

request: could you possibly write a luke x daughter of dionysus please? maybe she’s like super nice and when percy gets to camp she becomes like an older sister and luke is super whipped for her? @elz-zalarrr

IN WHICH — all he knows is that you were something out of his dreams.

"trust him like a brother, yeah, you know i did one thing right. starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night" - t.s.

w.c. 1.8k

warning(s) : cheesiness ゜✭・.

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note okay i've begun to realize that low-key i feel like i write in cursive if that makes sense? if a feeling could describe it i'd say its like using poetry to write? that's likely not any better lol :)

there was but one person that everyone could agree they adored at camp half blood.

it didn't matter what grudge who had with whom or what ancient rivalries transcended the ideals of reality, everyone loved you. not the typical type of brittle love that crumbled at the slightest of touches, but pure adoration that endured the sands of time.

you with the gentle soul, who healed others with each laugh and smile. when new half-godlings were brought to camp, you made sure to comfort them and make them understand that they belonged here and would find a home whether they wanted to or not. you made sure that no birthday was forgotten, no deed undone.

children of minor gods or elders, of Ares or Aphrodite, you became an older sister to all who needed you. you, the daughter of fertility and chaos, the god dionysius.

there was no debate that at camp half blood there was only a before you and an after you. you were like that high right before the free fall–invincibility and smoke and curiosity wrapped into the form of a demi-god. you were the gentle breeze during summer nights when the heat became too much. and none ached more to feel it than luke castellan, who had been burning for as long as he knew.

your relationship in itself was tentative, you danced around your feelings–scared one wrong touch or word would break the shaky, fine line that lay between you two. but you could not hide the way you loved the other to yourselves nor the children of the beings of divine blood. 

luke castellan loved you like the stars would fall out of the sky with one harsh touch, free and incandescently self-destructive. like you were a wild, wonderful thing out of a fantasy.

you loved him like there was no hell or heaven but the cosmos that lay in his eyes and the worlds that lay in his soul. something so sacred and rare. a love so true and mortal it put all the greek tragedies to shame. 

you knew that whatever you and him were made of, in every lifetime or the next you two were made for each other. 

loving luke castellan would be both your redemption and destruction in the making, your elysium for whatever good thing you had done in your previous life. 

✩ ‧₊˚

you first met percy jackson when he came to camp, he was a scared little thing who had just lost his mother when the veil between reality and deception flickered. everything he’d known came crumbling as quickly as the truth was uncovered: gods and monsters were real and played games of hell and heaven on earth. some thing about him called out to the vulnerability you once knew when you first came to camp so you made it your mission to be the sister he never had. 

you met him at the front of the steps of the main office, “my name is y/n, percy jackson. welcome to camp halfblood.”

“do you just somehow know everyones name,” he raised his eyebrows at you. 

“yes.” no, but you supposed it’d be fun to let him think that. 

“of course you do.”

“come along, i’ll show the ins and outs here. if you're nice enough, i might let you in on the cook's secret stash of blue ice cream,” you laughed out.

he contemplated his choices before grabbing your outstretched hand and shaking it, “deal.”

you showed him who to avoid and the best people to befriend. the history between your kind and why the gods were as they were. the truth behind his bloodline and the legacy that he was now responsible for. the tribulations and the pain that was cursed to follow the children of the gods. 

“and this is chris. the best person to ask if you need to know what plants are poisonous,” you say, introducing him to a guy with black hair and soft eyes. 

percy looks at chris before looking around to see where the hermes boy is, “we’ve met. he was with luke when he was showing me around”

you’re cheeks heated at the mention of his name; looking around to see if you can spot the familiar tan skin and soft eyes that belong to your luke. 

“oh! luke! yeah, he’s around here somewhere. he’s sly like that, wandering and then popping up the next second.”

a voice pipes up behind you suddenly, “y/n, already telling percy everything about me?” 

you whirl around and there he stands in all his glory with the curls you love and the sun in his eyes. your golden boy.

“just telling him the truth, castellan. you’re hard to get a hold of sometimes.”

a hue of pink covers his cheeks, “i’m never far from you.”

both of you oblivious to percy and chris who seem to be conversing about you both and the tip-toe dance you play. 

percy just wonders what’s happening here: firstly, luke is looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars and that’s saying something because he has shit observation skills–his analysis essays can attest to that. secondly, he swears he can see hearts in his eyes from where he’s standing and is that…is that a blush?

he turns to chris, who is just staring at the two like it's not out of the normal for what’s happening, “what’s happening here? is he blushing?”

chris just nods, “yeah. luke’s kinda–very obviously to everyone–in love with y/n. if i didn’t know better i’d say she’s gotten him insane in love. very likely as her dad’s the god of insanity.”

he turns back to the two who are laughing and standing closer than before, “like super, super in love. if there was a word for love, luke’s found it”

“huh.” 

chris says it like it’s common knowledge like how the best food is blue jelly beans, “i mean i ship it, y/n’s the sweetest person around here–the type of person people write songs about. she’s like a sister to us older ones and a mother to the younger ones. the whole camp is waiting for him to just man up and ask y/n. they make each other happy, you know?”

“yeah, i think i do.” 

percy thinks it’s something the poets would write about.

✩ ‧₊˚

fridays are capture the flag days.

you’re not the type of person to engage in these types of games all that often but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. someone’s got to show the percy boy how it’s played. 

“okay, percy. remember, keep your senses open and make sure that no one gets close enough to engage. once they engage, it’s hard to fight them off.”

all around you two, people have begun to don their armor and raise arms. the sun has just reached its height and you’re huddled together discussing your gameplan. even though your cabin house is pretty small, you’ve joined athena and hermes for this game. 

percy’s voice rises a little high as he tries swinging his sword around only to drop it, “yeah, okay. i’ll just try not to die, i guess. that’s not like hard or anything.”

“just follow my lead and if i’m not here find luke.”

you're not exactly excited about percy’s odds. the kid is lanky as is and his sassiness doesn’t help him out much when others target him for it. 

that’s exactly why you’re gone to his rescue when he nearly gets hit in the face by a spear after he insulted one of the boys from house ares. 

your heel nearly buckles under a sharp hit after you block the attack that’s directed to percy. you manage to reset your heel and push the sword off before you drop down into a crouch and sweep the legs of the warrior in front of you.

unfortunately you're slightly too focused on what’s in front of you and protecting percy you don’t realize that someones charging toward you from the side. 

fortunately, a block from a familiar sword stops any attack that might meet you head on. no sooner do you hear the block that luke’s got the other guy on the floor and surrendering. 

you grin at him, “i had that handled.”

giving you that grin that makes you feel like your future's right in front of you, he replies: “i’m sure you did. but why let you deal with him when i can save you the trouble.” 

“why don’t you go and help annabeth win the games, romeo.”

he gives you a wink, throwing a quick ‘yes ma’am’ before he’s already running off again. 

no sooner than later, a quick gong resounds throughout the camp, concluding the games. you’re standing slightly battered while percy walks behind you pointing out all the flowers he’s found. you definitely need to teach him how to defend himself. 

the players are just trickling in for the woods they’ve been fighting in to reband together and in the distance you see a figure running toward you. 

holding onto the flag, he continues to look at you like you’re everything he’s ever needed to breathe. he’s taken his helmet off and you can finally see him fully: brown eyes and all dimples.

“see you’ve found the flag.”

he takes a couple of steps closer to you until only two steps separate him and you, “yeah, someone told me to go win the game so I did just that for her”.

“really now?”

he whispers, “yeah.” 

his eyes twinkle and you’ve never wanted anything more than to continue to stare at them. 

you hope he’ll make the next move but luke castellan, the boy you’ve fallen for in every lifetime, is always content to admire you.

so, you take those two next steps, grab him by his neck, and press your lips to his. 

he stands shocked for a minute, wondering if what’s happening is really happening. but no sooner, he’s dropped the flag on the grass and holds you like your the greatest treasure he’s ever had.

there’s a certain type of tragedy that your golden boy tastes like, fire and freedom all in this moment. it’s the price of redemption and damnation that you’re willing to pay. 

to him, it’s the stars aligning like you’d will them to–the power you held and every thing he’s ever needed. your his past, future, and present: the threads in his life giving him the one thing he’s ever wanted. something he’s only ever dreamed of. 

he pulls back slightly before murmuring, “in every lifetime or the next, i am yours. i don’t know what i did to deserve you. you’re something only out of my dreams, y/n.”

"you sap"

you just kiss him again, ignoring all the campers and those still trickling in. 

✩ ‧₊˚

“definitely a child of dionysius. she’s reduced him to insanity,” pipes up percy as he tears off the petals of the flower he holds in his hand. 

chris just grabs a flower and continues to rip the petals off like the boy beside him. 

“damn straight!” shouts luke toward the two.

[catiuskaa]

i would LOVE to read your vision of boyfriend by dove cameron....... but w minsung x reader 😏

OH MARSYYYY marsyyyy ajdbkskfla youuu how dare youu take my sleep away from me like thisssss kabfoqbfoskj i barely got to 300 words and i was like “yup. there’s no fucking way i’m not writing this.” so @lyramundana @stayconnecteed, pasarla muy bien mis amores bskdbakd id a la iglesia después

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄-𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒.

sum. gentlemen like them make for a better boyfriend, and minho and han will let you know as soon as you come over… they know first times pave the way for more.

yes, the cursive makes a cute lil sentence, kill me

wc. 5.6k (me cago en todo mars)

cw. suggestive, smut! cursive: a lifestyle, the restaurant scene came out really high-class? fem!reader x dom!simp!minho x sub!needy!jisung, the reader is cheating on her boyfriend, so many things happen (praise, degradation, hair pulling, thigh riding, dry humping, oral fixation, marking, mild choking, corruption kink, use of pet names, accidental orgasm denial, oral (f rec.), begging, fingering (f&m rec.) dirty talk, overstim, mild bondage, unprotected piv sex [don't!<3], creampie, breeding kink, dacryphilia). holy shit this is nasty man, aftercare (mandatory) and just have fun lovelies <3<3<3

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

Minho has to breathe in, slowly as he smiles, a cat-like grin that has already threatened many people’s hearts, grabbing Jisung’s wrist and pulling him a bit closer.

His company that night —his company forever, if anyone bothered to ask or wanted to know— doesn’t ask why, merely tilts his head, watching, waiting.

“Twelve o’clock. Red and white dress.”

It’s a mumble that the older man makes with his eyes half closed, yet he opens them again after a beat of silence. He grunts, a low, whispered voice, not daring to interrupt the shy flow of music in the fine restaurant, but still takes Han’s chin in his hand, gripping it softly and tilting it a bit further to his left.

“That’s more like one o’clock— oh.” Minho doesn’t dare voice nor even question the way blood rushes to the deepest parts of his body when Jisung licks his lips and stares back at him, lowering his hand with a gentle touch that sets his skin ablaze.

He can’t help but let his eyes trail towards your figure again. The dress you’re wearing, a mix of colours that gingerly combines with that of their own suits, that clings to your shape in a way that threatens his own sanity and the stability of their plan, the impulse of running to you head first wondering what the crash would feel like. He stops himself, and breathes in again, deeper this time in an attempt to stop wondering how the dress would look just a few floors over them, in their hotel room, preferably on the floor, and he finally does, catching the faint scent of Jisung’s new cologne.

Alone. It’s funny to him. Ridiculous, yes, because only a fool would leave such a beauty like you in a situation like that —on your own, waiting in boredom close to death, or even worse, resignation—, and he’s sure that if he were in your place, he would’ve left a while ago. Hell, if he ever pulled something like that, he’d allow for Jisung to choke him —in a non-sexual sense, at least for once—, but he can’t help feeling giddy at the empty sight of the chair in front of you. Almost as if you were waiting for them to get close, to take a seat. And then, maybe you’d smile. Like a little treat.

A cute gift.

The image makes him smirk as he licks his lips. Minho knows he’d wrap you up in a heartbeat.

“What do you think?” He ponders the question lowly, still waiting for the waiter as the restaurant prepares their table. The one next to you, of course.

Jisung’s eyes widen for a moment. “What do I think?”

He gulps, and Minho reels in the way his boyfriend is already blushing, the red dust on his cheeks making him think twice and wonder if he could afford having a little snack before properly taking you both as a dessert, and he can’t help but snicker, tonguing his cheek.

“What are the chances?”

Minho’s fingers stroke Jisung’s palm.

“Well, I did as we agreed. And now the plan follows, jagi. I’m sure you can play your part now, mmh?” His voice is sultry, low, and a whisper, one that deepens Han’s blush and darkens his eyes even further, making his breath hitch to Minho’s amusement. “As if you can’t do whatever you want with that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“Min—”

“Welcome.” The whispered whine that Jisung had been just about to say dies on his lips, as tragically —yet not quite as brutally— as the unfortunate and inopportune waiter in Minho’s head.

“Your party for two is ready. Come with me.”

Shrugging away the comment ‘with you here, no one’s coming’, Minho follows behind Han and nods his head after being pointed to his table.

White-collar thieves could have plenty of money and exotic pairs of jewelry. Take any gemstone, for example. In unknown eyes, it may seem flawlessly perfect, but that’s merely a refracted illusion. Its core, deep in there, remains a secret, and it’d take a good crack for it to be seen.

No, this couple had it clear. A thief could steal anything but achieve nothing. And as Minho sends his partner in crime a wink, and the plan finally starts, its gears already set in place, he knows that whatever the outcome of it might end up being, nothing would give a better reward than trying to steal you tonight.

And it all starts with a silly trip of his boyfriend’s foot.

Jisung’s hand saves him from ending head first against your thighs —did he really save himself, Minho wonders, because the thought sounded like heaven—, and he watches as the younger one rushes back up, an apologetic grin on his face that he had seen so many times before and still made him want to kneel in front of Jisung and worship him to death and beyond.

“Sorry,” Ji smiles, bashful, his little dimples showing. He pretends to cringe, an action only Minho can see through.

“Oh, no, don’t worry. Are you alright?” The genuine worry that slips through your tone softens the men.

“Of course. Yes.” Jisung chimes right back. “Such a kind lady.” He grins, pulling his hand in front of him.

Minho is just watching, and the feeling of witnessing such a moment nearly has him bulging in his tailored pants as shy little Jisung kisses the back of your hand.

He can’t believe how obsessed they both are with you, enthralled at the mere thought of having you closer, and he doesn’t care, needing more, more of your confused smile as you stare at his boyfriend, more of the gentle blush that creeps up to your cheeks, more of the way your hair is neatly tied up and away from your face, feeling the impulse to ruin you on the tip of his fingers.

“What’s a place like this doing, surrounding a beauty such as yours?” Minho smiles, taking a seat at his table. Calm. Mindful. With the plan in his head.

You chuckle so politely that it makes Minho fidget with his rings, a laugh so melodic that tickles his heart and warms his insides.

“I stay in this hotel.” Minho knows. He’s seen you before.

“Alone?” Jisung smiles, a bit cheeky, sitting and moving his chair at an angle, making it easier to keep the conversation going.

The way you sigh makes them both angry and giddy. They had seen your partner before, and they almost couldn’t believe their eyes, genuinely wondering what had the ugly man done to deserve such an angel. If it were for them, not for too long.

“Up until twenty minutes ago, I wasn’t, but…”

Crystal clear. They both can see the resignation in your eyes, and Minho can’t help but feel it trail up his skin, needing to do something about it immediately.

“I know it may seem too straightforward,” his mouth is dry and he can feel his ears turning red. “But I wouldn’t mind the extra company tonight. Right, jagi?”

The smile he shoots at Jisung is soft and sweet, feelings conveyed between layers and layers worth of things he hasn’t said yet. A comforting grin that Ji matches, holding his hand from below the table and giving it a light squeeze, catching it.

“Yes. It’d be a pity, using that wonderful dress on such a dull night.” His boyfriend turns to you, smiling widely. “Join us?”

God, yes. The squirm of satisfaction that threatens to leave past his lips has him fidgeting with his fingers, cracking his knuckles in an oh-so-giddy attempt to hide just how excited he is when he sees you stand up and grin sheepishly, moving your chair and settling on their table.

If one tried and overthinked it too much, it wouldn’t work. People tend to feel those kinds of things, the rush, the nervousness, the desperation. Not attractive on a stranger in the slightest. And Minho knows he’s one lucky bastard just getting to sit with you at the same table, sharing sentences with Jisung across the rounded table with just a blink and a cheeky stare through his lashes.

And as the night goes on, sneaky glances, touches, soft hands over yours, their eyes deep in colour, on you as you wine and dine, the white-collar thieves swiftly steal your heart for the night.

A fever dream. You find no other way to word it, how they get under your skin and into your head, how their cheeky antics keep getting you closer and closer in a way that almost baffles you. You can’t even think about that sad excuse of a boyfriend you have when Jisung’s hand brushes your arm again or when Minho’s eyes lock on yours, almost undressing you under his gaze.

You couldn’t call it a red flag. After all, their collars are pure white.

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

Jisung can’t hold back any longer.

He opens the door to their hotel room for you, and in an unrestrained need, grabs your wrist and finally pulls you to him.

Minho smirks, closing the door with a thud by leaning on it, watching as his boyfriend ruins and smears your lipstick, giving it just a bit before he pulls him from the back of his shirt, tutting at him.

“Such a needy little slut, mmh? Couldn’t even wait for me?”

His hands thread on Jisung’s hair, pulling in a way that has him already on edge. Minho takes his blazer off under the eager eyes of his company, and also takes Ji’s red one, leaving both on the couch that sits in the corner of the room as he licks his lips and takes his hands to his boyfriend’s neck, kissing him deeply, hungrily, humming a snicker when he feels his cheeky little hands tugging and pulling on his white shirt.

“Brat.” He whispers on his lips. “We have to treat our guest first, don’t we, jagi?”

Heat pools on your lower belly, disarmed as the two gorgeous, disheveled men stare at you with a glow in their eyes so deep it could fuck you alone. Both stare at the other with a sly grin on their faces, the phrases they want to say hidden behind the opacity of their eyes, clouded in lust.

Cheekily, Minho grabs Jisung by his belt, speaking at mere inches away from his lips.

“Be a good boy and hang on the door the do not disturb sign, mmh?” His eyes trail from Han’s neck, reeling on his heavy breathing and how his big brown eyes flutter when his hand teases him, tickling his skin with a brush of his fingers, doing tender and slow motions, opening the lower buttons on his shirt and going down his happy trail.

Jisung only nods weakly, in a daze as Minho lets go of him, blinking slowly and letting out a playful chuckle when he teasingly smacks his ass as he makes his way to the door.

“Now, what do we have here?”

Your throat feels dry and you yearn for the moment in which you’ll finally drown in Minho’s lips. He can tell, approaching you slowly, his steps barely making a sound on the carpet below.

His hands brush away the few hairs that Ji got loose, his hand traveling from the shell of your ear to just a bit after your pulse point. “Such a beauty.” Your heart swoons as he whispers, something that sounds more for him than for you, which does nothing but worsen the situation below your dress.

Licking your lips, you watch as he leisurely sits on the edge of the bed, two fingers teasingly making a ‘come hither’ motion as he spreads his legs, making space for you between them, his tailored clothing hugging his lush thighs in a way that nearly makes you salivate.

“I won’t bite, gorgeous. Not unless you want me to,” he teases, his hands stroking your knees while he sits just a short step or two away from you.

The sentence not only makes you shiver in anticipation, but also makes a small part of you wonder if there could be anything you wouldn’t let these men do to you. Dare I say non-existent, the list seems to be pretty short, as you nibble on your lip and answer to how he pats his thigh, taking a seat.

“There we go.” He grins with a low hum, his hands traveling far past the fabric that covers your thighs, grabbing and kneading the skin under his grasp. “Wonder how long it has passed since you’ve been treated right.” He clicks his tongue. “We have to do something about it, don’t we, jagi?”

