#pointed toe ankle boots

[madisonmaison]

Madison Maison offers a stunning selection of mid-calf leather boots that will take your look to the next level. Crafted from only the finest textures and durable materials, these boots feature sleek designs for both everyday wear and special occasions. With round or pointed toes and heel heights from 1-4 inches, you're sure to find options to complement any ensemble. Best of all, the boots' comfort-enhancing features like cushioned insoles mean you can wear them all day without soreness. Invest in a pair today - you'll love how they instantly elevate both your outfit and confidence.

[theodoreangelos]

Kate Gray 9 cm (3.5") stiletto heel ankle boot with sequin application in green, black and blue. Exclusively for Humanic. A fashionable eye-catcher is this hip ankle boot by KATE GRAY with elaborate sequin application with green-black-blue shimmer. The beautiful 9 cm stiletto heel in shiny black shows off your legs wonderfully and the zip on the inside makes it easy to put on and take off. What does a mermaid wear when she wears ankle boots? Exactly this pair! Shaft height: 19 cm. Kate Gray 9 cm (3.5") Stiletto-Heel Stiefelette mit Paillettenapplikation in grün, schwarz und blau. Exklusiv für Humanic. Ein modischer Eyecatcher ist diese angesagte Stiefelette von KATE GRAY mit aufwändiger Pailettenapplikation mit grün-schwarzblauem Schimmer. Der schöne 9 cm Stiletto-Heel in glänzendem Schwarz bringt Ihre Beine wunderbar zur Geltung und der Reißverschluss an der Innenseite erleichtert das An- und Ausziehen. Was trägt eine Meerjungfrau, wenn sie Stiefeletten trägt? Genau dieses Paar! Schafthöhe: 19 cm.

[peachesofteal]

18+ dubcon

Simon Riley who grits his teeth and attends grief support meetings at the “not so much of” request by his captain.

He hates it. Hates sitting around and listening to the these people whine and cry, hates watching them lament their losses. It’s uncomfortable. Makes his skin itch.

He knows grief. Has swallowed a full throat of it over and over again. He’s well equipped to handle it now, knows enough to know how to process the loss of Johnny.

He drags himself every week when he’s home. He’s figuring out a way to get Price off his back, slowly but surely, faking the progress, crushing the darkness under the heel of his boot. He returns to it only when he’s alone.

He hates the meetings.

Until he doesn’t.

The first meeting he attends after he’s back from an op, you’re there. Beautiful, a flower in a field of decay, petals falling to ash. A new face, set in stone, trying not to break. You make it thirty minutes before the first tear falls. And then another, and another.

You’re even prettier when you cry. He wants to know your tears taste like, study them streaking down your cheeks. You’d cry for him too, cry and cry as he twisted your pain into pleasure, battered your body and then kissed it better. Bullied his way inside you and held your throat as you came on his dick.

Tears. He’d taste them. Make them his.

Give you something to cry about.

When it’s your turn to speak, your voice trembles. You smother a lump in your throat, fingers knotted together like they’re stuck in a trap. Your grief is a balm to his own, stitches to a wound, something filling the gaping hole he pretends doesn’t exist.

It’s your husband. He made you a widow, shortly after you were married.

Selfish prick.

The softness makes his mouth water. Soft mouth, soft eyes, soft heart. Soft and sweet, little lamb all alone.

Who’ll watch out for you now?

They serve coffee after these things. Awkward moments full of misery and stilted conversation, time ticking away until everyone clears.

You keep your eyes down, tucked away, averting your gaze to avoid all of the small talk, making a break for it as quick as your legs will carry you.

Which is fine, he’s got a long stride.

You’re painfully unaware. It almost hurts him, almost, if it didn’t work in his benefit. He’ll need to address that.

He bides his time until you’re asleep. Casually slips the lock free and steps inside, takes inventory. No dog, weak locks, blinds open. He mutters a curse under his breath. Guess he’ll be fixing that too.

In your sleep, you’re restless. Grieving in the dark, eyes shuddering behind fluttering lashes and closed lids. Your sounds are sad, distressed. Heartbroken. They make him hard. Sends blood pumping through his body until it rings in his ears. Would you cry like that on his cock?

He unbuckles his pants, barely making a sound, tugging himself from his briefs, fat, full length falling out, too heavy to be held up.

Your lower lip trembles with a deep sigh and you shiver, adding fuel to the fire, and he squeezes himself, stroking faster, tears on your cheeks hollowing him out and pushing him closer and closer to his peak, the point of no return.

“Little crybaby,” he murmurs when you whimper again, toes curling in his boots. He can’t stave it off anymore, fire igniting in his belly, spurting all over your feet, the sheets, your ankles.

It will be dry by the time you wake, but it won’t matter. He’s marked you now. You’re his.

[knifeforkspooncup]

Please click for better resolution!

I made this silly little art, and then like a being possessed, wrote 1200 words of pure unadulterated hogwash to go with it (ficlet below the cut)

Duck Duck Goose

Rating: Teen and up

"Shouldn't be feeding them bread." Crowley said, trying and failing to ward off an irate goose with the pointed toe of his boot. "It’s brioche." Aziraphale chided, as if that explained anything. A nattering crowd of ducks was forming at his feet like eager disciples. Crowley didn't ask where he'd gotten the brioche. He'd stuck his chilly hands into Aziraphale's pockets enough times now to know the list of things the angel kept on his person at any given moment was - well, impressive was one word for it. In the way a magpie's hoard of oddities was impressive. A brioche was quite pedestrian, really. "Brioche then.” The goose had moved on to striking repeatedly for his ankles, more pit viper than waterfowl. “Shouldn’t. Feed them. Brioche,” he gritted between defensive maneuvers. He never had gotten the hang of sword fighting. If Aziraphale heard, he pretended not to, ripping off hunks of bread at least double the esophagus diameter of the average mallard duck. One at a time, he tossed them lazily into the fray. The ducks erupted into chattering, nipping each other’s feathers. A shark frenzy had more natural order to it.

The goose took no interest, bloodlust overriding any desire for fine French baked goods. If anything, it doubled its effort to latch onto Crowley’s shin. Had geese always had teeth?

Aziraphale beamed at the chaos, halogen bright. Humming with self satisfaction, he brushed his hands of crumbs, and settled back against the bench. Crowley diverted a sliver of bodily coordination to snake one arm behind him, weaseling into the warm gap left by the angel’s impeccable posture.

This was a thing they did now, apparently. Not watching ducks squabble over bread – that part was old hat. But Aziraphale tucking himself neatly against Crowley's side? For all the world to see. Like he was one of Crowley's wings simply stowing away. Frankly, that hat still had the tag on it. Still had that new hat smell.

This was rapidly becoming their new normal. Embroidery on the familiar weave of their time together. They still did all the things they always had. They still went to the Ritz, where the waiter still assumed Aziraphale was paying for the bill. Crowley still pulled out the angel’s seat like a proper gentledemon.

None of that had changed.

Just now they also held hands on the table between courses, and Aziraphale fed Crowley bites of dessert straight from his spoon. Sometimes they even did exciting things with their feet under the table.

Aziraphale called it canoodling. Crowley was pretty sure that was a fussy type of dog. The kind that wore bows on its head and left the groomer looking like an ornamental hedge.

Whatever it was, it was nice. More than nice.

Take today for example. The clouds were parting, birds singing – the whole production; the sun sparkled just so, really putting the ol’ razzle dazzle on it all.

There went Aziraphale, tipping his head back against Crowley’s shoulder, eyes closing. Lashes sun-gilt and fanning on his rosy cheeks. Straight out of a renaissance painting. A nice, expensive renaissance painting, on with real lapis lazuli pigment for the eyes. The angel really knew when to lay it on thick.

“Oh, that’s quite nice, isn’t it.” Aziraphale sighed, basking in the warmth.

See, nice? It was nice. Five hundred years of coming here, and this moment was the most nice it had ever been. Crowley remembered when this place was a marshy field full of roving geese and snuffling pigs. When the trees that made this nice bench were just scrawny little saplings, runty and wind bitten. Had the bench gotten smaller? It used to feel immense, and not in the luxury Cadillac sense of the word. Used to fit Heaven and Hell between them with room to spare. Back when nice was a four letter –

The goose sunk it’s – definitely toothed – beak into Crowley’s shin, just above the boot.

Satisfied with its grip, it started to flail, giving the impression Crowley was a chewtoy it meant to thrash to death. The small part of Crowley’s brain reserved for humility was starting to believe it would succeed.

"Dinner? How would you feel about a nice, tasty Christmas goose?” Grunted Crowley, shaking his leg and raising his free hand, demonic miracle at the ready. He had just the goose in mind. “With all the trimmings. Could even do some plum sauce on the side if you like,"

Aziraphale frowned, eyes still closed. “…it’s October.”

“That a no, then? Don’t want to get a head start on the festivities?”

Aziraphale looked up just as Crowley managed to dislodge the fowl beast and punt it away like a feathery football. It came right back, tongue stuck out like a rude child and wheezing angrily.

He tsked, mouth thinning. “You’re terrible. Leave the poor thing alone.”