He’s talking to Jisung as if you weren’t there. As if they’re taking you, a pretty diamond gingerly falling into their white-gloved hands, and —make no mistake—, you’re letting them, and it’s the end of the story, because you’d be a fool not to.

Besides, it’s already too late to back down. You want this. You couldn’t care less of what happens to your boyfriend after he left and scurried back wherever, attempting to leave you with the burden of paying for everything again without having to deal with the consequences nor the guts to face you. He was going to have a fun time, arriving at your previously shared room and finding that your things had been already packed and you were no longer anywhere to be seen, leaving behind you not only the bill of the restaurant —both his and yours, and then the one you had with Minho and Jisung, of course, an autograph on the receipt and all— but of the entire week you had been abroad, for all the times he had been tricking you and pulling your leg.

Tonight, you weren’t just being stolen. You were being freed.

“What makes you tick? Mmh, gorgeous?” Minho gets you back from your mind, naughty hands traveling underneath your dress and playing with the back ends of your underwear.

He’s dying to kiss you, and he will —he will die trying and he’d be happy to do so—, and he can see it in your eyes that you want just as much, the dark of his reading yours with an ease that does nothing but aggravate the situation, knowing that if he were to kiss you as he had been thinking —ever since he and Jisung had seen you and your boyfriend— would cause you more things than neither you nor him could process, leaving both of your minds blank, wet, legs tangled with one another.

Minho cherishes the way you tremble in his grasp, feeling Jisung’s hands surprise you from behind, playing with the zipper of your white and red dress.

“Baby, you’re already grinding on my thigh.” It’s teasing, it’s a menace, and he fucking loves it, seeing how said sentence darkens both your and Han’s eyes. “What are you thinking, mmh? Want us to figure you out as we go?” He licks his timidly swollen lips, his hands traveling down your legs to take your heels off, discarding the red sole shoes by the end of the bed.

He kisses Jisung over your shoulder, and a moan leaves your lips when said motion —him moving forward, that is— makes him tense his thigh underneath you.

“Jagi, do me a favour.” He whispers on his boyfriend’s lips, next to your ear, as if he’s telling Han a secret you shouldn’t know —but you don’t care whether you should or shouldn’t. You’re already going to hell for cheating on that low-life you call a boyfriend. Could be the wine speaking, or how your pussy is already leaking, but if you’re going to hell, you’ll make it so that these fine gentlemen help you reach heaven first.

“Ladies first, okay? Let’s treat her how a princess deserves.”

Jisung’s eyes smile as he bites Minho’s lip, finally taking your dress off of you, lowering the zipper in a way that his hand strokes your skin as the dress goes further down, and doesn’t stop kissing him, even when his greedy hands take the dress off your shoulders, and travel forward, tickling you menacingly, from your belly to your chest, teasingly playing with the little bow that decorates your white bra before letting his fingers go further up your cleavage.

Minho’s hands move your hips against his thigh, starting to feel the wetness and warmth not only on the fabric between his leg and your sweet sweet core, but on his skin.

He chuckles, panting on your ear as Jisung’s lips hungrily travel to your back, kissing and scratching with his teeth. A man blinded crazy by lust, his hand finally reaching your neck.

The way the action makes you moan is almost obscene, your cheeks as red as Jisung’s forgotten blazer and trousers. His grasp, gingerly cold, as if the rest of his warmth was traveling to other parts of his body —parts you weren’t complaining to be feeling against your lower back—, was a little bit over your collarbone, and it drove you wild.

“Hyung—” It’s a whine so desperate that nearly has him crumbling apart. Jisung’s eyes are teary when Minho’s lock into the dark brown full of lust that they have turned to. Merely pecking his lips, Minho smiles.

“I’m going to eat you alive.” It’s a desperate groan, and his partner’s eyes only glow in a darker shimmer, as if he yearned for just that. “Go on, jagi. Have fun.”

Before you can expect it, Jisung lets out a moan, grabbing your waist and pulling you from Minho onto the bed. Your impending release gets ruined, and you whine, your hand unconsciously traveling to your face.

As the younger one hurriedly finishes taking your dress off of you, discarding it somewhere on the floor —a view that, later on, would make Minho grin cheekily— said gentleman moves and lays down next to you while his partner leaves hickeys all over your inner thighs.

Only pants, whines, and moans leave your lips, low and dimmed, overwhelmed by all that you’re feeling, hiding behind your hand. But they’re gentlemen, after all. Ever-so-observant, Minho’s smile is sweet when he takes your hand and interlinks your fingers.

“Beauty,” he calls, his voice sultry. “Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

It takes a shy, confused shake from you for him to tut at his boyfriend, and Han stops his antics, licking his lips, his eyes glowing as he strokes your thighs, gingerly comforting you out of your daze.

“Like a traffic light, yeah? Green for when you want to keep going, yellow when you want to slow down, and red if you want to stop.” His hand softly moves, trailing soft motions on your cheek. “Don’t wait for us to ask. If we’re playing the figure-it-out game, I want to hear you moaning ‘green’ every single minute. Good?” You blush, nodding. “So. Colour?”

You give it a thought. You’ve brought up things like this before to your boyfriend. Things he shamed you for. Things you had been wanting to do for a while. And as you stare back at Minho, his eyes widen for a moment when he sees you smirking lightly.

To hell and heaven with it. It had been a close call before, back at the hotel’s restaurant. It’s stupid now, and you can’t believe you almost ran away back to your room and wasted such a divinely given chance like this one.

“Green.” You smile. “Figure me out better than I know myself.”

Jisung’s mind is completely foggy and hazy, his hands kneading your thighs, waiting, panting at your sudden forwardness. He can barely form a coherent thought, his mind consumed by the need to keep going until your taste is all that he knows.

You lift yourself, sitting on the bed, as the focus of the two men’s attention while your hand reaches for Jisung’s chin, and he’s dead. He’s gotta be, because as he moves to keep feeling your soft grasp on him, he swears he stops breathing.

“I’m going to kiss you.” It’s an announcement. Not quite a question but a warning, a narration of sorts. It keeps Minho waiting for a movement, something, whatever, anything to be able to follow what they had started, surprised by the newfound shimmer in your eyes.

And you can only confirm the whole chain of unbridled thoughts that haunt you —that you want to devour them with kisses, that you would let them eat you whole, unashamed, unrestrained, and overly needy— when, after closing your eyes, you erase any space that was between your lips and Jisung’s.

It’s not the butterflies in your stomach, but your own pulse rumbling in your ears, so loud that you think that either of the two men to whom you knew crystal clear that you were going to give yourself to tonight could hear it without making any sort of effort.

Nasty, desperate, wild. Jisung is gone, set on making any trace of red lush lipstick disappear from your lips. He starts kissing you more passionately, taking both of his hands to your nape, pulling on your hair in an attempt to get you even closer to him, the need for oxygen merely a necessity far less important than to keep kissing you and lick away your strawberry lipstick.

“This is crazy,” you pant, gasping for air.

“You make me crazy.”

He’s breathless, and he just can’t stop kissing you. Not when you’re giving yourself back to him with almost the same intensity, the raw need for more overperforming any sort of kissing skills that Jisung thought he had before. Matter of fact, he can’t think. Not when his hands travel from your waist, your skin like a canvas he’d die to keep marking, trailing a teasing path up your back, making you shiver until he finally undoes the barrier that keeps him from touching, and finally tasting —licking, spitting, marking, fondling, kissing, biting, better if it’s all at the same time— your breasts. He swiftly takes your bra off of you, as if it burns. It would’ve made you laugh, but as he cages you against the mattress the only thing you can do is moan.

Yes. Yes. Yes, More. Please. Don’t stop.

There’s a light bounce of the mattress when Minho takes a seat behind you, and Han whines when you leave his lips.

You’re a mess. There’s no other way to describe it, and Minho loves it. He loves how you’re in between Jisung and him. How you’re drooling and moaning, your head leaning against his shoulder as greedy little Hannie goes back to where he was heading before. He loves how you’re not holding back anymore, your right hand pulling on his boyfriend’s hair and your right one on his nape, gingerly playing with it as you squirm under the pleasure that Ji’s mouth brings you.

“Beauty,” Minho’s voice is impossibly low when he calls for you, pressing soft, tender kisses on your pulse point. You whine, a strained ‘yeah?’ that kills him. “How do we feel about this?”

You open your eyes, not really aware when you had closed them, and you look at Minho’s soft hands, his rings shimering under the room’s indirect light. It’s a lace, your fuzzy brain tells you. It has the words Dior written several times on it.

“G-green…” it’s a whine, it’s slurry, and it turns to a hitched breath when Han’s fingers slide inside you with ease, curling and thrusting until you can’t do anything else but moan and whine, trembling as you come, pleasure hitting you in waves.

You cling onto Minho like a rock, as much as you can, his body behind you stroking you in a way that makes you shiver while Ji helps you ride out your high.

“Look at him, princess.”

His tone is slightly mean, and you sigh, feeling his arms surround you.

“He came just from tasting you.”

You’re still a bit out, panting, but your eyes turn to him, whose head is leaning on your thigh. One of your hands moves to stroke his hair, and you grow hotter watching how he shudders for a second.

“He was grinding against the mattress. Like a little horny slut.”

It’s shameful. Minho’s tone is one for mocking. He’s… torturing him. And yet he looks like he might just come one more time from that alone.

“M-min…” Hannie whimpers, a slurred sound of pleasure.

“Oh, beauty. He even wants more.” Jisung’s eyes open, staring at you two from below, and he moans.

You blink, but slowly, you seem to get it. Or, if you asked Jisung, you were a godess sent straight-out from heaven.

“But can he… beg like a… a pretty slut?”

Minho nearly comes untouched at your tone. The way they’re already corrupting you, how you’re degrading Jisung already, watching how he’s unconciously grinding against the mattress again, overstimulating himself.

“Ngh, fuck… p-princess…” his hands travel to your thighs, clinging to them like a lifeline.

You’re unsure of what to do, because you know what to say, holding back for a second.

“Beauty,” Minho kisses your neck. “What’s that brain of you thinking, mmh?”

Your blush covers your whole face, and you smile, as if you’ve been caught on a white lie.

“I… want to, um. Want you to do to him what you did to me.”

Jisung freezes in his place. Minho’s eyes darken. “Keep talking, beauty. Spare no detail.”

Your shyness fades as you look at Ji’s face, reeling at how he moans softly, his body just a tiny bit spent, yet he’s paying close attention to you and your words, not wanting to stop even for a second. The intensity of his stare makes heat hit you, unexpected yet welcomed. 

And with hooded eyes and weak legs, you turn to face both Minho and Jisung, letting go of what you’re thinking without giving yourself the chance to second guess it. 

“I want you to finger him. While you fuck me. And then I want him to fuck me.” 

Perplexed. There are little to no words Minho can manage to say, if any. He knows that he’s a sentence away from losing himself completely to the sensation, your mind and body now completely under the control of the aphrodisiac that is their company and undivided attention, and the intense pleasure it induces. 

“Hyung.” Han’s eyes are teary, and he looks so pretty. 

Why would Minho resist?

He takes you by your wrists and pulls you towards him, kissing you in a way that makes your mind and body completely submissive and compliant. There it is. Minho is finally kissing you, claiming you with each stroke of his tongue. And now he holds no restraint, his hands exploring your body, his touch becoming more urgent and passionate with each moan that goes past your swollen, kissable lips. 

His body presses even harder against yours, pinning you against the mattress as he kisses you deeply, his lips and tongue tracing a path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Minho bites down gently on the sensitive skin of your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he continues his assault on your senses, his desire for you growing more and more intense.

He moans softly into the kiss, his hands wandering along your body, his touch hungry, as if he couldn't get enough of you —and he can’t, he’s well aware that you might be his last meal, and he’d be happy about it— grabbing and marking and touching all he can reach. He breaks the kiss briefly, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your sensitive skin as he pants heavily, his voice low and hoarse with desire.

"You're driving me crazy, beauty," he murmurs, his voice gravelly with lust. "Can't get enough."

“Minho, please,” you whine and beg, shivering when he stands on his knees, looking at you from above, a dark, nasty shimmer in his eyes. 

He pushes Jisung next to you, face down ass up, which only makes the latter moan, desperate to be touched again. 

“You know what, beauty?” Minho grins, mad, crazy, horny, and all of the above, as he takes back the Dior lace and softly moves your hands over your head, making a pretty bow on your wrists, almost as pretty as his needy princess. He’s thankful Jisung wanted to buy that perfume. 

“I’m going to fuck you. Because you want to, don’t you, beauty?” His snicker brings heat to your whole body, and it hits you where you’re restrained, Minho’s hands pinching and teasing all over your torso, watching you crumble and whimper underneath him. “And I’m going to make him come too. You two want to be used like little toys, and it’s just what I’m about to do.” 

He bends down to reach for the lube in the bedside table, but uses that opportunity to meanily bite your cheek. It feels warm under his tongue, the skin red, not only from the teasing bite but from how deep you’re blushing. 

Minho keeps talking while he slowly removes your ruined panties and Jisung’s soiled underwear. 

“I’ll fuck you so good, beauty. So good you won’t ever feel the same, if you fuck that scum you call a boyfriend. I’ll make you come so hard you won’t even remember his name.” 

You don’t know what happens first, but surely, Jisung and you start whining and moaning, panting as Minho fails to keep a steady pace on both of you, his thrusts irregular as pleasure takes hold of him. 

He’s reeling in pleasure, whispering into your ear in between moans and grunts how good you feel, how tight your pretty little pussy clenches around him, how you’re going to milk him dry as he keeps pouncing on you. “If y-you, ever, ever, ever doubt who you belong to…” he moans, watching you cry in pleasure, listening to Hannie’s slurred babbling, failing to get a good grip on the bed sheets. “Remember… that you can always come back… princess…”

After all, his duty as a thief wasn’t only stealing. He wasn’t going to complain when he’d kill for you to sit on his face. Just for starters. 

It doesn’t take long for Jisung to come on his own palm, shivering in pleasure, panting, but smiling at you, and —with his other hand— grabbing yours while you moan and whine and whimper, so close once again. 

T-too much— Don’t stop. Yes, yes, please!

Moaning so beautifully, Minho crumbles. His words are slurred as he whines, something about filling you up that makes you see stars as he somehow thrusts even deeper.

“There, there, ah… f-fuck, I can’t…” 

Dazed, fucked-out, drunk and lost in pleasure, you’re only able to let out louder sounds, tugging at your restraint as the Dior bow keeps you grounded, and Jisung’s now clean hand —you missed when that happened, yet you’re not bothered enough to question it— presses figure eights on your clit. And not even a minute later, you’re both gasping and moaning, and you throw your head back as he comes inside of you. 

It takes a moment for the three of you to move. For a minute, the world stops spinning, and you relish the warmth of his bodies, next and over you, your head still fuzzy with pleasure. 

You and Minho whine when he pulls out, and you shiver at the loss of heat over you and the emptiness inside you. Jisung is quick to fix the first one, softly moving your head over to his shoulder, and he leans his chin over yours. 

“Hey, princess.” He still has a red hue on his cheeks, but you’re pretty sure you’re matching, if not worse. 

You hum, weak, and he can’t help but giggle. His soft hands cradle your face, and he sighs, stroking your nose with his tenderly. 

“I’m really happy you joined us tonight.” 

And with the strength you have left, you merely move to kiss his palm, your eyes closed. They remain closed when Minho comes back, even when he softly moves your arms and links them behind his nape. 

Han heads into the bathroom first, making sure the water of the bathtub is warm enough before sliding inside, helping Minho put you down, leaning your head against Ji’s shoulder and in between his legs. 

You’re half asleep, but you smile when Minho’s hands stroke your legs. Your legs feel sore and you’re a blink away from the best sleep of your life, but first, the best night of your life makes sure to take care of you after all the fun. 

Two pairs of hands clean up the mess they turned you to, and you’re so happy to be taken care of as sweetly and as gently as they are doing, that you weakly peck Minho and Jisung’s lips. 

No words are needed, and Jisung hugs you from behind, pressing soft kisses on your shoulder blades. Minho links his hand with yours, fondly staring at the two of you before him. 

Thieves like Han and Minho are masters in their craft. With professional care, they dry your body, tender touches fully lulling you to sleep when Jisung grabs one of the discarded white-collared shirts and gingerly closes its buttons. Bathed, spent, and tired, they settle you in between them, with your back to Minho, and Jisung kisses his boyfriend’s hand, covering all of you with the bed’s blanket. 

Sure, maybe you didn’t do all that you wanted that night. But you don’t mind it. Warm, clean, and thoroughly satisfied, you’re fine with the need that hits you even after you wake up. You want to be theirs so much, and despite the estrangement, it’s a fact that doesn’t change —not even after it dawns on you that neither you nor them introduced themselves, and you don’t know their names.

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

kats, who needs a high —infinite, even— dose of grass, stat.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

[nawoken]

TWST x Broken Soulbond! Reader

(You come from a world where Soulmates are real)

5.C: Meow meow, never finish anything but always have time to cause more problems!

This is just another rambling :D)

Warning: Slightly dark/ toxic thought?, Reader is not a "nice" person, angst...

Now have one part: First-year

It appears on your skin one day and makes it claim, the name and symbol of your soulmate written in cursive, pretty and neat on your wrist.

You may or may not believe in soul bond, but every time you look at your soul mark, there is a glimpse of hope in you. Not too bright nor too shiny, but it's still there, the naive thought, that there is someone out there who matches your tune.

You tried your best not to put too much hope in it. But you have underestimated the pain of being rejected the "bonding" between you two.

Your soulmate doesn't want you.

The used-to-be pretty soul mark on your wrist is now crossed out by a long bloody red line, the sign of a broken bond. And the mark is always burning and bruised. While you are constantly tormented by soul-piercing pain and a feeling of emptiness because of your incomplete bond.

It takes time for you to get used to it, even when there's a time when the pain takes over your mind and all you want to do is hurt your Soulmate the way they hurt you. It's not fair when you're the only one who has to bear with it. But you didn't do it... yet.

Before you can do anything, you get sent into another world, a place that is filled with magic... which you have none. But, you like it here better, maybe it's because this is a different dimension so your soul bond is weaker here.

You don't feel the yearning, the pulling of your soul, wanting to be whole with your Soulmate's soul anymore. And you find peace, aside from a bunch of troubles and Overblot with your friends, not to mention the dumbass Headmage who always dumps more work on you.

Even when the proof of your broken bond is still there and your wrist is still covered in bruises, you are happy here.

Until one day, due to some problem that causes your wrist wrap to fail its job, reveal your hidden past.

You never thought the bloody red line on your wrist could cause this much chaos.

No, guys! It's not a suicide attempt!!!

[izvmimi]

a/n: this is tongue-in-cheek. being married to a pro hero can sometimes grate on your nerves if they’re not made of steel. cw brief child mention.

the first thing you notice before you park your car that Friday night is that your mailbox is full to bursting -

and that’s not even an exaggeration. 

katsuki gets a lot of fanmail - drawings from kids who are inspired by the pro hero Dynamight and heartfelt greeting cards from the families of people he’s saved (and even those he’s regrettably failed to save), but despite how reassuring those can be, there are a few that get on your last nerve no matter how gracious you try to be:

the characteristic perfume-scented letters by the most annoying fan club he has - Dynamight’s Damsels.

there’s already a zero in creativity for the name, but it’s less about them being lame and more about the sheer audacity of it all. you’re not exactly sure how they manage to find every single place your husband has lived in since he became an official pro, and you’re not exactly sure why it’s legal to stalk anyone to this extent, let alone a married man, but there’s not much you can do about it - sending lightly used panties is apparently not a crime, nor is writing fanfiction that poorly characterizes him, even if it is graphic. it’s weird, no one will argue that, but not illegal. and especially given his level of fame and adoration, is to be expected.

but sometimes there’s a limit. today they’ve gone full force and sent many packages on top of letters, probably because it was his birthday last week and the mailman had the kindness to hold off on the nonsense until your private festivities died down. picking up as many letters as you can carry in your handbag, you plug your nose and make it into your house. 

katsuki’s come back early today, and has your sleeping baby girl tied to his back while he prepares dinner; even though his back is turned, you know he knows you’ve returned.

he turns and grins, and then his smile immediately fades when he can see the frown on yours.

“what’s wrong, princess?”

“your harem misses you, katsuki,” you reply, keeping your voice sickeningly sweet. with that, you dump what looks like a sea of letters, all with a classic seal, ‘DD’, in cursive, onto the dinner table and he immediately starts fussing at you before realizing he’s going to wake the baby and dropping his voice.

“don’t put that shit on the table! we don’t know where it’s been!” he says in a hushed yet harsh tone.

“why are you worried? your girls would never poison you,” you grin, but your smile doesn’t completely reach your eyes. “they are sooooo in love with you after all.” you roll your eyes and shake out your bag, lest an expensive bra fall out or an oddly familiar assumption about the man you married.

he groans, and turns dinner once, then lowers the heat and moves over to collect the envelopes and toss them in the automatic trash bin.

“stop getting mad at me for their behavior. it’s not like this shit isn’t affecting me too,” he quips. then he walks over to you, frowning again, but differently this time, and you can tell he’s waiting for something.

“what?” you ask, holding onto the strap of your purse. you’re pouting and he’s pouting and you’re both standing in the kitchen and dinner will be ready in 30.

“where’s my kiss?” 

you narrow your eyes.

“ask katsukispuppy.” you reply, cruelly before walking past him.

“BABE!”

[layzeal]

picturing poor teenji in modern era growing up in the 2000s. he's in computer class. the lesson already ended but there's still time until the bell rings, so the kids are allowed to play flash games or visit any allowed website. wei ying slides his chair next to him and tries to annoy him into playing a flash version of smash bros (they'd share the same keyboard to play?? ���😳) but he ignores him and brushes him off until he eventually gives up and goes bother jiang cheng instead. then, lan zhan overhears a group of girls giggling as they click on a Love Calculator at girlsgogames and then typing out different names and combinations, then loudly yelling and laughing at the results until the teacher tells them to tone it down

at home, he finishes his homework early and all his lessons, but neither brother nor uncle are home yet, so he decides to go use his uncle's computer to find and print some more music sheets. as he's browsing, his mind takes him back to class, and to the girls giggling. he brushes it off, focusing on seeing which music sheets he can practice, but his mind keeps wandering. after a long time, his cursor finally hovers to open a new tab. he types G, stops, then IRLSGO, stops again, sighing in frustration. why is he even doing this?

but the search function suggests the website a few rows down. somehow, he convinces himself that it's fine if he's just clicking a link, rather than typing it. the website opens, bright and colorful, and on the lower left in a small square, he sees that Love Calculator is already recommended as one of the most popular games, behind some doll dressing up, barbie games, and one with a girl with lasers in her eyes followed by a line of floating men. strange games that his female peers seem to play, he thinks

anxiously, his cursors hovers again, the arrow turning into a hand, pointing to the very middle of the heart, enticing him to click. he doesn't. he shakes his head and returns to the music sheet website, scrolls a bit, finds a few sheets, and finally sets it to print, but not without his eyes repeatedly glancing to the girlsgogames tab, still open next to it.

unfortunately, his uncle printer has always been a bit fickle, and it takes a while for it to understand the command. he sighs again, leaning his back on the chair to wait, and while he does, that cursed tab catches his eye again.

teenji purses his lips, biting the inside of his cheek. his hand moves, the tab reopens, and the colorful pink heart stares at him, daring. the printer is still making noises, but hasn't begun to print, and in his impatience, accidentally or not, he clicks on the game.

now this is the worst part

"your name" and "his or her name" sit blank on the screen as the heart in the center sparkles. lan zhan is thankful, at least, that it doesn't spell something ridiculous such as "your crush's name" or "your soulmate's name". this is distant, and doesn't necessarily signify romantic love (despite the sparkling hearts dancing on his monitor). it might just be a silly compatibility test, regarding two person's personalities and their affinity. lan zhan was young, but he knew there were many types of love. one could type the name of a friend, a family member, or an annoying classmate, and it wouldn't mean anything at all. it's just a ridiculous computer game, after all.

with this in mind, his chest feels lighter, and his hands don't tremble as he types "lan zhan" and "wei ying" respectively. the printer makes another sound, and the paper slides into it as the music sheet slowly takes form. finally, with just a bit of hesitation, he clicks on the bright pink button written in cursive font, "calculate".

the love meter fills as the hearts and names bubble and dance flamboyantly, and his printer sucks up another page. he doesn't stare at the screen, because as established, he does not care much for it, but the colors jitter on the corner of his eye, and he pretends not to pay attention to it, watching as the black notes and line come alive on the previously blank pages.

then, the screen changes, and something like confetti and sparkles move as the animation switches, signifying the result of the calculation was complete, and lan zhan does not move to look, the peripheral colors taunting him as he continues to watch the printer do its magical work.

but every respite has its end, and as he collects the papers and gathers them nicely on a thin pile, he realizes he must now turn around to close the tabs and shut off the computer. a voice in his mind reminds him of the big, bright button on the CPU — one click and he won't even need to look at the screen, and simply turn the computer off and leave the room, but he painfully turns the idea away. the teacher has said that this was not a good way to shut off a computer, and besides, what if the tabs stay open? what if next time his uncle turns on the monitor, he finds a bright heart flashing with his and wei ying's name, and the extremely high results of their relationship compatibility? no, the mere thought of it was nightmarish. he must face the girlsgogames tab alone if he wishes for his crimes to go unnoticed by any other soul.

so, slowly, with eyes slightly unfocused, he turns on the chair, and reaches for the mouse again, and a fleeting thought wishes he'd had removed his glasses before doing so. thus, impassive, lan zhan looks back at the screen, eyes focused on the red X at the top right corner, but for as much as he'd tried, the bright and colorful animations caught his attention, listless to his efforts, and right before the window closed and the vast green field and blue sky of his uncle's wallpaper welcomed him with open arms, a large, pink number had burned into his retina, and his cursor sat motionless over the "shut down" button for longer than he'd ever admit.

after that day, for reasons which lan huan is still not certain of, his didi became quite enthralled with the percentage of 33, even asking if it really was a low number or if there were any significances to it that they were not familiar with. lan qiren, however, could only wonder why the ads on the corner of some websites had begun to flash in pink, purple and white, suggesting girly games website which he'd never even heard of.

[thatsatricky1]

𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 | l.mk

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Mark the sin of Pride x (f) Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Swearing, slight angst, stalking, taunting, talks of mental health.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Thriller, slight angst, no fluff, slowburn.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4,3k

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝: The Purple Envelope

Why not pick the Purple card? It was the obvious choice. It laid in the centre as if calling out, the better choice, the only choice. A perfect and neatly waxed seal right in the centre with lavender tucked underneath it, wafting a calming and relaxed scent into the air overpowering any other smell nearby. This was clearly the right one to choose.

As Y/n’s hand reached forward it was an obvious choice as to which she would pick. It was calling out to her, sitting in the centre of the others and closest in reach, the lavender scent wafting and hitting her nose with relaxing and calming tones to it. Her fingers moved under the envelope itself to pick it up.

Turning the letter in her hand, eyes scanning the back noting a lack of details. No sender, no address, not one word written on it. Meaning this really was just someone she knew playing tricks on her, even so she’d humour then before dumping the envelopes in her trash can to be long forgotten.

Turning the envelope back around she moved to slide her pedicured nail underneath the waxed seal pulling upwards slowly noting how the waxed seal did not stick to the paper or rip it as it unsealed, interesting. The lavender still sealed beneath the wax as she lifted the letter top upwards.

Predictably inside the letter was also a purple in colour, just a slightly lighter colour. Moving her index finger and thumb to dip into the envelope and pulling the letter free from inside. She let the envelope drop back onto the desk, her sole focus being on the letter now.

Dear Y/n,

I didn’t think any less, I knew you’d pick my letter. There was no doubt about it, my love. To think the others even thought they had a chance was laughable. It’s always been us. Though it was entertaining enough to see them put their hearts into letters that will never be opened. If you were hoping for some context, my love, you won’t be getting it just yet, be patient like I know you can be and later when I finally reveal myself and intentions you’ll enjoy the reward. Just wait a little longer, you can do that much since I’ve waited for quite some time myself.

The only one for you,

Y/n read it over four times, trying to catch any sort of similarities in who she knew, their handwriting, their wording and their telltales. But she came up short. She didn’t know this cursive handwriting, nor the formatting it was worded in. Folding it closed her eyes drifted over the edge of the letter towards her desk.

Her bare desk. Empty. Setting the letter onto the table to look around her room as if to spot the six letters she’d not chosen, as if they’d grown legs and moved somewhere else on their own. Coming up short she turned her focus back onto her desk only to be met with no more letters, not even the one she’d picked.

On the centre of her desk was only one item left. The lavender from the envelope sitting right in the centre of her desk, as if taunting her. Taking in a long winded breath inwards through her nose she moved forward to pick up the lavender, to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

Though as she picked it up pulling it closer she couldn’t help but wish it had been a figment of her imagination because as she pulled it under her nose taking in that calming yet powerful scent only lavender could give she now had to come with terms that the letters once on her desk had vanished.

An impossible feat, considering the fact inanimate objects don’t just disappear from reality.

“Fuck.” She cursed moving to chuck the lavender back onto her desk standing up, she’d make sense of it all. This was just some sick and twisted prank her friends had planned from the start all because she never entertained the thought of Halloween festivities.

Her eyes glancing over toward her meticulous calendar she’d had filled to the brim with notes on what to study, lecture times, work shifts and such. October 31st written in with lectures and study notes like any other day, a normal Thursday for her, which was today.

She was starting to regret telling some of her friends the passcode to her apartment now, of course one of them would go and abuse that trust. Trust was something she didn’t take lightly and when she found out which one had done it, they weren’t going to know her new passcode that was for sure.

It took a solid twenty minutes for her to go around her apartment for any possible hiding spots, a person could think to hide in, or places to dump the rest of the unopened letters. Yet she came up short, not one letter or person found. She summed it up as them having bounced the second they knew she was finished reading her first letter.

She made her way back towards her bedroom, even taking one step in she was hit with that scent of lavender once again. It was an overpowering scent to begin with so she wasn’t surprised that just one single stalk of it took over her room.

Walking towards her desk she stared down at it, a frown digging into her face as she moved to pick it up, twirling it between her fingers.

“The only one for me, my ass.” She scoffed, dropping the lavender directly down into the trash can below her desk.

Instead of thinking further on the badly planned prank she would no doubt find the culprit of later she decided to spend her time doing something productive considering the fact she wasn’t going to be able to sleep for quite a while. Unsettled by how someone had entered her apartment without her even realising.

Going back over to her desk she grabbed her bookmarked study textbook placing it to the left of her flipping to the page she needed at the moment before grabbing out her tablet, propping it against the wall for extra online researching from proper website sources and lastly taking out her book she used to write extra study notes in.

Moving to check the time, it was only seven pm, it felt like it was later than that. Leaning back in her chair gazing out the window she noted there were still quite a lot of trick or treaters outside going house to house. Luckily her apartment usually only got visitors on the lower levels, even so her door had a sign taped on it explaining she wasn’t available to give out candy this year.

Sitting back up she decided an hour or two would be enough time to settle down from whatever she’d just had to experience. Grabbing her black pen, twirling it back and forth in her hand, scanning over her text book, willing herself to get into the mood to focus solely on that.

Once that familiar ache was present in her wrist and finger from writing she looked towards her clock again. Two hours had passed by quite quickly, after getting into the mood to study it had only felt as if a half hour had passed. Going through her new notes one more time page for page looking for any mistakes.

Satisfied with the progress she packed everything away, though even with the study she’d done it still lingered in the back of her head. The smell was still ever so present thanks to the fact her trash can was placed right below her desk. She wanted to stop thinking about it.

Leaning into her seat her eyes unintentionally landed below on the trash can, she’d emptied it this morning so it was as if the lavender was taunting her once again, staring right back at her if it could. Y/n barely noticing the way her teeth dug against each other, clenched hard.

Forcing herself up she all but shoved the trash can from underneath her desk outwards, the metal can sliding past to the other side of the room, gliding as it went. The smell, too strong to be completely gone just from being moved.

Getting up and over to her window she looked to see there were still trick or treaters below, less than before, barely any young children and a few teenagers still roaming around probably in hopes to have the scrapes leftover from the night.

Moving her hands below the always unlatched window she pulled it upwards to let fresh air into the room, her mothers words always sticking to her even if she lived in dependably now by herself. Her mother would always walk into her bedroom unannounced back in the day, forcing her window open whether it was summer or winter claiming fresh air was not only good for her head but to keep a fresh smell.

If she was being honest with herself she knew it was really because her mother sought small interactions with her throughout the day. They interacted enough, but she didn’t mind the small interruptions on most days back then, of course some days it was a bit annoying. But these days she missed those little interactions that would consistently happen. So in a sense she figured her younger self needed the interactions back then just as much as her mother did.

She leaned out the window slightly to feel the slight breeze in the air, closing her eyes as she listened to the occasional voices that passed by. That in itself was calming. Just to stop and take everything in as it came. Once she felt it was enough she pulled her head back from the window but refrained from shutting the window deciding to let the air flow through the room for a bit longer, she might just let it stay open the whole night.

Her apartment was on the second story, so the only worry she could possibly have was a bird or some insects coming through it. But since she hadn’t had a bird incident yet and the fact she had plenty of glasses to trap unwanted crawlers from running around she would be just fine.

Y/n moved towards her bed going underneath the warm inviting blankets, having already dressed in comfortable clothing to sleep in the moment she stepped foot inside her apartment after her lectures for the day had finished. Ignoring the way her phone had pinged with messages over the course of the day about Halloween invites and such.

Grabbing her remote control she pressed the top left red button turning her small television on that was placed against the opposite side of her wall from her bed. Perfectly content on flicking through channels to whatever interested or caught her attention for the last bit of her night.

Ending up leaving it on some random slasher movie, most channels at this time playing horror movies for the obvious reason of it being Halloween. Not that she was complaining much, she didn’t really get the hype of Halloween itself but she did enjoy a good horror movie now and then, which she hadn’t had a chance to do in some time.

Half way through the second insidious movie she could feel her eyes getting heavier, as much as she didn’t like wasting electricity for the fact it racked up on her end of month bills and was bad for the climate she thought one night wouldn’t hurt out of the year to fall asleep to.

Her eyes slipped shut seconds later, content on just hearing the movie then actually watching it. Background noise was always comforting to her as she fell asleep, usually it would be in the form of music, a podcast or audio book but this way would work for her no problem too.

A strong breeze through the window caught her attention, a large gust of lavender hitting her nose causing it to scrunch slightly. Lavender was supposed to be helpful in relaxing and even helping most people fall asleep but it was just too overpowering at that moment.

Her eyes snapping open, trying to figure out why the breeze from the window could make the lavender scent so strong, head turning slowly towards the trash can in the back of her room. It was opposite of her window, the breeze would go towards it not carry it to her.

Gazing at the trash can she was suddenly wide awake again. Her bed was warm, from being laid in, but even if her body protested leaving that said warmth she had to look. Padding her now sockless feet towards the back of her room, head angled downwards to look over the edge of the trash can.

The lavender was still there, laying there not moved an inch. Tauntingly looking back up at her once again as if to mock and laugh at her having gone back to it once again. Turning her head towards the open window she noted a new added lavender piece sitting on top of the window ledge.

Whatever fucked up situation this was, she wasn’t entertaining it. And whichever friend had decided to do it would be getting an ear full tomorrow. Nearly snatching the trash can from the floor she made her way towards the window sill dumping the next lavender into it, adding to what she hoped would be a small collection with no further additions.

Before she could dump the trash can back underneath her desk in its original spot she decided on a better place. Making her way towards her bedroom door where it was slightly ajar she pulled it open chucking the trash can into the hallways before closing the door without another thought on it. She’d worry about the contents inside of it tomorrow, maybe throw it out into the proper bin outside the apartment.

As she spun around to go back to bed her body stilled. If the added lavender had appeared on her window while she had been slipping into sleep it meant one thing. She wasn’t alone. Her hands balling into fists at her sides at the realisation.

Spinning back around to face the door of her bedroom. There was no way the person was gone already from her house, this was a chance to find the culprit. No doubt in her mind it was one of her friends. They were taking this prank too far and she was ready to shake some sense into them, preferably by shoving those lavender pieces in their face.

As if on autopilot she opened her bedroom door peering into the darkness. The trash can she’d abandoned in the hallway still standing there on the floorboards. To give whoever it was a chance her mouth opened.

“If you think this was hilarious you’re wrong, you might as well show yourself now and I may go easy on you but no promises on that.” Her voice at a medium volume, enough anyone nearby would hear but the tone was definitely showing off how unimpressed she was.

Even after her words she was met with silence in return. Scoffing, she stepped outside of her bedroom and into the hallway foot grazing her trash can. It was dark, but her eyes had adjusted to the lighting now.

“Alright, the hard way it is.” Muttering to herself this time.

Her attention going towards the door opposite down the hallway seeing it was slightly ajar. She knew for a fact it had been previously closed. She never left the guest room wide open, only on cleaning day when the window was open to let air circulate around her home.

It was too obvious that one of her friends had decided to hide there for now. She tried keeping her footing light and unnoticeable as she went towards the guest room, thankful now about how she knew which floorboards were creaky, having lived here long enough by now to know small details like this.

Her fingers clasped around the edge of the guest room door pushing it slowly open, half relieved she’d taken the time to oil the hinges on all her doors a month ago as it silently opened up instead of creaking.

The guest room seemingly empty once she’d opened the door fully. Peering inside, no person in sight, the window also shut. Taking a few steps into the room her shoulders dropped, unknowingly having tensed up beforehand.

She hadn’t been prepared for the door to swing shut, instead of moving her body decided on not doing flight or fight. Freezing in her spot as if her feet were glued down to the tacky looking carpeted floor.

“I’m surprised you’d walk into a room without checking the most obvious hiding spot, behind the door.” An all too familiar voice spoke out from behind her.

His words finally caused her to be able to move, which she did, turning to face him. Mark looked every bit unbothered where he stood leaning against the wall exactly where the door had been previously covering his figure. With one detail missing from him, the smile he usually carried on his lips was missing.

“Of all people it was you who decided to play this shitty prank on me? Come on, Mark, seriously? You better have a damn good explanation for it because I don’t find it at all funny.” Y/n was quick to scold her friend.

It was pretty surprising to find out it had been Mark this whole time, sure she could get Donghyuck or Chenle doing it. But Mark? This was very out of character for him, or at least from what she knew about her friend it was.

“Fuck baby use that brain I know you have.” Mark laughed out, seemingly amused by the whole situation. Irritatingly enough, still leaning relaxed against the wall as if he owned the place.

Those words alone hitting her right in the chest. The usually ‘bro’ and ‘dude’ had seemingly been replaced with a much less platonic nickname. Not to mention the back handed complement she’d just received. He’d actively avoided her words in favour of basically giving an offensive response.

“Are you alright in the head currently Mark? Because I know very well you didn’t just invite yourself into my home, insulting me.” She scolded moving closer, her movement not lost on him as Mark stood up from where he’d been leaning.