Crowley sputtered. “Wha – ha – me?! I’m not the one biting a boot like a lunatic!” Would that work? Biting it? Maybe the goose would bugger off if Crowley bit it back. Should he bite it back? He should probably bite it, shouldn’t he. Oh, Satan, he was going to get feathers stuck in his teeth.

The infernal creature hissed, undoubtedly reading his mind. Crowley hissed back, tongue forking menacingly if only for the sake of his own ego.

Aziraphale was staring at him and smiling. Well, smirking. Fondly. The corners of his mouth pinching his cheeks, eyes crinkling under a raised eyebrow. He even had a dimple forming on his chin. Ridiculous. Something in the inner workings of Crowley’s chest did its best impression of a snare drum.

“Shall we, my dear?” Said the Very Ridiculous Angel, stirring from Crowley’s side. He stood and straightened his jumper until there were no more wrinkles. Seeing Crowley still engaged in boot-to-beak combat with the feathery fiend, he added tartly: “Before someone gets killed.”

Crowley grumbled something about demonic wrath and taking bets, but slunk to his feet. He flicked his glasses down and shot a final, venomous glare at the goose before sidling up to Aziraphale and offering his arm.

Aziraphale took it, wedging warm hands into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. He made it look habitual, easy as. Just the natural thing to do. Right as rain.

He was faster than Crowley, at this part. At the settling in. He’d taken to it all like geese to psychological warfare.

“You mentioned dinner?” Said Aziraphale brightly, ducks parting obediently at their feet.

“Your turn to pick.” Crowley’s skin was sizzling, water on a hot frying pan.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, face thoughtful. He took dinner plans very seriously.

“How about Peking duck? From that lovely place just around the corner, the one with the comfortable chairs.”

Crowley gave him a sharp look, nearly spraining an eyebrow in the process.

The angel was looking resolutely ahead, expression perfectly blank save for the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

I love you, blurted Crowley’s brain.

“Every restaurant has comfortable chairs,” blurted his mouth. It was a fact. Every restaurant did have comfortable chairs. Or else. So far Crowley hadn’t met a chair that cared to find out about the or else – chairs not being very curious by nature.

Crowley would say all the other things later, of course. All the sappy, corny, sweet-nothing things. When they were home. When he could wash the burn down with something whispered and sinfully filthy. Something that would make Aziraphale turn pinker than a summer peach.

Aziraphale was watching him, gaze unspeakably soft. “I know, my dear,” he said.

“I know.”

[leviraaaaaa]

–Where the waves fade–

"Isn't this enough exploring? We're way too far."

"Hush," You threw your hand in an airy wave, indicating him to be quiet. "We're not that far, I can still hear Hange from here."

You continued to walk, paying no mind to the streak of grumbles and mumbled curses he let out under his breath. This was the first ever time here at the sea, and you were way too entranced by it. Not to mention, Levi is Levi and he'll complain no matter what you do so you learnt long ago to just shut up and let him sulk.

You looked sideways, where the endless blue went on, waves crashing just besides your feet. Sometimes, particularly large waves washed over your feet, the water trickling over your shoes. You could feel the sand slipping way underneath, just barely enough to make you slightly unstable. It was windy, the air making your hair fly everywhere, you could taste the saltiness.

You had separated yourself from the small chaotic group, letting yourself stray away, following where the wind goes. You walked alongside the beach, sand had slipped through your boots somehow, making it uncomfortable but you didn't really care. If you're gonna see the sea might as well experience it too.

It felt good.

Like freedom.

Though clearly, Levi did not share the same point of view.

"God knows what Hange is doing, can you for fucks sake, turn around?" He called out, glancing warily from you to the back, where you could just barely see the top of the heads of Hange and the others, conflicted on whether it was safe to leave them there on their own but also hesitant to leave you as well. His shoulders were tense, even the experience of seeing something as miraculous as the sea couldn't relax him a little.

"I didn't ask you to follow me, Levi." You sighed, looking over your shoulder to meet the eyes of the man who was grumpily walking behind you. "Go back, I'll be fine."

"Yeah sure." He scowled. "I leave and then you drown."

You only rolled your eyes, not bothering to respond.

"Where the hell are you going anyways? You don't know shit around here, it's not safe."

"I dont know. I'm just walking." You halted, turning around. "Levi." You said.

"What?"

"Walk with me."

"I am."

"No, you're walking behind me, come and walk beside me." You gestured him forward. "It's okay, I won't shove you down the water."

He gave you a wary look that clearly said I don't trust you but he fastened his pace anyway, until he was beside you. He glanced down at your soggy and sand covered boots, making a repulsed expression. "You ruined your fucking shoes."