“Oh, come on Y/n. Think.” He taunted moving a hand towards her face, one she caught, fingers wrapping around his wrist to stall his action. His smile only growing into a grin as he pushed his hand to poke her head slightly.

“You think that letter was just some prank? The lavender? Now what kind of normal person can do something like that?” He teased out, she was just about ready to wipe that shit eating grin off his face.

“How about instead of expecting me to just know what you’re trying to do as if I can read your mind and just say it out loud Mark, because right now you’re really starting to piss me off.”

Her words only made him let out a small amused noise, eyes glinting in the dark. She knew how to rile him up in the best ways without even trying.

“Have I ever told you that the way you speak really does things to me?” He asked out, head leaning forward to be closer to hers.

“Baby I’m not just some university golden boy. You should have gotten the hints by now. I’m slightly offended if that’s all you thought about me. Do I really have to spell it out to you?”

His words only proved to confuse her further, but upon inspecting his eyes she didn’t see the tell tale signs of glassiness or a dazed look meaning he was not on drugs, something she preferred in this situation. She hadn’t totally ruled out a mental breakdown though.

“Mark, it’s way too late for this bullshit.” She practically hissed out in frustration at this point, she could barely recognise her friend. His usual bright personality replaced with some smug asshole at the moment.

“Spelling it out, it is.” He hummed out pulling his hand away from her head.

“You know the curious thing about sins? There’s seven main types, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth being six of them, but the main one, yeah the main one is pride. Six of them all lead down the path of pride. If you really think about it. Pride branches out into all those sins. Pride makes everyone succumb to their desires.”

Y/n just watched him ramble, eyeing how his hands moved gesturing as he talked. She was now certain Mark was currently in a state of mania, or at least some form of mental breakdown. Though Mark paused glancing at her reaction, her facial expression.

“On one hand this is probably a lot for you to take in that I can get, but man it’s great to get it off my chest. Sure it was fun playing around for a bit, but it’s kind of digging into my ego to play the goodie two shoes for so long.”

With a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth he watched her. A few seconds passed before deciding he was done playing. Rolling his shoulders back and with a quick tilt of his jaw the guest bedroom door shut on its own tightly.

Y/n nearly jumping, mind racing for possible logical reasons, eyes glancing at the window that was still shut, meaning it couldn’t have been the wind. Her attention zeroed back onto Mark as he cleared his throat clearly wanting her to focus solely on himself.

“Let’s cut to the chase baby. I’m him, I’m basically the embodiment of Pride itself, then again I go by a lot of names. I mean Lucifer is a bit overused these days and prince of hell is kind of tacky if I’m honest. I did get used to being called Mark after hearing it from you so much so let’s just stick with that, yeah?”

“You’ve gone insane.” She mumbled not even noticing the fact she’d taken a step backwards, Mark following her with two steps closer.

“Insane? Really? Love, you can give a better reaction than that. I was hoping for maybe a scream or even better you profess that undying love you definitely have for me.” He responded, eyes never leaving her face, always watching, waiting.

“Right because whatever this is, definitely makes me like you.” She scoffed out, the situation would have any sane person filing a restraining order.

“The deflecting is very obvious, come on, we both know you like me. Or well maybe the version you got used to. But don’t worry you’ll get used to the real me very soon. I like you too so we shouldn’t have any problems with that.” Mark reassured her as if everything about how the night had played out was completely normal.

It was true, Y/n had liked Mark. Practically adored the way he’d wear a goody smile on his face in nearly any situation. They’d gotten closer in the past year with being in nearly all the same lectures. But now she wasn’t entirely sure that had been as much of a coincidence as she’d thought it had been.

The man in front of her however, was the exact opposite. Practically a stranger, one that had been over so many times to her home, someone who’d she’d shared her deepest secrets with on late exam study nights, the person to hold her hair back when she’d vomit out the liquor she’d gulped down on the rare occasion she did go out to party and so much more.

Her skin crawled at the fact she’d been fooled by him for so long. Even if he wasn’t a demon like he claimed to be, the fact he had acted this whole time like a different person was sickening. He’d tailored his personality to suit her, bring down her guard and worm his way into her life like an infestation.

Infestations were a nightmare to get rid of, and at times nearly impossible. Y/n wasn’t dumb, just by Mark’s gaze alone she knew she was in for hell, metaphorically and apparently also literally.

“What’s got you thinking so hard hm?” He asked out tilting his head just the slightest bit, trying to figure her out.

“So let me get this straight. You just assumed that once I read that very dramatic letter you wrote, and then showed up unannounced in my home with that fully loaded explanation I’d just what? Accept it? Beg you to sweep me off my feet and walk away into the sunset?” She asked out boldly, shoulders tense with that stubborn look she tended to get resting on her face.

Mark smirked at her choice of words, though his jaw tightened, ticking the slightest bit. Her words bruising his ego just a bit, but you don’t just go knocking Pride over. It’s not the best idea, and those who tried never ended up coming out unscathed.

“It would be the easiest outcome, wouldn’t it?” He rhetorically asked out, taking another step closer. Enough for her to get a whiff of lavender, a connection she should have made quite a long time ago the moment she’d opened that damned envelope.

She stood her ground, head tilting only a bit when he made his way towards her, their chests practically touching. Trying to hold her ground.

“But… knowing you, it won't be that simple. It’s okay, I never could resist a challenge and you my dear are my greatest challenge yet. One I will enjoy with great pleasure completing. Because the moment you met me, you were already mine.”

He’d known you well before the day you’d officially met two years ago. It was no coincidence on that cliché day where you’d quite literally bumped into him spilling your warm beverage over his crisp white sweater in the middle of the campus cafe.

“I’m not yours, especially now knowing what you are.” Y/n gritted out, trying to seem unaffected by his close proximity.

Mark moved to graze his nose slightly against hers whispering out.

“Then let’s change that. I’ll show you how tempting it is. Y/n, you’re dripping in my own sin. Too prideful for your own good.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @rotinyzen @wonyoungmywife @snflwrhaerecs4u @thegreenlynx @serinebsblog @delululi @molensworld @morkiee @marvelahsobx @kaciebello @kgneptun @bluedbliss @haechansbbg @officiallyjaehyuns @bunnychui @audreybub @sleepyvic @winwintea

(This Taglist is used for all my nct context so if you’d like to be tagged in my nct content please comment or write to me to be added)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Y/n really be not having it in this one. The two are not gonna back down 😵‍💫 sidenote: due to rushed time this is not proofread and will be edited soon.

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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[dazzlingjaeyun]

𝐳𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧 - 𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

idol!jake x gn!reader

warnings: jake is a little mean, swear words, suggestive, reader is kinda down bad for jake

word count: 796 (0.7k)

a/n: this is highly inspired by that one tiktok ai audio hihi, readers thoughts are written in cursive

↝ dazzlingjaeyun's bookshelf

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

he looks unnecessarily fine there, you thought to yourself as you zoomed in on the photo that had been taken just some days before. however, your thoughts were quickly interrupted as the door sprang open, revealing no one other than the man whose face you had zoomed in to just a second ago.

"for fuck's sake, don't you know how to knock on doors?"

jake. of course. the other members would have knocked, you thought.

jake was an overall lovely person when it came to his fellow members, as well as his fans. he was kind and courteous to staff most of the times, too. but he was extremely impatient, sometimes lacked basic manners and whenever something did not quite go according to his plan, he would turn into an asshole. how childish.

"i took this tiktok with sunghoon, just quickly give permission to post it", he said nonchalantly, not sparing a second to even consider apologizing.

being part of their management team, you recently acquired the position of managing their social media accounts. that also meant reviewing their own content before they post it.

"jake, i'm preparing to post the comeback teaser photos right now", you explained, earning an annoyed expression from him. "i can see it after that, okay? you know they have to go online at exactly-"

"can you shut the fuck up for a minute and watch this tiktok for me? pretty please"

while the first words were uttered harshly, the last ones were added with the dearest, most innocent smile - the tone of his voice sweet like honey.

jake was always like this. mean, only to be a sweetheart the second after - and while you should be either concerned or annoyed about the sudden change in his mood, you couldn't stop your heart from performing a small jump. every. damn. time.

at this point, you didn't know if you wanted to strangle or kiss him - if you wanted him in your bed or six feet under. oh god, i think i'm the pathetic one here.

trying to shrug all of it off, you rolled your eyes.

"fine. send it to my email, i'll watch it", you replied shortly, hoping that would help getting rid of him.

"so much work for nothing", jake mumbled, before stepping closer to your chair, stopping right behind it, and placing his phone down on your desk. without hesitating nor asking if you were ready, he started the video.

feeling his presence so close to you made it ten times harder to focus on the video, honestly. you had worked with him for a while now, so being near him wasn't new - but he had never been this close to you. unnecessarily close. so that his cologne almost blurred your senses, that you could feel his breath on your neck and that you swore you would have even heard his heart beating if the video hadn't been playing.

while you felt your mouth grow dry, your hands got all the more wet with cold sweat. all because he's just inches closer than normally?

"so?", jake's voice snapped you back into the moment as he grabbed his phone from your desk.

admittedly, you hadn't paid too much attention to the video. not very professional. not professional at all. but hell, you were not going to admit that the close proximity made you lose focus. so, you decided to just risk it and nod in approval, "it's fine."

he stepped away from behind your chair and made his way to the door, but turned back to you before opening it.

"also, we'll go for food and some drinks after practice today. jungwon said i should ask you to join us", he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

you raised an eyebrow in confusion. "jungwon asks me to join? how come?"

jake's eyes widened only a tiny bit, before his gaze went back to normal. "uhh... well, he said something about how someone from the management should be around or something, y'know"

you pressed your lips together to suppress a laugh. "you're good at almost everything but you can't lie if your life depended on it"

for the nth time in your life, you could see jake rolling his eyes. "shut up. just look good for me, deal?"

you slightly bit down on your lower lip, replying with just a tiny nod, as you could feel heat rushing through your body and straight to your cheeks. yep, i'm definitely the pathetic one here.

jake gave you a short grin and opened the door. just as he stepped out the room, he turned on his heels and looked at you again.

"also, if you wanted to look at my face so bad, you could have just asked me to come", he tilted his head towards your computer screen, before finally closing the door behind him.

oh god. i never zoomed out of the picture.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

thank you so much for reading up until here. it means the entire world to me and i hope you guys enjoyed it. please do not copy. ❤︎︎

feel free to leave feedback & interact!

- dazzlingjaeyun

join my taglist here

[flwrkisses]

tiffany and co. — park sunghoon.

HAPPY HOON DAY! after seeing jakehoon's matching tiffany rings and their cute vlog at the tiffany store, i couldn't help but think... what if sunghoon was shopping for not only friendship rings with jake but also something special for you.

genre: fluff! established relationship. idol!sunghoon. ft. jake! long oneshot.

word count: 1.4k (english)

warnings: kissing.

everyone knew sunghoon was erratically indecisive. he would pick things up and put them back only to talk himself into linking it again and picking it up once more. it drove his members wild, so wild that jay had complained about not wanting to shop with your boyfriend anymore, simply because he took far too long to make a choice. that was where you came in, you never considered yourself to be extremely decisive nor have you ever been as indecisive as he was... but, something about you giving your honest opinion on things made him choose which items to take home way more efficiently. sunghoon would never admit it, but of he liked something and you thought it was lame, he automatically would talk himself into thinking it was lame in first place. making him set the item back on what ever rack or shelf he had originally found it on. so, when going shopping— in his mind— you were an essential factor.

however, on this shopping trip... you weren't able to join, leaving both him and jake alone in a store full of an expensive amount of jewelry. on his way in, he automatically thought about getting you something with his new tiffany brand deal. what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't get you everything you wanted within the resources he was given? he couldn't live with himself if he had gotten himself something nice and left you in the dust. so as soon as they entered the store he began looking at earrings. maybe it could have been something you would wear on special occasions like dates or fancy dinners with family... or holidays. he searched for something different, unique, and so delicately beautiful... all words that he often used to describe you and yet nothing bc stuck out to him.

after an hour and a half in the store, sunghoon began to get nervous. both him and jake had picked their friendship rings and now your boyfriend had been mindlessly browsing though the store to find something you'd actually enjoy. any other guy would have just grabbed the first pair of earrings or sparkly bracelet he came across but sunghoon just couldn't being himself to do that. especially with how practical he was. he wasn't going to get you something that would sit in your jewelry box and soon become forgotten because you didn't like it. that would be a waste. so despite his friend's impatience, he continued to look at each and every single piece of jewelry to find you something specifically for you.

luckily, after an additional 35 minutes, he found just what he was looking for. a necklace with a cursive letter 's'pendant. small, yet noticeable enough. after picking it out, he showed it to jake. to which the aussie boy couldn't help but excitedly pat his friend on the back and rave about how you'd love it. now all your boyfriend needed to do was give it to you.

..

after getting home to your shared apartment with a small blue tiffany and co bag in his hand, sunghoon looked for you. "babe?" he called out, as he took off his jacket and set it on the coatrack. "i'll be right there hoon!" you called out from the bathroom. some how your internal clocks always seem to sync. just as you finished your shower as he come through the door as if you had been expecting his arrival. "how was it?" you called out from the other room while getting dressed.

sunghoon loved this, how domestic it felt to know you had been winding down for the day when he got home. and talking to each other from different ends of the apartment as you both went on with your own routines. "it was really nice actually, jake and i got matching rings." he hummed as he walked into your shared bedroom and to the bathroom door which was slightly open. sticking his hand into the now humid room, he happily showed you his new rings. taking his hand, you looked at the new silver pieces of jewelry now adorning his hand happily and opened the bathroom door far enough for you to get through. "they're cute hoon, i like them a lot." you smiled warmly at him. you honestly didn't expect much, you knew some brands were extremely strict about what their ambassadors could and couldn't take and you would hate for your boyfriend to lose his ambassadorship for pushing boundaries. you were happy for him none the less, you knew that if it wasn't for the sponsorship, sunghoon would have never gone out to get himself jewelry like that.

" i got you something." he chuckled, feeling his cheeks heat up in the moment. he was never good at this type of stuff. he usually preferred to leave a gift on your bed or dining table while he was out working. however with this he was so excited to give it to you, that he had to present it to you now. "babe! you didn't have to get me anything." you pouted at him, while gently pushing past him to set your worn clothes in the hamper and hang your towel up. you truly never wanted him to put you over himself even with things like this. "you could have gotten yourself another piece or something , you didn't have to." you added.

sunghoon gently shook his head as he turned to face you again. "no, i wanted to. i spend a really long time looking for it. i want you to have it." he reassured you. something he had to do each time you had told him he didn't have to get you anything. "if it's not your style you can tell me we can exchange it for another." which was again something he would always say when ever he got you anything. the clarification was always for nothing because everything he had ever gotten you had always ended up liking and yet deep within him was a little feeling of anxiousness.

handing you the small bag in the famous shade of blue you had seen everywhere you couldn't help but get excited. "hoon this will probably be the most expensive thing i own..." you chuckled softly before sitting on your shared bed and gently pulling the tissue paper out of the bag carefully. "that just means i need to get you prada next." he smiled softly, taking a seat next to you, only making you blush more at the thought of being spoiled with all these fancy name brand things. "come on- open it babe." he added, encouraging you to reach into the bag to pull out a small bright blue box. as if it would break, you handled the box with care, gently pulling the top off to expose the dainty silver necklace with the small 's' pendant he had picked out, laying on top of the white satin lining. you let out a small gasp as you took in the beauty of the necklace. it was simple yet, beautiful. definitely something you could wear daily without fail.

"it's beautiful hoon..." you said softly with a smile plastered onto your face. "really? i thought getting you my initial might be a little tacky but jake insisted it was sweet." he responded, his lips breaking into a brighter toothy smile at your response. you could only shake your head slightly, you didn't think it was tacky at all. from a far it was hard to tell the pendant was his first initial, making it a bit more special. you knew what it was, he knew what it was. and it wasn't annoyingly in your face either, it was perfect. "it's actually really pretty." you smiled at him before pressing a soft kiss onto his cheek. being with sunghoon for so long, you should have known that one sweet cheek kiss would have turned into sunghoon turning his head to catch your lips with his own, because it did. just like each time you had kissed his cheek before. a giggle escaped your lips between each soft, sweet kiss he gave you making him rumble up a chuckle of his own as well. "you better wear that necklace everywhere." he said while finally pulling away.

"are you kidding? i'm never taking it off!"

"mmmm good~ all mine."

"yep- all yours sunghoon~"

©flwrkisses ; please do not copy, translate, repost and/or reuse my work without my permission. (2023)

₊˚♡ don't forget to like/reblog to let me know you enjoy this kind of content!

masterlist. — requests are open !

[pricelessemotion]

Labyrinth | Javy "Coyote" Machado

pairing: Javy "Coyote" Machado x fem!reader (prev Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!reader)

summary: [4k] Jake may be gone, but Javy isn't. The two of you navigate your lives and your grief. Together.

warnings: jake is dead, RIP jake, grief and mourning, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, sickfic moment, friends to roommates to ...?

a/n: coming out of my writer cave to post a tgm fic that nobody asked for. idk why I became obsessed with the idea of jake's widow!reader falling in love w javy but here we are! enjoy and lmk what you think <3

read on ao3 | navigation

Lieutenant Commander Jacob Michael Seresin died on a Tuesday morning. At least that’s what they tell you, you don’t remember much of the days and weeks surrounding his death. 

You flip the funeral card in your hand, over and over and over again. No expense was spared. It’s textured cardstock with fancy but easily legible cursive font. It reminds you of your wedding invitations. The back is a picture of him in his dress whites, face unsmiling. The same dress whites he’s going to be buried in. 

Lieutenant Commander Jacob Michael Seresin was called home

Funeral to take place at Graham's Memorial Home 

Reception to follow 

Called home. It’s such an interesting phrase. It suggests that he’s meant to be wherever he is now. That the house that you bought together, the plans that you made were all just a waiting room until Saint Peter called his name. 

You never considered yourself particularly religious. Jake, being born and raised in Texas, was a god-fearing Christian man. He believed in heaven and an afterlife. You’ve always been on the fence.

The day of the funeral, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. You want to scream and laugh at the same time but the only sound that escapes your mouth is a strangled gasp that has Javy taking you into his arms. It had rained on your wedding day. Poured would be a more accurate description. The officiant said he had never seen that big of a meteorological turnaround in all of his forty years of weddings. Due to California existing in a near-constant state of drought, there simply wasn’t the infrastructure in place to support the torrential downpour. Most of your guests had been left stranded in other states, their flights being put on a constant loop of rescheduling and then cancellation. 

You thought it was a sign. An omen. Now you wonder if maybe it was. 

Jake had simply shaken his head and laughed. He was never one for superstitions. It’s what made him a good pilot. He relied on skill and instinct. He said that there was no way in hell that a little water was going to get in the way of him marrying the love of his life. 

His mother lightly smacked him on the bicep for using such language in a house of god, before subsequently melting and muttering how she must’ve done something right. 

You think that this unnatural weather must’ve been his doing. It had been overcast and depressing all week. Or at least, as far as you could tell from your brief moments of lucidity before descending back into a fugue state. You know that he always hated the days that were few and far between when the weather would be too bad for him to properly run drills or train new recruits. 

You loved the man more than anything. He always reminded you of the sky, the way he took you to heights that you had never even imagined before. Still, despite the thrill and the rush of adrenaline, all you could think about was the fear of falling. 

Husbands and children have been left back in Texas. Jake’s mom and sisters have taken over the house. There’s not a dish left unwashed nor a basket of laundry left unfolded. You've eaten more casserole in the last week than you have before in your entire life. The fridge is filled to the brim with tin foiled pans that people will probably want back but won't bother asking for if they don't. Despite the array of choices, they all taste the same. Ashen and tasteless is the I’m-sorry-your-husband-died special. 

The house is more lively than it usually is, with four Seresin women milling around. You see him in them. In the quirk of their mouths, the tilt of their heads when they’re thinking about something, the hard line of their jaws when they hold back their tears. You can barely look his mother in the eyes because they’re his. 

They try to take you everywhere with them. Trips to the grocery store and walks around the neighborhood are treated as milestones when you spend most days unable to get out of bed. 

On one of the drives, you can’t remember which one or even where you were heading to they all seem to blur together in the end, you passed by a car wash. Jake would usually handle all the car stuff himself, but he told you to go here when he was on deployment because it was the only place that didn’t upcharge for ridiculous shit. They have one of those inflatable tube men outside. Waiting at the intersection for the light to turn green, you’re stuck looking at him. 

When they do finally leave, it's with little fanfare. They remind you of the food in the fridge and the local bereavement group they found. Kisses on cheeks are exchanged and you stand like one of those inflatable tube men at the end of the driveway, mechanically waving goodbye. 

Once the cars are gone from view, it’s like someone’s turned off the fan that’s kept you upright. You crumple to the ground.

–

Javy tries his best to decode the text that you sent him while his phone had been in his gym locker. The series of texts seems to get more and more incoherent as time went on. He was used to this by now. He had told you that you could talk to him about your grief at any time and that he would always be there for you. 

Which is how Javy comes to find you here. 

You’re on the ground outside. Green California grass caresses your fingertips, despite the near-constant state of drought. You know you came out here to look at the stars but closed your eyes when you could feel the Earth spinning. 

You feel like the two-headed calf because there are twice as many stars as usual. The Earth spins at a rate of 1,000 miles per hour. You swear, right there in the grass, that you can feel every single mile. You’re holding on for dear life. 

“Jake said that when he was a kid, he used to believe that stars were actually holes in the sky. The white light that came through was Heaven. He used to sit on the grass and look up and dig his fingers into the dirt. ‘Said he was scared that if he let go he’d float away.” 

Javy only hums in response. Slowly, his left hand nudges your right one. The warmth of his palm covers you and despite yourself, despite marring and ripping apart the beautiful meticulously cared-for lawn, you let go. 

When your hand rises to meet his, it’s not without a few casualties. Blades of grass are plucked from the ground making snapping sounds like muffled guitar strings. It’s the saddest sound you’ve ever heard.

–

“I’m thinking about selling the house.” 

The words hang in dead air. There’s a slight pause in Javy’s movements. From behind, you can see the muscles beneath his flannel tighten up before they relax again. He resumes stirring his coffee, the spoon hitting the sides of the ceramic mug with muted ting ting ting sounds. 

The mug itself is UT Austin merch from many moons ago. It’s Jake’s favorite. Or at least, it was Jake’s favorite. The mug used to remind you of quiet Sunday mornings and waffles for two. Now it just reminds you that he drank from it and put it in the dishwasher, thinking that he would get another Sunday, another cup of coffee.

You’re not mad at all that Javy is using it. On the contrary, you’re glad that the mug is being used for its purpose. That it’s not being memorialized and thus, rendered functionally useless. It drove you crazy to see it sitting in the cabinet collecting dust, but you refused to be the one to drink from it. It’s good that this memory of him is momentary and not a monument. 

Javy takes a long sip from his mug, cradling it in both hands as he leans into the kitchen counter behind him. “When you say thinking what do you mean?” 

Javy knows you too well. He knows that if you’re telling him about it, then it’s pretty much already decided. You’ve gone about every major decision in your life this way. You research and refine results until you’re sure that the way you’ve chosen is the only way forward. It’s how you decided that being with Jake was worth the risk of losing him. 

You never said that it was a foolproof system, just that it was the system you’ve always used. 

“I mean that I’ve already gotten the house appraised and have been talking to a realtor. She thinks we could list it and sell it before the year is out.” 

Javy blows out a breath, puffing out his full lips. He swirls his coffee cup once, twice before taking a sip and asking, “Are you sure that this is what you want?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. I can’t–” Your voice thickens until it breaks, the words brittle. I can’t keep living in a haunted house.

Javy nods, taking another sip before setting the cup down on the counter and saying the last thing you expected, “Move in with me.”

–

Moving out occurs with very little fuss. The other daggers drop in and out, taping boxes and dropping them off at Goodwill per your request, but everyone seems to be keeping a respectful, yet unnecessary distance. 

Before you even touched a single cardboard box, Javy went from room to room and photographed everything. From the arrangement of the magnets on the fridge to the clutter on your bedside table. He insisted that one day these would be memories to hold back on. That it wasn’t the house's fault that it was haunted. That sometimes ghosts don’t have to haunt you. 

You’re beyond the point of sentimentality anymore. If you were, you’d still be catatonic on the couch, refusing to sleep in the bedroom you once shared with your husband. Everything is objective. Every dish is just a dish and not the first real set of glassware that you bought for the house after eating off of paper plates when the movers accidentally dropped the boxed marked kitchen FRAGILE off the side of the truck. 

You’re glad that all of the Christmas ornaments are still boxed up in the attic. There’s one in particular that you loved. The one that you put on the tree first every single Christmas. It was the ornament Jake got you when you first got together. A silly little reindeer.

You’ve mostly gotten everything out of the kitchen now. The shelves are bare and now you will once again have to resort to paper plates and plastic forks until this move is over. You haven’t seen your new roommate–God, it’s still weird to think of him like that–in a while so you tentatively call out his name. 

“Javy?” Your voice is rough from hours of speechless focus. It cracks and breaks the silence of the house like a pebble on a windshield. 

He doesn’t respond. You call out again, removing your gloves and moving towards the staircase. The door to Jake’s office is left ajar. Javy volunteered to pack up the room and you let him without a fight. Jake didn’t spend too much time in his office when he was home. Honestly, you think it might’ve saddened you more to see his legal pads and his sticky notes with reminders that he’ll never get the chance to forget. 

You knock, easing the door open and softly calling out Javy’s name before you stop. There he is in the middle of the floor, head to his knees, back shaking with silent sobs. You crumble immediately. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and feel his wet face causing the fabric to stick to your collarbone. You don’t care. 

It occurs to you that the roles have finally been reversed. All these months, you’ve been so grateful for Javy’s steadiness. His immovability. You thought his lack of tears had been because he was processing his emotions in a way that was different than yours. You thought maybe he was better at compartmentalization than you were. And maybe that was true. 

You look around the room, hoping to find the catalyst for what caused this breakdown. Maybe there was a picture from the good old days, or an old card that Jake always meant to give him but never remembered to. But looking around, you come up empty. That’s when you realize that it’s not one single thing that set Javy off. It’s everything. It’s the dust on the keyboard. It’s the stale air. It’s the way the calendar on the wall has an X drawn through every day and then stopped in the middle of June. It’s the World War II book that has a bookmark placed so close to the end, you wonder if Jake was leaving the epilogue until after he came home from work. 

It’s been hours since Javy made his way up here. The two boxes he brought with him sit flat behind the door. They haven’t even been folded out. 

So you just sit there with him, rocking slightly back and forth. This continues until he leans back and spreads himself out on the carpet, not unlike the way you did all those months ago in the backyard. You burrow into his side, your ear pressed to his heart, paying attention to the furious tempo. You lay there until the hiccups in his breathing cease and the rise and fall of his chest is as rhythmic as waves crashing on the San Diego shore.

–

“You can lay down, y’know? This is your couch after all.” The gray L-shaped sectional is more than big enough for both you and Javy, who has been trying and failing to stay upright for the past twenty minutes. 

“First of all, this is our couch. Second of all, I will lay down thank you for offering.” 

He starts out perpendicular to you. His large frame takes up most of the sofa cushions. Though it can’t be comfortable for an extended time, he stays propped up on his elbow, making jokes about whatever's on TV. His exhaustion starts to take over and his elbow slips, one, two, three times. He always catches himself before his head drops too far, agile and responsive even when fighting sleep. 

You know you can’t outright offer it to him, so you go for the next best thing. Leaning back, you shift your position until your blanketed thigh is touching his bicep. From there, it’s only a matter of time until Javy gives in to the sands of time and his head falls into your lap. 

You’ve missed this, you realize. There are a lot of things that you miss about Jake, specifically. But this, the simple act of being close to someone. The simple choice to be there for someone else to lean on. Joy and guilt are like lightning and thunder. When one comes the other will soon follow. 

You think about this from the outside looking in. Javy coming home, kissing your cheek, telling you about his day. Him cooking dinner while you do laundry. You doing the dishes while he does the crossword. The two of you, lying down on the couch after a long day and watching television together. The scene is exceedingly domestic in a way that makes your cheeks tingle and your chest ache.

Your left thumb instinctually goes to caress the base of your ring finger, only to come up empty. Your heart drops to your stomach. Then, you remember. You always take off your rings when doing the dishes. It was best practice, to make sure that the delicate gems wouldn’t get unnecessarily tarnished. You’d never once forgotten to put them back on, though. 

You linger on the absence of the rings and the presence of the man sleeping soundly right beside you. Joy and guilt. Lightning and thunder.

–

There are large hands around your waist. Lips flush against the skin of your neck, murmuring and muttering words of praise and astonishment. Those hands slip lower and lower, rucking up the hem of your nightgown to your waist. Calloused fingertips brush the junction of your thighs and you feel heat licking up your center. 

Look at me while you come for me, baby. 

You do look up, mind overtaken by heat and lust and longing. Your breath catches in your throat. You know this jawline. You know these lips. You know that voice. 

Say my name. 

Your mouth goes to form the word but you lose yourself in huffs of breath and twisted sheets. You wake, just as you hit your peak. The sound that was so difficult to make in your dream state emerges from your mouth, watery and wanting. 

Javy.

–

You spend the next three days locked in your room. You take all your meals to go, even though you can see the disappointment on Javy’s face every time you do. Disappointment you only see when you are confident that you can look at him without bursting into flames. The opportunity is few and far between these days. He’s always in the background. Asking if you’d like to accompany him to the store or go on a hike. Your answer is always the same. 

Your forced solitude only lasts for another two days before Javy politely knocks on your door and enters your room. You mumble out a lackluster greeting barely looking up from your laptop or your desk. There’s a water stain near your left wrist, a circular ring that matches the bottom of your favorite mug. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re avoiding me?”

Maybe you should get a coaster. Civilized people used coasters, didn’t they? Civilized people used coasters and went hiking and did not have sex dreams about their dead husband’s best friend. 

Javy says your name. It sounds weary. Like he’s approaching a wounded deer, hoping that she’ll let him near her before she goes running off into the forest to bleed out alone. 

He sighs and sits on the edge of your bed, keeping a respectful distance. The mattress dips under the weight of him. 

“Is it because we’re living together now? Do you—“ He clears his throat and suddenly, despite being well over six feet tall, he looks small. “Do you regret moving in together?” 

You realize now that you’re not the deer. Javy is. He was living a fine and peaceful existence before you showed up with a shotgun and a need for flesh. 

His question is tentative. Bleeding out in a forest alone doesn’t sound so bad, all things considered. 

“No!” You blurt out your answer so fast it almost startles you. You take a moment, “No that’s not it at all.” 

“Then what is it? Is it something I did?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“It’s just–God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this–I had a dream.” 

“Like a nightmare? You know you can talk to me about those–”

“Not that kind of dream.” Javy had been helpful with nightmares in the past. He knew how to calm you down, especially when you realized that waking up didn’t necessarily mean that the nightmare was over. 

He sits there, earnest and sympathetic and terribly understanding in a way that you don’t deserve and don’t know if you can handle right now.

“It was a sex dream.” You breathe out, cheeks hot and fists rumpled in your bedsheets. 

“Oh. Oh.”

You both sit in silence for a moment. Javy decides to break it. 

“Was it– Was I–” He tries so hard to make the words come out, but nothing does. His hands rest on his thighs and he furrows his brows and directs his gaze to the carpet. 

“I think it was because we’ve been around each other so much. And obviously, it’s been a while.”

Javy agrees with you because of course he does. You try to breathe some lightness into your tone, anything to battle this heaviness that’s sunken into the conversation. “It’s crazy how the human brain works, right?” 

Javy’s eyes drop to your lips, but only for a second. He smiles politely and bows his head in subtle agreement. “It is crazy.”

–

Flu season passes through San Diego like a plague. It seems every week, another one of your coworkers is out, whether it be their own health in distress or their children’s. It was only a matter of time before it came to you. 

Despite having gotten your flu shot, you experience probably the worst bout of sickness in your life. You’re bundled up on your bed, fluffy robe with the drawstring pulled tight. Javy is hovering in the hallway–because that seems to be his neutral state of being these days, hovering. He dares not to open the door because of your self-imposed quarantine. You’ve created an imaginary moat of used tissues and dirty clothes, all to protect the fire-breathing dragon that is your feverish body.

“If you don’t go, I will strangle you.” You threaten, though it comes out weak and nasal. 

“I can always reschedule–” 

“You’ve been rescheduling on this girl for two weeks! I’ll be fine, I promise! I’m probably just going to watch old episodes of New Girl until I pass out from exhaustion.” 

“Fine, but if you need anything–anything at all–just text me or call me.”

You verbally push Javy out of the door with more assurances and less thinly veiled threats. Things have been awkward between the two of you since your confession. You’re almost relieved at your sickness and the way it has allowed you to avoid more unnecessary face-to-face contact. At least that’s what you tell yourself. But when you hear the front door shut and the sound of Javy’s engine starting up, you look around the room. Running your hands over the wrinkled bedding, a feeling almost like loneliness settles over you.

–

It was an unfortunate ending to a mild evening. A broken Javy crackled over the speaker before he was speeding his way across town. 

You’re shivering by the time he reaches you. Which makes no sense because you’re so hot that Javy hisses when his palm touches your clammy forehead. He’s about to scoop you up and load you into the back seat of his car when you come to. You murmur and whine and he tells you that he’s got you and he’s here. He explains that he’s gonna take you to the hospital and that seems to be the only thing that breaks you out of your feverish state because you open your eyes and tell him No hospital.  

He’s lucky that the upholstered lounge chair in the corner of your room is as comfy as it is because that’s where he stays for the rest of the night. He holds a cold damp cloth to your forehead, murmuring apologies when you whimper at the disorienting change in temperature. He routinely uses a thermometer, because damn your wishes if it means that you die in this bed on his watch. Your fever stays just below the concerning range and it isn’t until 4 am that it finally breaks. 

Only then does Javy let himself fall asleep. 

You wake up weak and disoriented. Javy pulled up the chair from the corner of the room to right next to the bed. After a bowl of soup, he convinces you to take a bath and changes out your sweat-soaked flannel sheets for fresh ones straight from the dryer. 

“Oh my god, your date! I’m so sorry—“

Javy waves you off with a wave and a gentle dismissal. He insists it’s fine. That there was no spark anyways. 

It’s not until you’re tucked under the covers with half a cup of tea on your nightstand that he slips into the hallway and sends out a text. 

Had a lovely time last night. 

I just don’t think I’m in the right headspace for a relationship right now. 

I hope you understand. 

[pennyellee]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈𝐈

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, violence, bloodshed, history class on lacrimosa yall, nudity, emotional distress, blood, manhandling, slapping, mentions of suicide, gun use, genitalia cupping, gaslighting, anxiety, strong language, threats, misogyny, old social norms, lies-lies-lies, bone crunching, physical violence, suicide attempt

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count of preview: 0,9K

w/c of the chapter: 12K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

a/n: so, here we go, if you thought that the last chapter was a shitstorm, the shitstorm ain’t over just yet, see yall at wednesday, this year’s valentine will be more red than usual ig 🫧🩸

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII

Morning arrived with a soft glow, painting the room in shades of muted light where Yoongi’s fingers traced gentle patterns on her naked back.

“Breakfast is ready,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead. She nodded, wordless.

The table boasted an array of dishes, their enticing aroma filling the air. Yet Y/N could not eat yesterday nor today, the food simply did not go down her system.

Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on her from time to time, while he was reading today’s paper the maid delivered together with the breakfast. His eyes, like a silent observer, bore witness to the aftermath of a night. Y/N’s eyes were bloodshot, cheeks stained with dried tears, her neck bearing bruises. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, yet he held onto the hope that all would settle now.

Yoongi sighed and reached into the pocket of his black vest.

“I have not read it,” said he once they finished eating breakfast and sat down in the lounge room. Y/N’s eyes moved to meet him, anticipating his next step. She did not want to speak to him. She did not want to look at him nor she did not want him to look at her.

“I appreciate that,” said Y/N, avoiding his eyes. Yoongi sighed again, reluctant to relinquish leverage over her, yet compelled to address the matter at hand. Deep down, he hoped the contents of the letter would bring her solace, perhaps even warmth towards him. Now, he stood as a fool in the pouring rain.

He carefully handed the letter, urging her to open it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tearing open the envelope and extracting the yellowed paper within.

She looked at Yoongi one more time, and when she saw him spreading out the newspapers, she was glad he gave her at least some degree of privacy. Her eyes fell upon the cursive symbols of her beloved aunt’s handwriting.

The memories flooded back as Y/N read the words on the aged paper, transporting her to a time when life was less complicated. Yet, she remembers clearly how she read the words detailing Wang Xiaoqing’s declining health, her world halted.

The air grew heavy with a mix of medicinal scents and the weight of impending loss. Her aunt, a pillar of strength, lay frail on the bed, and Y/N’s heart ached at the sight.

As she recalls her last moments with her while reading the neatness of her handwriting Y/N finally sees the truth. Her breath caught in her throat, vision blurred by tears. Clutching the paper tightly, she read the words repeatedly, struggling to accept their meaning.

“I need you to understand, my dear,” her aunt’s voice, weakened but filled with determination, echoed in the room. 

“There are things, things I have kept from you to protect your soul and mind.”

Her aunt reached for her hand, the warmth of their connection grounding them in that vulnerable moment. The intricate dance between clans, the bloodshed, and the sacrifice her aunt had made to shield her from the harsh realities of their world.

“But it seems that my judgement was clouded—” In that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if bracing for the revelation that would reshape the very foundation of her understanding. The vulnerability in her voice resonated with the unspoken sacrifices made for the sake of protection. Or at least that is what she thought she was doing by allowing Min Yoongi to take her into custody and use her as a leverage over the clans in negotiation of dominance.

“We do not have much time I fear,” her aunt continued, urgency etched into her every word. Y/N held her hand tightly, afraid to let her go.

“Once you burn me to ashes, I need you to run and not look back, Kai will help you get away—” a strong cough interrupted her speech and Y/N rushed to get her some tea to ease her throat. A bony hand landed on her forearm, stopping her in motion. Her eyes watered again at the sight of the state God let her aunt get in. Her fingers were turning purple and Y/N knew what that means. Oxygen was leaving her body and the end was near.

“Auntie—” she went to protest, at the time not understanding why she needed to run in the first place. But she listened carefully to her aunt and closely when her sore and painful voice mapped out her next steps.

Back then Y/N wanted to believe it was a sacrifice born out of love and the desire to break free from the cycle of violence that had ensnared their family for too long. And her aunt presented her a chance to not be in the middle of the fire.

Peace was a fragile illusion. Min Yoongi may be a titan among the outside world, yet within the confines of his own home, his dominion was about to face its greatest challenge.

Yoongi, engrossed in his reading, spared his wife the intrusion of his gaze, allowing her the solitude to grapple with the weight of her aunt’s revelations. Not having a clue what the dying woman could write.

The revelations echoed in the silence of the room, and when Y/N finally looked up from the letter, her eyes met Yoongi’s. The vulnerability in that moment transcended the complexities of their current situation, forging an unspoken false connection on his side rooted in pain and the unravelling of hidden truths. In a burst of fury, she lashed out.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝟏𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts

[homunculus-argument]

For some reason I follow a lot of blogs dedicated to specific kinds of artfully curated aesthetics, and I'm aware that nobody probably actually lives like that but I'm intrigued by the idea that someone could. Having some clear and coherent, consistent and distinct kind of aesthetic, a style to their lifestyle, that they'd not only be able to maintain, but do so in such a natural and easy way that keeping it up takes no special thought or effort. I'm not saying "that could never be me" with any negative thought or feeling towards myself nor those hypothetical people, but that could never be me.

My brain is too full of dumbass random shit. Like yeah I could go to a park to sit down and savour the autumn breeze in the city air, to observe the world bustling all around me while I romanticise my own life and think of poetic thoughts written in perfect loopy cursive on my soul.

But really I'm going to be having like 8-11 random thoughts going on at once, one of them is trying to remember when I last saw an acorn, a second one about those gummy plastic bracelets that were a thing in like 2005, a third one is trying to remember who the fuck is Joe Abernathy and why did his name pop into my head without any recollection where I heard it. Fourth one is wondering if you could use rogaine to grow hobbit foot hair, fifth one is thinking about licking a concrete wall, the seventh thought is trying to track down the steps of the sixth thought in hopes of figuring out why I've got Akakabuto's theme from the 80s anime Silver Fang playing in my head, the eighth one is contemplating which Warhammer faction is most likely to have the most fucked up porn about it, and the ninth one is pretty sure that I'm doing this wrong.

[cellythefloshie]

;; What My World Spins Around

Dedicated to @ladylooch for @wyattjohnston 's winter fic exchange 2k24

Summary: Christmas day sparks a series of unexpected gifts that lead you and Timo to face a question the two of you had been avoiding since his trade to the New Jersey Devils almost a whole year ago. What will your future hold, and will you be spending it together?

Tropes & TW: Brother's Teammate, Exes To Lovers, Friends with Benefits to Lovers, "we were on a break", gift giving, reader wears glasses, trade angst, - there is no smut in this fic - Injured Timo - written as if he will remain on IR until mid/late February.

Word Count: 4k+

A/N:  I was getting a little worried as the January days have been passing like falling dominos! But alas! My 2k24 Winter Fic Exchange entry is complete! A huge thank you to @wyattjohnston for organising the event and being so supportive when I ended up in your messages feeling like I was never going to be able to write a proper story again after months of not really writing because of my new job. And another huge thank you to @matthewtkachuk for letting me jump into their messages for the same reasons, and when I needed a little help to gain my confidence with Timo. I very much appreciate it! Now, for my lovely recipient, @ladylooch ! Thank you for giving me an opportunity to explore a player that I have only really admired from a far! It was so much fun doing the research and uncovering his career through the NHL in the last 7 seasons! I hope that I was able to touch on all the things you love about Timo and expected from this fic every time I dropped into your anons to ask questions. Enjoy!

There was only a single moment of calm on Christmas morning, and it could only come after gifts had been opened and breakfast had been eaten, and you intended to take advantage of it. The children could be heard in the family room, preoccupied with one of the many toys they had been spoiled with from their parents, Santa, and naturally, yourself. Being the fun live-in aunt came with a cost, not that you minded. You loved your family and your matching Christmas pajamas that would be plastered all over your family’s Instagram page for the coming weeks. And with the children distracted, you used your rare moment alone to enjoy your own gifts. 

Curled up in an armchair by the tree, you held your new book in your hands, your fingers holding each side carefully as you did your best not to crease the binding of the paperback romance novel. You had only been sitting there thirty minutes at most, but you were a quarter of the way done when you heard a pair of footsteps shuffle into the room. You didn’t have to look up to know who they belonged to. You had been hearing them her entire life. The slow, heavy step of slipper clad feet over hard wood could only belong to your brother. 

You had half expected him to be sleeping in front of the television with a Christmas movie playing on repeat for the kids already, but you could hear him shuffling around the Christmas tree just over your shoulder. The scratch of his slipper was harsh against your ears. 

“Making all that noise, you better be taking that tree down–” you finally spoke when the noise was becoming too much, all without looking up from the pages of your book. 

The tree never came down until after the new year, but in your mind, there was no other excuse he could have for making so much noise. 

“There’s still a present back here for you,” he claimed, and you peaked over the edge of the pages. 

“What is it?”

“Don’t know, but it’s not from me,” he told you, and his hand came into view in front of you. 

In it, he held a deep red envelope with your name written across it in an elegant cursive. It was unlike any you had seen before. It wasn’t your brother’s hand, or your sister in laws. Nor was it your mothers. The unfamiliarity of each letter left your brows to furrow as you placed your book down in your lap and took it from your brother’s hand. 

You opened it slowly, careful not to rip the pretty envelope as you pulled out what looked like a basic Christmas card. It was only when you opened it that you realized the magnitude of the gift: dinner reservations at your favorite restaurant in San Jose. 

It was the one restaurant where you spent every special occasion. Your birthday, anniversaries, celebrating your brother’s milestones, had all been spent there at the same table since your brother had been traded to San Jose almost a decade ago. But it was also a restaurant you had been avoiding since your own boyfriend had been traded from the team - giving you very little to celebrate as the status of their relationship had been called into question when he left. 

Were you single? You wouldn’t say so. 

Were you taken? You didn’t know the answer to that question either. 

You hadn’t broken up, but you were on a break. 

It was easier, or so that was what you both claimed, when there was a whole country between them. Timo was on the East Coast playing with the New Jersey Devils now, and you were on the West helping your sister-in-law raise her two children while your brother was busy in net for the San Jose Barracuda and the San Jose Sharks on the rare occasion. 

You could have gone with him, but that was a reality you chose to ignore. You couldn’t justify going to Jersey with him, not even when he asked. Your entire life was in San Jose, and uprooting it for someone who struggled to commit until your brother had found out you were sneaking around together, and hadn’t even thought about proposing in the five years you were officially together. 

Seeing the reservation sent memories of Timo flooding through your mind, your stomach feeling as if it were suddenly tied into knots as you looked up at your brother with a sad smile. 

“This isn’t from you?” You asked slowly, your voice on the verge of breaking. 

His large shoulders shrugged. “Not from us, but you should go. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

***

Your dinner reservation wasn’t until the new year after the chaos of gift giving and family events were over. That also meant the restaurant scene was quieter. There was no waiting in line just to tell the hostess you had a reservation while they were turning others away on a thirty minutes or more waitlist. It also brought a certain peace. One that was laced with the gentle melody of classical restaurant music, the gentle clink of cutlery against fine china, and the subtle sound of wine being poured into your glass as you eyed up the menu you practically had memorized. 

“I didn’t order any wine,” you spoke, your gaze rising from the menu as one hand left the leather cover to push your glasses back up the bridge of your nose. 

The server didn’t stop his pour until he was satisfied with the fullness of the deep red wine in the glass. He then offered you a soft smile and displayed the label of the bottle to you. The wine was your favorite. The same one you had ordered every time you had dined in their establishment - which, in reality, was only two or three times a year. There was no way they would have remembered.

Lowering your menu further to place it down on the tabletop, you turned in your seat. You looked one way, and then the next looking for a familiar face. Your brother. Your sister-in-law. Timo. Anyone. But the surrounding faces in the restaurant were those of strangers, and the seat across from you at the table remained empty. You were alone, and would spend the remainder of your evening alone, too. 

Through the three courses of an appetizer, main course and dessert, you enjoyed it alone. The wine, and your favorite dishes, should have been enough to keep you distracted, but your mind found no peace as you stared at the glass of red wine. It became closer and closer to empty with each sip, but it couldn’t answer the question that haunted you in the back of your mind. 

Who had gone out of their way to make this reservation for you? 

Your questions were only fueled further when the bill was delivered to the table. You reached into the depths of your purse and pulled out your wallet, but you were met by the same smile he had when you had questioned the wine. The bill had  already been paid for. 

***

Dinner was just the first gift of many that you would receive in the month of January. The second came in the mail one day – the date one you couldn’t quite remember. It was a package among junk mail, its stiff cardboard box sandwiched between color flyers. You hadn’t expected a delivery, so you were going to leave it resting on the table for your brother, or his wife, but with a clumsy step you had walked into the table. It sent the flyers fluttering to the floor and your name became all too clear on the shipping label. 

You carried it with you up to the privacy of your bedroom before you opened it. The shock of the gift sending it to fall from your lap to lay open on the bed. Inside, a book. But not just any book, your favorite book. A special edition, signed by the author. 

Pushing up from your bed, you rushed down the hallway to the children’s room where your sister-in-law was with the kids. Their laughter was a pleasant sound to your ears, coaxing a smile as the question slipped from your lips without a proper announcement that you had come home, “that book that was on the table downstairs, that from you?”

She looked up from the children with a smile, her hair falling into her face before she could push it back with a single hand. “No, that wasn’t us,” she said, her smile knowing. She knew just who had sent you the book, but she wasn’t about to tell you. 

The next gift came on Valentine's Day. You were at the part-time job you balanced with helping with the child care of your brother’s kids. It was there you received a bouquet of flowers, your favorite flowers. They came with no card. It came with teases of having a secret admirer from your colleague, your brother when she arrived home, and the children. But now, you had an idea of who had been sending you all the gifts, but had yet to receive any confirmation. 

All your speculations were put to rest when you received one final gift box on the 20th of February. It was a large black box with a teal ribbon that sprawled halfway across the dinner table. You stared at it for a long moment, your hands sweating as they came together to nervously rub at each other. Teeth bit at your lower lip, and your lungs struggled to take a single breath as you reached out and tugged at a single strand of ribbon that made up the bow. It fell so fluidly away from the box it almost left you in awe as it draped over the table top but your eyes could only fixate on it for so long before your hands were lifting off the top of the box revealing bright red tissue paper inside. 

It was a harsh contrast from the cool hues of the teal to the heat of the red tissue paper - or maybe that was just the raise in her body temperature as you stood at the head of the table as you finally realized who had been sending you all the gifts since the holiday season. The box was stuffed with New Jersey Devils' merchandise. Everything from hats to t-shirts, to pucks and photographs. The box was filled with everything shot of a hockey stick and a set of hockey equipment – but what it did have was a hockey jersey. Black and red, and gorgeous with a 96 on the back and on the sleeves. And across the back, the name of your admirer, your boyfriend, your ex-boyfriend, whatever it was. Meier. 

You lifted it out of the box slowly, sighing as beneath it another gift came into view. A single ticket to the game against the San Jose Sharks in seven days. He wanted you to go, but could you? You had both been apart for so long already that the closure it would give you would do more harm than good. It left you to wonder that maybe it would just be easier to move on–

***

The San Jose Sharks had become a team that struggled to fill their seats beyond an 80% capacity most nights. They were falling back into a rebuild with fan favorites and rookies alike, getting traded away for draft picks to bolster the Sharks' future. But it came with a cost. Fan loyalty wavered, their faith in management wore thin. But on February 27th when Timo Meier returned to SAP Center, the fans followed. His name was on the backs of many and slid off the tongue of all. Some cursed him for leaving, others were excited to welcome him back if only for one night, and you were lost, silent among them. 

You walked with your head down, the large New Jersey Devils jersey hanging off your shoulders as you wound your way through the crowd to get to your seat. It was high up in the area, but not so high that you felt like you were in the ceiling. You could see the ice, but from down there, you were sure Timo wouldn’t be able to see you. The thought left you nervous. 

Going to the game had been a tough decision, but the thought of going and there being an empty seat left you felt guilty. Your attendance wasn’t a hard set decision on what your course of action with Timo would be. You could attend and decide that it was over - or it could reach the end of the game and you could decide that you wanted to try again. Or Maybe, he had decided it all for you. You could decide you wanted him, but the gifts had been a thank you for putting up with him, and a goodbye. At least then, after you were done crying, you might make a couple of bucks after selling it on eBay. 

You sat in your seat with your stomach in your throat, your eyes fell on your phone one minute, and then the next. Every second felt like hours, but then time seemed to freeze as the players flooded the ice to warm up. You held your breath, reading the backs of every single player that took to the ice until the parade from the tunnel was over. You sat there for a moment, your hands curled into fists in your lap and your nails pressing into your palms. Timo wasn’t among them. He wasn’t skating in circles, shooting a puck on the net, or talking up the trainer. He wasn’t on the ice at all. 

You stood up slowly, your eyes squinting as if you had just happened to miss him. You pressed up on your toes even, giving yourself an extra inch to see him, and yet, you still could not see him. 

In a breath from your lips, you cursed so quietly that even your own ears couldn’t hear it. He invited you all the way down there, to what? Not even play? You huffed out an exaggerated breath as you stepped back so that your legs were pressed into the seat of your chair. One hand reached back to lower it for you to sit, but before you could, you felt the warmth of a large hand on your shoulder. 

Turning in place, you saw the back wall first, the number of the section in bold a few seats away, but above you, as you tilted your head back, you saw the edge of one suite. Reaching past it was a single arm clad in a suit you knew could only belong to one person. 

“Timo,” his name was a whisper on your lips as your gaze found his. 

You were breathless as you stared at him. You had almost forgotten just what shade of blue his eyes were. Not too blue that they looked cold or harsh. They were soft and bright but had an almost gray tone, like the sky as a storm rolled in. Your lip quivered as you took in the color, as if you were seeing them for the first time. And if they hadn’t been enough to captivate you so fully you had forgotten about the tens of thousands of fans that gathered for the hockey game, Timo also wore that soft smile of his that had always left you smitten with him. 

“You made it,” he spoke as he leaned over the edge just to get a little closer to you. 

“I wasn’t going to miss this,” you told him with a smile, “but I thought you’d be out there.”

Your head cocked as you pointed back over your shoulder with a thumb towards the ice where his teammates were warming up from the game. 

Timo shrugged in response, his smile wavering and his eyes shifting away from yours for a moment. He was disappointed that much was clear. Had he been expecting you to be keeping tabs on him? “Been on IR since December-”

That’s right! You remembered seeing that headline circulating your social media pages months ago. You had even skimmed one article for the reason - a mid-body injury - and you had assumed that he had healed up and been back in the roster by now. But you were wrong. 

Worst of all, you just should have called. Or texted. Anything. You should have reached out, wished him well. You should have made sure that he was okay. Maybe then the two of you could have figured out just what was going on between the two of you. Yet, you stood before him not knowing his intent, or your own, but happy to see him. 

“That’s right, but then why fly all the way out here?”

“Or you,” he said your name with a smile as he pulled back just enough to find his seat. He was just behind you, just slightly elevated. When he sat all the way back, you couldn’t see him, but as the light went dim, Timo leaned forward, keeping his arm reaching out just enough that his hand could rest on your shoulder for the duration of the game. You could feel the warmth of his touch on your shoulder throughout the night, it only left you when Timo had gotten up throughout the game – including when he stood and waved to the crowd after they played a tribute to his time on the team high above on the screens.

It was a tribute that left you in tears. 

Image by image, one video clip after the next, you were forced through the years you spent with Timo. You weren’t in a single shot, no one else in the arena knew you existed - but you could fill the gaps between each game, between each milestone because you were there for every single one. You were just sneaking around when he took his rookie lap, but you were his girlfriend by the time he scored 5 goals in two periods and everything in between - right until the trade when you felt more like an ex-girlfriend than his partner. Yet, even after so much time apart, you loved him. You could feel it then and there as you sat surrounded by people who applauded him. You could feel it from your head to the very tips of your toes. 

You wanted nothing more to turn around in place and yell it at him. To proclaim it there as the crowd roared along with the game, yet you watched in silence, and welcomed the warmth of Timo’s touch again as he settled to watch the rest of the game with you. 

The two of you remained there long after the game was over and the stands were left empty. You stared down at the empty ice, his hand giving your shoulder a careful squeeze before he spoke out, “get your ass up here.”

“They aren’t waiting for you-”

“We’re in town for the night. I can get a car back to the hotel… com’on, I should be able to help you up,” Timo assured, his arm training outstretched to you as you stood. 

You took his offer carefully, your one hand collapsing with his as the other gripped at the edge of the suite. With his help, you climbed up and over the side, before you settled in the hold of his embrace. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he whispered into your hair, and your grip on him grew a little tighter. “I’ve missed you.”

You choked back a sob, “I’ve missed you too. So much.” More than you had realized, “but you like New Jersey?”

“Love it,” he sighed, “but-”

“But?” you asked weakly. 

“You aren’t there,” you felt his entire body rise and fall in a heavy sigh, and then came the cold of the arena to creep up on you as he pulled away. But he didn’t go far. He moved just far enough away to dip a hand into his pocket. Then, he offered you one final gift. 

Timo dropped a square velvet box down into your palm. It was small, but it felt like the weight of the world in your hands as your neck snapped back to look up at him. 

“Don’t worry,” he half chuckled, “I'm not proposing, but it is a promise.”

Lifting your hand up, you pushed open the box and let your eyes all on a dainty gold ring with a large ruby accompanying an equally beautiful diamond that glimmered in the light. 

“We were still so young when we first met, you remember?” He asked slowly, one hand finding your hip to draw you back in while the other found your cheek and stroked your hair from your face. 

You nodded, your eyes still fixated on the ring. 

“We still had so much growing up to do, and we did a lot of that together. Two kids screwing around, and even as things got more serious, it didn’t feel like much more than that,” but he didn’t need to tell you that. What he had felt, were the very things you had been feeling, but while you were scared he had been feeling trapped and was using the trade to get away from you, you had been hoping it would have finally been enough to commit to you. 

Almost a year later, you were finally getting your answer. 

“But it should have been. I should have proposed. Two, maybe three years in. Before the trade happened. So long ago,” he said your name like it was a curse, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying to hide the emotion that crept up on him as he spoke. “I owed you so much more, and I’ve wasted so much of our time growing up. But I needed it. I needed that time to realize what I had, what I had lost - what I can’t afford to lose, and it’s you. It’s always been you."

“I understand that after all this time, it's too late. That you’ve moved on - or maybe you haven’t, but you want to. You don’t have to say yes, because after what I’ve done I’d be surprised if you’d even say yes to a date with me but not promising to you was the greatest regret I’ve ever had and I’d like to try and make that right, if you’d let me.”

You stared at the ring for a long time in silence. Your eyes flickered from one glimmering gemstone to the other. It was flashy for a promise ring. Expensive. One you would wear on her right finger and not her left  - because the offer required no thought. You were going to accept. 

You loved Timo, and it was clear that he loved you, too. 

“As much as I would love to see you grovel,” you grinned a little too wide as you held out your right hand. It was bare, waiting. 

“There will be so much more time for that.” His words were a playful promise as he reached out for the ring and slid it down into its place on your finger. It was perfect. 

Tears burned as they built up in your eyes at the feeling of the ring around your finger. It was one you would have to get used to, but felt right. This was the way it was meant to be. You and Timo, and you hated how long it took for you both to reach that conclusion, but you were grateful you were finally there. Pressing up onto your toes, you threw your arms around Timo. You welcomed the strength of his arms around your body, and then you welcomed his kiss. Your stomach became giddy with butterflies as if it were the very first time and you smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be the last.

[keysorsomething]

Everyone Has a Reason To Stay (Primireniye)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 7

Hello everyone, I know it's been just over a month since I posted the last part, but I'm back with this one!

Cross-posted on Ao3

Velikan didn't have to think too hard about what to do. How to keep Nikto in check.

He didn't know much about the Russian man - he was always so distant. But he was there, on that mission in Africa with the Jackals.

It had taken a lot of bribery and over a week of following the Russian, but now he has his ace. He shushes the fluffy beast as it fights to be put down. He grumbles at it, telling it to calm down, but it doesn't listen. It probably doesn't even understand him.

Still, with all of the struggle, he manages to get the wild animal to the door. He places the beast down, straightening up to knock on the door before the thought that it will run off spoils it. He swings his leg over it, like how you get on a horse, using his knees to keep it from scrambling.

He grumbles - standing like this is not comfortable at all - before knocking at the door.

He hears the grumbles of Russian cursing, and the door swings open with a defined “Иди на хуй!” before the man stops. It’s a disturbing sight, watching him go from a full swing of movement to as still as a statue. “Oh, Velikan,” he mumbles, “We thought-” Velikan cuts him off with a grumble and pushes a small envelope into his hands, before shifting his legs to let the hyena held by them go.

The beast rushes forward, nearly toppling the Russian man as it begs for his attention. Velikan nods to him and is nodded to in return. The door shuts, and Velikan slips back to his own room.

He just hopes Dimtry was right with this plan.

Nikto is bewildered, reading over the pretty, collected Cyrillic writing on the letter. It tells him to be good - to not get in too much trouble. Sloppier handwriting tells him to save the nose-breaking for the field, encouraging him to show off some time and lamenting the writer won’t be there to see it. A third writer taunts him, telling him to keep the hyena fed and clean as it’s the only body that will keep his bed warm now - before telling him not to watch a film without them.

There’s a fourth paragraph, the shortest one, that talks about their time in the Allegiance. It tells Nikto how proud the author was. “There was a reason I picked you. You were a good soldier,” the writing is the most swirly - traditional Russian cursive burning the blue eyes that scan it. Nikto’s head is jumbled, it had been far too long since he had read anything in his language. He blinks in confusion at the names signed at the bottom of the page:

Дмитрий

МИНОТАВР

Нико

Коля)

Nikto is surprised at the dull ache in his chest. The creeping feeling of nostalgia at the edges of his mind. The smell of the dog shampoo Rodion used on Sputnik creeps up into his nostrils, seeping into the mask at a suffocating rate. His hands shake.

…Do they?

Is that blood in his mouth? Is he biting his lip? He can’t tell. Nor can he tell if that is the paper crinkling in his hands. Everything is silent. Or muted, like he had been hit with a stun. His brain is fuzzy, oh so fuzzy.

His brain is always fuzzy.

He can not tell what time it is in his room. There are no clocks, no natural light. He does not mean to keep it that way. Still, it feels late at night - 2am, or perhaps 4. Or maybe it feels like the afternoon, on a slow day. A day after a long mission, when he lays dully in his bed, eyes barely open. He can not remember when he’d done this - if he’d done this, but the thought is there.

He kneels down, placing the paper on the floor and letting fur meet him. The hyena laughs, standing on his knees. Its body twitches, sides pulling in and pushing out as it sniffs at his face. It is fluffy, the thick fur coat from its winters in the outskirts of Moscow yet to thin out. What season was it? Would he begin to shed, or was he just building it?

Where were they? Would he need such a thick coat?

Sound returns to Nikto as he thinks about the hyena. His other senses do, too. He blinks slowly, looking around. The hyena is heavy on him, and there’s pressure on his face, his mask pushing into him. His hands come up to the beast’s fluffy side, feeling the fullness of the being.

“Спутник,” Nikto whispers, turning to meet the snout pushing into his face. He lets out a sigh. “You are back with me,” He blinks, taking a moment as he studies the image of the animal in front of him. It squeals, tail whipping through the air enough to cause the sound of breaking air, the one you hear at the drop of a rollercoaster, or the sound of rushing wind past your ears, through your hair, as you ride through the streets with the windows of the car down.

Nikodim always used to do that. Nikto could remember, just enough. Just enough to make that ache more present in his heart. He does not remember it enough to see it, or does he? Can he see the image of the young man, much younger than the rest of the soldiers in the Allegiance, short hair whipping across his face and over the seat back, all four windows down as he drives far too fast with that awful American trash pop blasting out into the crisp air? Was that an image he had ever seen?

Nikto could not remember. He could not tell if the image he was seeing was one of his own creation, of his brain’s creation. He did not know if there was more than those vile blotches, empty spots in his head, hid.

He wanted it back. He wanted all of it back.

Well…. maybe not all.

Nikto swallows thickly, “I will not leave you behind again,” He announces to the beast. “We will be together. “всегда́,” He mumbles, pressing his face into the hyena’s. “We will get you ужин, Да?” The hyena pants as he stands, obeying the soft order of “Сидеть,” while the shadow of his owner slips into the darkness of the hall, once more melting into nothing.

The shape strikes again.

Luckily, the only casualty this time is a hunk of brisket Graves was set to cook.

Something the rest of the site is very thankful for.

(Translations:

Primireniye (примирение): Russian; reconciliation

Дмитрий: Russian; Cyrillic spelling of Dimtry

МИНОТАВР: Russian; MINOTAUR

Нико: Russian; Cyrillic spelling of Niko

Коля: Russian; Cyrillic spelling of Koyla (common diminutive of Nikolai)

Спутник: Russian; Cyrillic spelling of Sputnik

всегда́: Russian; forever

ужин: Russian, dinner/evening meal

Да: Russian; yes

Сидеть: Russian; stay)

(An hour or so before)

Velikan stands outside, eyes flicking around the dark corners every now and again. Oh, Graves was going to jump his ass tomorrow. But, you were so sad when you came to him. And Velikan was only so trusted to catch Nikto’s hands.

He was nothing like the men he had contacted. Nowhere near as important - not that that upset him. He could handle being underneath the men. Though he was very careful not to mention too much about you, he was sure that would just crush the little heart of the young man he was there to meet tonight.

Speaking of which, a nice car pulls into the dark lot. It was pretty much abandoned - no one goes to Arby’s this late. Well, do they ever? That doesn’t matter, right now. Velikan’s back straightens as he stands, stepping away from the truck he was leaning on. The car stops, the loud bass through it shutting off quickly.

“Блять, Niko!” The hiss of a familiar voice enters the air. “Ти мало не влаштував мені серцевий напад!” He scolds.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Nikodim’s reply came back, desperate.

“You drive like a maniac,” Yegor responds, stepping out of the car. His eyes settle on Velikan fast, approaching him calmly. Rodion stays behind, coaxing the hyena out of the car. Yegor watches, arms crossing. “До біса цей російський, making me babysit,” He mumbles to Velikan, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that was Nikolai’s favorite thing to do,” Velikan responds, nodding his head.

Yegor turns to him, brows furrowed, “Що?” He asks. Velikan lets out a loud grunt and nods more obviously to show that he is agreeing. Yegor nods too, before sighing. “But Rodion is not a bad kid, he is just…” He gestures toward the man, and Velikan nods.

“Godspeed,” He grunts out, patting Yegor’s shoulder. Rodion approaches, hyena on a leash. Oh, God, what was Velikan doing? This motherfucker was going to get him put on Fatal Attractions. He is compelled to agree with Yegor. Goddamn Nikolai for putting him in this position. For hiring him, so he had to meet Nikto, so he had to be the one you went to to keep him in check, so he had to talk to Dmitry, so he had to get a hyena from Rodion. This was too much. Why did he agree, again?

That doesn’t matter as he opens the back door of the truck to help Rodion load Sputnik into the back seat. The whole time, Rodion is fussing about making sure the hyena is happy.

“He takes his orders in Russian, he doesn’t know English,” The young man explains, going on to list things like sit and heel, before he turns to Velikan. The masked man was busy adjusting the blanket he had set down on the seats before he had his shoulders grabbed and he was whipped around. “And tell him Молодец when he follows an order, okay?” He speaks, eyes low. “Okay? He has to know he’s done a good job. He’s a good boy,” Velikan nods, grunting lowly.

“Rodion get in the car,” Yegor orders, causing the youngest man to flinch.

“Молодец!” He re-affirms to Velikan, before slipping away and taking his seat back in the sports car.

Yegor huffs, rolling his eyes, before approaching Velikan with a white envelope, “A letter, for Nikto. I… did not participate, we didn’t speak much. But everyone in the Spetsnaz wrote something. I even got Nikolai to write a little.”

Velikan grips the paper, “Krueger?”

Yegor looks down, letting the paper go, “немає,” he shakes his head. Velikan looks down at the paper. He uses his other hand to move the mask, slipping the bottom off. As much as he likes his mask, he needs this question answered.

“Is he dead?” He asks, hidden eyes flickering over Yegor’s face. The Ukrainian man shakes his head.

“Not as far as I know,” He responds, “Just… MIA.”

“Ah,” Velikan nods, “Good luck with the kid,” He mumbles, pushing his mask back into place. Yegor chuckles.

“Good luck with the beast,” Yegor responds.

Velikan chuckles, “The hyena or Nikto?”

They laugh together for a moment before they turn separate ways and enter their respective cars.

Now all there was between him and his good night's sleep is a good old military man-pet reunion.

(Блять: Russian/Ukrainian; Vulgar exclamation (akin to fuck! or shit!)

Ти мало не влаштував мені серцевий напад!: Ukranian; You almost gave me a heart attack!

До біса цей російський: Ukranian; To hell with that Russian

Що: Ukrainian; What?

Молодец: Russian; Well done

немає: Ukrainian; No)

[shares-a-vest]

A sequel to THIS Steddie ficlet but you don't really have to have read it.

Nancy finishes up signing her name with a flourish on the inside of the greeting card she’d bought for Robin for Valentine’s Day. She sets her red sparkly gel pen down on the desk and admires her work. Excellent. Perfectly balanced cursive writing and not a mistake in sight. Poetic and just a little naughty - nothing like Eddie’s card that she had had the displeasure of seeing in full view on the floor of Family Video.

At least it was spirited, unique and honest.

But her card still feels like it’s missing something.

She lifts the card to her lips and stops just short of leaving a lipstick stain on it. Robin probably won’t like that. She’d say something about someone having their mouth all over her Valentine’s Day card, even if it is her own girlfriend.

She looks around at her dresser and contemplates spraying the card with perfume. But she scrunches her nose, thinking Robin probably wouldn’t like a strong scent coming from it either. Turning back to her desk, she decides on a few hand-drawn flowers sprinkled over the inside of the card. Robin will surely give her something handmade (as she always does).

Using a pink marker pen, Nancy carefully surrounds her writing with daisies in varying sizes, the easiest flower for her to draw somewhat competently. As she goes, she inches closer and closer to the surface of her desk, tongue poking out in concentration as she begins adding a peppering of little stars too.

“Um, Nancy?”

She makes what can only be described as a mouse-like squeak noise at the sound of Mike’s interruption. She clutches the marker in her hand, stopping herself from smearing it across Robin’s card. She carefully lifts her hand from the cardstock and clips the cap safely onto the pink marker before spinning around to find Mike lingering at her bedroom door.

“What?” she asks, unable to hide her frustration.

“Are you leaving yet?” he asks, bounding into her bedroom and looking like he's rearing to go somewhere.

Somewhere that presumably requires her to drive him.

“Soon,” she says, giving her brother a tight-lipped, sarcastic smile.

“Can you drive me to Hop’s?” he asks, picking at the bottom seam of his Hellfire shirt.

“Spending the evening with Will, are we?” she teases.

Mike groans and flops back on her bed, sending a pink decorative cushion toppling off the edge where it wedges itself between the mattress and side table.

“I have a card to give him,” he says, staring at the ceiling.

“Good,” she smiles and decides she should probably set aside her card to help out the lump currently sighing and squirming (and messing up the bedspread) on her bed. “You aren’t planning on wearing that, are you?”

Mike rolls onto his stomach to look at her with a look of complete incredulity. Or maybe it’s cluelessness.

Admittedly, that came out meaner and more accusatory than she meant it.

She sighs. Of course, Mike doesn’t know that on Valentine's Day maybe he shouldn’t wear his nerd uniform.

“Just… Anything but that,” she says, even though that doesn’t seem to help either.

Her brother just blinks, kicking his feet.

So she stands up with a huff and gestures to the door. Mike stands and looks her up and down, suspicious.

“You are going to help me pick out something?” he asks, dumbfounded. “For Valentine’s Day? To wear to Will’s house?”

“And politely make suggestions about what you could do that doesn’t involve hanging out in an overcrowded cabin reading comic books, yes.”

And that’s how Nancy spends part of her night chauffeuring around Mike and Will. First picking up Robin, negotiating the change of plans with much protest. Then heading out to the Hooper-Byers’ cabin to pick Will up. Then driving them to the diner which the boys had to settle for because there was no way Nancy was going to have them in Enzo’s a table away from her and Robin. And she wasn't giving up any of her money to Mike, either. Nor did she want to drop them off at the pizza parlour which is where she knew Steve and Eddie would be at some point.

She finally pulls into the car park beside Enzo’s and cuts the engine.

“So,” she starts, clicking off her seatbelt and turning to her date, beaming.

“So?” Robin echos, trying to look inside the restaurant windows.

“I have a card for you,” Nancy says and reaches around to fish in the back for her handbag.

She feels around for it and finds it has been kicked under the passenger’s seat.

“Oh no!” she exclaims and Robin whips around, reaching for it with ease.

“What is it?” she asks, mirroring Nancy’s panic as she hands her the bag.

“Your card!” she says, sniffling. 

Nancy is a little surprised that she's this upset about it. Even though it’s her own damn fault for leaving a soft-fabric bag in the vicinity of two fidgeting and oblivious fifteen-year-olds. She relents and hands the crinkled envelope to Robin.

She tries not to watch as Robin carefully opens it, looking the card over before flipping it open and reading it.

“Wow,” Robin says after a minute.

“You like it?” she says, wide-eyed and hopeful.

“This is so much better than Eddie’s card,” Robin says, giving a belated shudder.

Nancy tuts and rolls her eyes. Robin was so dramatic about Eddie’s card. Even after Steve read it fully, she couldn’t help herself from both scolding him for its contents and asking him for details.

“Not the reaction I wanted,” Nancy sighs, looking at her feet.

She looks over the floor mats and thinks about how her car is in desperate need of a cleaning as she scuffs a pebble under her flats. She only breaks away from her stray thought as Robin shuffles through the ridiculously large handbag at her feet.

“Here!” she declares, holding up a crumpled envelope in victory and promptly hands it over. “Eddie, I loathe to admit, inspired a similarly flirtatious greeting card. Although mine is far less eloquent than yours. Somewhere between the obscenity of Poet Munson and Romanticist Wheeler.”

[tomhiddleston]

One More Tomorrow (Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader) - Chapter II.

CHAPTER I.

Summary: Billy's crush returns to The Halcyon for her seventeenth birthday and the two of them enjoy more chances to grow closer.

Pairing: Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader (third person)

TW: so much fluff, blink and you miss it Billy having some impure thoughts, mention of death of a parent, Billy being Billy again

Word Count: 5.5k+

A/N: I love Billy Taylor so much that I want to scream, explode out of my body, and ascend to the moon. That's the author's note. Also, thanks again to @valeskafics for giving this a read-through for me! c:

Disclaimer: I do not own any The Halcyon characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are always appreciated!

Art deco dividers by @saradika

It is the longest summer of Billy’s life, waiting for the months to tick by and November to finally arrive. Every day is just another shift. The same old thing day in and day out. Now and then, Billy catches himself staring wistfully at the marble staircase as though he will see her coming down to have lunch with her father or pop out for a bit of shopping. He even starts dreaming about her. About taking her dancing or going on a drive through the country. One morning he wakes up blushing after dreaming about her in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle toward him in a church filled to the brim with white roses. 

Does she dream about him, too?

The stiflingly hot summer months wane on and Billy continually bothers Mr. Garland about the Greenes’ return visit to The Halcyon. Every time he asks, the answer is the same: there has been no request yet about any birthday party, whether for Mr. Greene or his daughter. Billy starts to wonder if she won’t return in the fall. If, maybe, she’s found a beau in Birmingham - one she would rather celebrate her birthday with. One her father might actually approve of.

He starts to mope around The Halcyon when August turns into September with still no word, enough that even Mr. Garland begins to notice. His mum, Peggy, has seen the most of his gloomy mood out of anyone, what with having to watch him drag his feet around their house every morning and night. “It’s about that girl again,” she tells Mr. Garland and both share a sigh. Young love can be such an overwhelming, complicated thing. But this is Billy’s first time coming face to face with it, and she hates to see her sweet boy - her eldest child and only son - like this.

Peggy is, therefore, elated when a letter arrives at The Halcyon addressed to Billy. When he arrives to have tea with her that afternoon, she wiggles her finger at the mailboxes beside her desk and tells him to look. 

But who would write to him? His confused expression only warrants a smile from his mother.

“It’s from Birmingham, Billy.”

He very nearly throws his teacup to the ground to lunge for the letter. Sure enough, that’s his name written in delicate cursive on the back of the envelope. His heart is pounding out of his chest as he tears open the letter and finds an automobile sketch inside with a single folded piece of paper. A handwritten letter so perfect that it almost looks printed.

Dear Billy,

Mr. Garland said you liked my father’s automobiles, so I managed to get one of his original sketches of the Model F for you. It’s not much, but I hope you will like it all the same.

I’ll see you in November.

She’s signed the letter “yours truly.” Not “sincerely,” not “regards.” He’ll be pouring over the meaning of that one for days. But, no matter the meaning of the signature… she’s remembered him. She’s thought of him. She’s taken the time to write to him! And she does still plan on returning to The Halcyon. 

Suddenly, his dreary summer no longer feels so dreary.

November 1939.

The leaves on the trees lining the streets of London have turned orange and fallen. The grass, once kissed with glittering morning dew, slumps from the heavy frost that coats it each sunrise. It hasn’t snowed yet, but winter’s chill is beginning to set in in earnest. 

None of the ladies at The Halcyon dare step through the front doors without their heavy coats, gloves, and scarves any longer lest they catch their death, they lament. The fireplaces roar at all hours to offer some heat to the towering lobby. The doormen keep the doors shut as much as possible to trap the warmth inside. Cold manages to seep in every now and then when an unfortunately timed breeze blows through just as someone is stepping in or out, but it’s never severe enough to linger.

It is only a few weeks before The Halcyon’s lobby will be stripped of its usual flowers, vases, and other decorative trinkets and decked out in full Christmastime splendor. But first, the hotel must play host to the seventeenth birthday party of a certain young woman. And her father has spared no expense in decorating the lobby and the bar for the occasion. 

Before the Greenes even arrive, the lobby is filled with dozens of arrangements of white and pink roses in gold vases. Mr. Greene even commissioned a special tiered gold chandelier for the occasion, which hangs low over a stunning centerpiece of peonies, hydrangeas, roses, and lilies enhanced with sparkling Swarovski crystals. 

The other bellboys whinge about the decorations being too much, but Billy just brushes them off. He knows in his heart that they aren’t enough. Every flower in the world wouldn’t be enough to match her beauty.

He’s proven himself correct when the front doors swing open and she walks in, arm linked with her father’s while the other holds onto her dog’s lead. Billy has made sure that he is the one to take her coat and hat. He notices the coy smile on her rouged lips as he slips the coat off of her shoulders and the soft blush that blooms on her cheeks when his fingers brush against her upper arm. 

“Hello, miss,” he mutters softly, unable to hide his own smile. His heart is full to bursting at being so close to her again. The warm, rosy scent of her perfume is filling his nostrils and making his head spin.

“Hi,” she whispers over her shoulder, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s good to see you.”

“You…” Billy’s mouth has gone so dry that he can’t finish what was meant to be a two-word sentence. He clears his throat to no avail. “Uh huh.”

She’s quickly whisked away by her father and Mr. Garland, who are eager to show off the decorations to her. It’s clear that she isn’t used to such grand gestures, seeing how she nervously clasps her hands in front of her and shifts from one foot to the other. Billy drinks in the sight of her, in her pale blue dress that he guesses has been tailored to fit her judging by the way it so perfectly hugs her every curve. His eyes linger perhaps a little too long on her bum because he hears Feldman clear his throat. 

“Come along, lover boy. Luggage to unload.”

Billy doesn’t see her again until the following afternoon, when he is sent up to her room to take her dog out for a walk. She’s otherwise preoccupied, Feldman says. If it were for anyone else - even His Lordship himself - Billy would have groaned and grumbled about having to stumble about the streets of London being dragged along by a dog. He doesn’t even want to think about the more than few occasions when he’s lost control of a dog’s lead and left the guest’s beloved pet to run amok in the streets. He’s had to dodge cars chasing after more than one poodle or bulldog, only to return to The Halcyon completely out of breath and with his bellboy hat and cloak all askew.

But he won’t let that happen to her dog. There is no way that he will treat this dog as anything but the most precious jewel in the world. 

Walking toward the lobby, he has wrapped the lead around his wrist twice so there is no possibility for the dog to break free. He does thank his lucky stars that the dog is so small and well behaved. Even less of a chance to muck things up. Still… he can’t help but feel nerves churning in his stomach at the thought of something happening to the animal.

“Alright there, Clara?” he asks the corgi as she trots along happily beside him down the stairs. “It’s you and me today. Please be good, yeah?”

“Don’t worry. She always is.” 

Billy freezes. He knows that voice. 

When he looks up, his eyes meet hers. He’s been standing at his post by the door all day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but he wasn’t expecting to see her right now. His free hand tugs at his uniform jacket to make sure he looks perfectly tidy and in order.

“Clara, are you going for a walk with Billy today?” She coos in a high-pitched voice to the dog, who spins in a circle in excitement. He watches a small crinkle form at the corner of her eye as she smiles at her beloved pet. Her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold and her hair is windswept, but she still looks as lovely as ever. “Do you… mind if I join you?”

“N-not at all,” Billy replies, sounding more nervous than he’d like to. “Bit cold out, though.” No, he reprimands himself. Don’t try to dissuade her, you idiot! He’s fidgeting with his hands again like he does every time he talks to her. Get it together, Billy.

“It is, but… I need a break from all this last-minute party planning. If I have to look at another table setting, I think I’ll die of boredom.” She rolls her eyes dramatically to emphasize her hyperbole, but Billy still prickles at the mere thought of it. 

“I don’t want you to die,” he responds with a little too much sincerity. But he means it. He can’t think of anything that would be worse.

“All the more reason for me to join you, then, Billy.” 

Her smile softens the tightness in his jaw. He offers a crooked grin in return, but he’s kicking himself inside. Will he ever stop making a fool of himself in front of this girl? He could tell himself a thousand times to act normally around her and he would still muck it all up the second he opens his mouth to speak to her. And yet, she doesn’t seem to mind? She might even… like him? 

He reckons he’ll never understand girls.

Their walk with Clara winds up being the longest they’ve ever spent alone together. It’s so much more than a stolen glance across the hotel lobby or a few minutes spent chatting when he brings her tea. They are strolling through Hyde Park side by side, almost in a world of their own. This isn’t the time of year when mums are out with their babies in prams or old couples are walking hand in hand among the trees. Due to the cold, the park is uncharacteristically empty and quiet, save for their own shoes crunching along the stone path and the jingle of Clara’s collar.

But the very best part is that Billy has gotten a chance to hold a proper conversation with her. If by “conversation” he means “letting her tell him about herself while he bloody clams up yet again.” She tells him about her life in Birmingham, about a book she’s reading, about her father’s company. Anything and everything. He’s happy to hear her talk. He’d listen to her read the dictionary aloud if it meant he could hear the sound of her bright, sweet voice. She has a way of softening the inflection at the end of her sentences that is so warm, so comforting. 

“Billy.” His head snaps toward her like it does every time she says his name. “Is it true that your mum works at The Halcyon, too?”

“Yeah… she’s the telephonist.”

“Oh. I’ve spoken to her, then.” A realization dawns on her and she laughs, throwing her head back in a way that makes his ears go hot. “Oh… Mrs. Taylor. I’m so silly. I should have known. She seems nice.” 

“She is.” Billy wrinkles his nose. “Bit overbearing, though. Sometimes…” He’s convinced that his mum still sees him as her little boy the way she treats him at times. Fussing over his hair, fixing his collar, tying his shoes. As if he isn’t turning eighteen next year. 

“Yeah, but that’s just her being your mum, isn’t it? They’re supposed to be like that. It just means she loves you.”

Billy shrugs. Doesn’t make his mum any less annoying about it. “What about your mum?” 

He realizes he’s well and truly stepped in it when he sees her face fall. He had wondered why only she and her father had been to The Halcyon, but guessed that maybe her mum didn’t fancy traveling. But the way she purses her lips and stares at her feet as they continue walking suggests something else. 

“She died when I was four.” 

“Oh–” Billy feels his heart sink at having brought up such a sorrowful memory. He wants to apologize a million times and it wouldn’t be enough to convey how sorry he is.

“Please don’t feel bad about asking. It’s been so long that I… I don’t really remember her. It’s just been me and dad all this time. And he makes sure I know that I’m loved.” She laughs dryly. “I mean, look at how completely overboard he’s gone with this birthday party. I guess that’s his version of being overbearing.”

Billy’s expression softens. “Well, but… you deserve it, though. I’d throw you a party like that. If I had the money.” He realizes what he’s just said and hurriedly attempts to cover his tracks. “I mean…! If I was your dad. No–” Bloody hell, you’ve just made it worse. 

She laughs in the same way she does whenever he fumbles over his words with her. Not laughing at him, not laughing like he’s stupid like other people tend to do. It’s a genuine, sweet laugh accompanied by that glimmer in her eyes that he loves so much. He pulls his lips inward as he feels new heat rush to his cheeks. 

“Did you get my letter, Billy? From this summer?”

His previous embarrassment almost completely forgotten, his face lights up in a wide grin. He becomes more animated than he’s ever been around her, almost bouncing along the path beside her. She clearly notices, judging by the way she smiles.

“Oh, god. Yeah, I did…! That sketch by your dad… that was bloody incredible!”  

She laughs again, a laugh that seems to warm the air around them. “I’m so glad you liked it.” 

“Liked it? I… I loved it. The Model F is the most brilliant car on the market. But you… know that…” Billy stops himself before he begins to fanboy even more. He feels a little flutter in his heart as he glances sideways at her, though. He dips his head a bit in a moment of sudden bashfulness. “Can’t believe you… you know. Thought of me.”

“‘Course I did.”

Billy turns it over again and again in his mind, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. If he weren’t such an idiot, he’d come right out and ask her. But the words bloom and die on his tongue in an instant. 

He can’t remember a time when a girl ever looked twice at him, let alone thought of him when they weren’t together. Had she really taken time to think about him when she had returned home to Birmingham? Did she think of him when she took tea every afternoon, or when she removed her coat upon stepping inside her house? 

His silence eventually prompts her to prod him with a question of her own.

“Did… you think of me, too, Billy?”

His eyes are wide when he turns to her. He doesn’t mean to stare at her like some startled animal, but he can’t bloody help it. The thought of divulging the truth to her strikes the fear of God in him. 

“Yeah, I did,” is all he can manage to push past the frog in his throat.

Yes, he thought of her. He thought of her every morning as he stepped foot into the hotel lobby. He thought of her whenever he passed the flower shop at the end of his street and smelled the freshly cut roses they had for sale. He thought of her on rainy days, on sunny days. He thought of her morning and night. 

Even his younger sister, Dora, eventually started to notice how Billy seemed to float around their house whenever he would start to think about her. Being only eight years old, it had been a prime opportunity for the younger Taylor sibling to tease her brother relentlessly. But not even Dora’s incessant needling could have dissuaded Billy from thinking about the charming, beautiful girl from Birmingham who had smiled at him and made him feel wanted. Nothing could.

That’s what Billy would have said to her if he’d had the courage to do so. 

Instead, he just manages to flash a shy little smile that seems to satisfy her because she responds with one of her own. 

“Will I see you around at my party tomorrow night?” 

“Yeah… I’ll be working.” 

She doesn’t know that he begged and pleaded with one of the other bellboys to switch shifts with him so that he could be there. He doesn’t tend to work such late evenings. His mum prefers him to be home for dinner. But he would have done anything to be there for her party, even if it means that he will be stood by the door taking hats and coats all night.

“I wish you could come to the party itself,” she mutters softly, perhaps thinking that he can’t hear her. She sounds so earnest that it gives him butterflies. “My dad and my cousin Margaret won’t tell me what they’ve got planned, but I think it'll be a real gas.”

Billy knows he may be a bit daft sometimes, but he isn’t stupid enough to think that he could be anything but a bellboy at her party. When he’s alone with her, it feels a bit like they aren’t from different social classes. That the earrings she wears aren’t real diamonds and her clothes haven’t come from the finest shops in London. That he isn’t a lad from down the street who’s never owned anything that wasn’t second hand. She treats him like he’s someone. Someone worth talking to, worth listening to. Someone who is more than just another worker whose name she’ll forget by the next day.

It brings him crashing back down to earth every time he steps out of their little bubble and back into the real world. In the end, he’s just a bellboy. And she’s a beautiful heiress. Love, affection, even friendship between people like them is something forbidden. That is something that Billy must constantly remind himself of. It hangs in the very air around them whenever he is with her. But it does not stop him from wanting her.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time,” Billy says, and he means it. “I hope you do.”

Billy laments that they’ve been walking for long enough that The Halcyon has come back into view. Their approach spells the end of their walk together. It’s a return to that real world where they must go their separate ways; him, to his work, and her, to her glittering, beautiful life. 

The hotel lobby welcomes them back with the warmth of the fireplaces, which helps them begin to shake off the November chill. Theirs is a quick goodbye as her cousin pulls her away, shrilly and breathlessly admonishing her for disappearing when there is still so much to do for the party. But she’s sure to give Billy one last tender smile before she disappears into the restaurant.

There’s hardly any room to breathe, let alone move, through The Halcyon lobby on the night of her seventeenth birthday party. If anyone thought there had been too many flowers in the room before, then they would have had to rethink their definition of “excess” upon seeing the state of the lobby tonight. 

Flowers, mostly white roses, cover every pillar, frame every doorway, cover every rung on the bannister. There is even an archway created entirely from flowers at the top of the staircase - the perfect setting for the birthday girl’s grand entrance. And the gold accents have only been expanded upon since the day before. In some places, the light bounces off of the gold candelabras and vases in such a way that it casts a warm reflection on the walls and floor. It’s the most extravagant affair that Billy has seen at The Halcyon in more than a year of working there.

And it’s all for her.

The buzz in the room dies down in an instant when Mr. Greene appears in the archway at the top of the stairs, delivering a short speech about the gathering of family and friends that is eloquent without any of the stuffiness of having been rehearsed. It’s clear by the reaction of the crowd that he has a natural charisma about him - something that his daughter has clearly inherited from him. 

Billy’s eyes widen as she steps out from behind the flowers after being beckoned by her father. There must be a hundred people packed into the lobby, but it’s as though a spotlight has been shined on her. Flash bulbs pop and the room erupts into applause. But all that seems to exist in this moment… is her.

Billy enjoys the perfect view of her from where he stands beside Feldman by front doors. She’s wearing her hair in an elegant updo with roses pinned into her low bun. Her gold floor length gown cascades around her like a sparkling waterfall, flowing over each step of the staircase as she and her father begin to descend arm in arm. The dress is modest, with long sleeves and a v-neck that doesn’t show off too much. But the gold fabric gathers at the waist in a way that accentuates her lovely figure. Billy can’t help but bristle at the thought of all the young men who will get to dance with her tonight and rest their hands on the soft curve of her waist.

But when her eyes meet his from across the room - however briefly - all his jealousy and longing melts away in an instant. 

Billy spends the rest of the evening at his post but finds himself craning his neck each time the door to the hotel bar opens, on the off chance that he will catch a glimpse of her in her beautiful gold dress. He thinks he does once or twice, but he can never be sure. 

The night wanes on and Billy begins to yawn. He’s never worked this late before. If he wasn’t here, he’d probably be fast asleep by now. Feldman tries to send him home at half past eleven, but he just shrugs him off. 

“Billy, you’re falling asleep standing up. Go home.”

Billy hums and shakes his head, lifting a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “Can’t go yet.”

“What are you waiting for, Billy? For me to have to carry your ugly mug home because you’ve fallen asleep on the job?” Feldman’s rising annoyance with him makes him blush.

“I…” Billy stares at his feet. “Could you do me a favor, Feldman?”

Fifteen minutes later, Billy is pacing back and forth in the dark restaurant on the opposite end of the hotel from the bar. The chairs have been flipped and placed atop the tables for the night. The silverware sits, polished and ready for the next day. The curtains are drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows, with only the softest light from the street lamps outside filtering through them. Only the sconces on either side of the door offer any real light to the room. 

Billy has removed his bellboy hat and nervously sweeps his palm over his slicked-back hair to ensure that not even a single hair is out of place. In his free hand, he clutches a small, wrapped box with such a vice grip that his knuckles have gone white. And he continues to pace and pace and pace while he waits for the restaurant door to open.

When he sees the small crack of light at the door begin to grow and spread across the carpet, he stands at full attention with his hands behind his back. Somehow, his heart begins to beat more quickly than it already has been when she peers around the door. Her furrowed brow softens the moment she lays eyes on him.

“Billy… hi.” She’s smiling, and the light beside the door hits her face in a way that gives her an angelic glow. “Heard you wanted to see me.”

If only she knew just how badly he’s wanted to see her all night. He drinks in the sight of her, looking her up and down. He notices little details that he didn’t see from across the room earlier. The teardrop earrings she’s wearing that match her necklace. The little curled strands of hair that fall on either side of her face. The pink lipstick that’s different from the red she usually wears. He’s sure to be quick about it, not wanting it to seem like he’s asked her there just to ogle at her. 

“You look…” 

“Exhausted?” She jokes, but the sincerity on his face gives her pause.

“Beautiful.”

The lighting may be a bit rubbish for seeing her properly, but even he can tell that he’s made her blush. Her hand flies to her cheek as if to hide her smile. Her eyes fall to the floor. Surely she’s been complimented dozens of times tonight. He reckons - he hopes - that his has meant the most of them all.

“Thank you, Billy,” she breathes, finally pulling herself together enough to respond. “You look handsome, too.”

He’s caught completely off guard. The very air seems to leave his lungs. At first, all he can do is shake his head and let out a nervous laugh. “I’m… just in me uniform…” 

She takes a step toward him and he swallows hard. It still feels so hard to bloody breathe. “But you always look handsome… doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”

It’s by some small miracle that Billy doesn’t fall to the ground unconscious right then and there. He very nearly drops the gift he’s still holding behind his back. It’s only when he has to fumble to catch it so it doesn’t tumble to the ground that he remembers why he had Feldman have her come see him.

“I… I, uh…” he flounders trying to speak again. “Bout to be off for the night, but, uh… didn’t wanna leave til…” He clears his throat. “Til I gave you this.”

“What?” He sees her eyes narrow suspiciously, although she keeps her lips turned up in a smile.  

Billy takes a step toward her, dotting out his tongue to wet his lips. “Close your eyes… and hold out your hands.” 

She does exactly as he asks, letting her eyes fall closed before she extends her perfectly manicured hands. Into her cupped palms, he placed the little box he’s kept in his locker all night. He’s seen the pile of gifts that she’s received tonight, the big boxes with their shiny wrapping paper and bags tied up with perfect bows. The one in her hands is no bigger than a makeup compact, and wrapped in crinkled newspaper with a paltry, crooked bow made out of twine. It’s hardly the most glamorous gift she’s gotten, probably ever. He almost feels embarrassed as he sees it resting atop her hands.

When she opens her eyes and sees what he’s given her, she doesn’t react in disappointment. Rather, Billy watches her face light up in a smile.

“Billy… you didn’t have to–”  

Billy rocks back onto his heels and offers a little shrug. “I know… but I… I had to get you something for your birthday. You only turn seventeen once.”

She’s holding the little gift as though it’s a delicate baby bird. “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Well, I– I mean, you don’t have to…” What if she didn’t like it? She wouldn’t have to pretend to be grateful if he wasn’t there when she unwrapped her gift.

But his words go in one of her ears and out of the other. She carefully plucks the bow open and unveils the ruby red box that’s been hiding beneath the newspaper. Inside it, she finds a delicate rose brooch. The stem is made out of a shiny gold that matches all the gold accents dotted about the hotel lobby. The petals themselves are white. Billy thinks he remembers the shopkeeper say that it’s porcelain. 

“Happy birthday.”

“Oh, Billy…” she whispers as she admires the brooch.

He saved up for months to buy it for her after seeing it in the window of the pawn shop down the road from his house on his way home from work one day. His mum and dad usually expect him to chip in for necessities now that he’s employed. “It’s your money, Billy,” his mum said to him when he asked if he could keep a little more to save for the brooch. He put away every penny he could after that. What should have taken him six months to save up, he saved in only four. 

“I, uh… saw it and thought of you,” Billy says warmly. “I know how you… like roses and all…” 

She delicately lifts the brooch from its box and lays it flat in her palm to see it better in the light. She turns it over and over again, treasuring every last detail. And all the while, the smile in her eyes shimmers brighter than the sun.

“Billy, this is so… incredible. It’s beautiful…” 

“Yeah…?” He feels a sense of pride, hearing her genuine gratitude and seeing her joy. 

“Yeah.” She finally looks up at him and he felt his stomach flip. “Billy, it’s perfect. I love it. I love it so much…” She reaches out to take his hand and wraps her fingers around his. Her touch is soft and warm against the calloused pads of his fingers and palm. Bloody hell, how many times can he nearly faint in front of her in one evening?

For a fleeting moment, there’s a force that draws them closer to one another. His senses are overwhelmed by the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her hand in his, the sight of her face so close to his. But he’s a bloody idiot as always and stands completely frozen in place. He wants to lean down and press his lips to hers, but his muscles won’t move.

He clears his throat. “Can I… put it on for you?” 

He sees disappointment flash across her face before she pulls away. She’s quick to replace it with a sweet grin, but he knows he’s missed his chance. He’ll be kicking himself for weeks for this. Stupid, stupid coward. 

“Please.” 

His hands are shaking as he takes the brooch from her and fumbles to clasp it to the front of her dress, just below her left shoulder. 

“How does it look?” she asks.

Billy can think of a million ways to describe her beauty in this moment. Not just the way the brooch looks on her, but everything about her. In the end, he smiles crookedly and settles on the one he thinks encapsulates her best.

“Exquisite.” 

Their time together is short as always. Her party can’t go on without the guest of honor and he can finally allow Feldman to send him home now that he’s given her her gift. His mum’s probably waiting up to make sure he gets home safe and it’s nearing midnight, now.

“Billy, we’re leaving for home in the morning,” she tells him as if he doesn’t already know that. “I guess… you’re off tomorrow.”

In any other situation, he’d be glad that Feldman wasn’t making him come in first thing after working such a late shift. But now it means that he won’t be there to see her off like he did the last time. 

“Can I write to you again, Billy? After I get home?” 

“Of course.” His earlier embarrassment at having denied her a kiss is somewhat dulled by the assurance that she wants to keep in touch. “But my handwriting’s a bit rubbish…”

She laughs. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’d… like to see it. Be sure to write back. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Satisfied, she pulls open the door but stops in the doorway. “Thank you again, Billy. For my present. It’s the best one I’ve gotten tonight.” She chews on her bottom lip, lingering on the boundary between the restaurant and the lobby for just a moment longer. She presses her cheek to the edge of the mahogany door, staring at him as though she doesn’t want to go. But eventually she relents as calls of her name echo through the lobby and she is beckoned back to the party.

And Billy watches dreamily until long after the bar door shuts behind her. 

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