You followed his glance, looking down. "True." You smiled. Then you leaned down, hooking your fingers through the edge and took your boots off, one after the other. You threw them both somewhere behind you carelessly. Levi stared at you horrified.

"What are you doing?" He asked blankly.

"Taking my shoes off?" You mumbled, digging your heels in the sand. It felt ticklish and weird, but so soft too. "Now, there's no shoes to ruin."

"You're disgusting."

"It's just sand Levi."

"It's disgusting."

"Come on, it feels good."

"If you're trying to convince me to do the same you've gone insane.”

Safe to say, you paid no heed to him. Instead, tiptoeing over the sand carefully, you started edging towards the water. The waves crashed hard, trickling water through your toes and almost making you lose your balance but you felt glee.

“There could be like a million fucking things in there,” Levi was complaining gruffly, “We don't know shit about this place. And all of you are acting like children. Hey, are you even listeni—”

“Levi, I'm gonna run in.”

“Wh—”

But he didn't even get to finish his sentence and you were already running, squealing loudly when the wind hit you hard, the water splashing around you high with every clumsy and wild step you took and in a second you were drenched. “Oh my god!” You let out an excited laugh when a big wave crashed against your ankle, almost tipping you off. You twirled, giggling. “Oh my god!"

“Are you sure you're not gonna come in?” You yelled at him loudly, barely audible through the loud wind.

He looked down at the water, warily stepping away and casting them a suspicious glare crept closer to his boots with every wave.

He thinks. He doesn't like water. Water is unpredictable. Water is chaotic. Water is not something he can control and he doesn't like things he can't control.

But he looked at you again and all denial seemed to leave him.

The expanse of blue stretched far beyond where his eye could see. The sea was mesmerizing, timeless. But so were you.

So were you.

And for a second, Levi's head was blank.

He wasn't watching the sea anymore. All he could see was you. You, with that radiant smile of yours, in the endless blue with your hair wet and flying around everywhere, water dripping down your face. The ocean glittered, and even from here, he could see the water drops that clung to your lashes, the sheen on your lips. The flowy white blouse you wore was now completely drenched, the fabric stuck to your skin. Far in the horizon, the sun was lower, just about to set. It was sending its last few bright rays and it hit you, painting the most dazzling scene he'd ever seen.

He could hear your laughter, high and sweet, creating a beautiful harmony as the wind howled alongside, the sea roaring with every crash.

You looked unreal.

Temptations. He knew. He knew he should know better. But when had he ever known better when it came to you?

You were you and he was only just a man.

He was only a man.

Slowly, he lowered down, his fingers moving swiftly to untie the laces of his boots. He rolled up his pants and his sleeves. Then slower, even slower, he took a step.

The joy of you was beyond words. You could hardly keep your happiness contained, glowing in excitement when you saw him cautiously edging in the water with the grumpiest face. You were almost bouncing. “See?” You exclaimed happily, grinning at him. “It's not so bad right?”

When you reach out your hand, he takes it. He lets you guide him through the cold water lapping at his feet. “It's fucking freezing.” He scoffed, goosebumps rising on his skin. The sand felt weird underneath, it made him feel unstable, like something kept shifting out of his feet and he was floating.

As if on cue, a big wave crashed, kicking the balance from your feet. You'd already been swaying, unused to the constantly shifting water and the soft ground. As the water rushed past you, you almost tipped over

“Oh fuck—” The curse escaped you as you felt your feet lose it's hold and you leaned forward. But Levi was quicker, his arms grabbing onto your waist before you fell face first, stabilizing you. You shot an apologetic grin towards him, holding on his arms to regain your balance. He did not look impressed.

“I warned you.” He said flatly. “I'm not gonna fish you out if you fall and drown and die.”

“You just did though.”

“Keep talking and that'll change.” But his grip tightened around you.

You didn't push further. You've already pushed your luck far beyond when you'd managed to get him into the water. If you pushed further, chances were he'd drag you out of here. Nope, you'll take what you get.

The two of you stood like that for a while. The chilly water licked at your knees, rushing up to meet you as you just let the rhythm of the waves brush over you, the horizon stretching out into infinity. The salty air filled your lungs as you shared this unspoken moment—a glimpse of something bigger, a freedom so rare in your world that neither of you knew how long it would last.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” You said softly, gaze set on the horizon. The setting sun gleamed off of your eyes.

Is it? He wondered as he looked at you. You were watching the ocean with the widest eyes, like you'd been entranced by it.

The ocean was beautiful. In its own strange way. There was this vastness about it, endlessly stretching blue. But he could hardly be aware of what was before him when you were beside him.

You're beautiful, is what he wants to say.

It's something in your eyes, he thought. The certain spark only you've ever had. There was an entire ocean in your eyes. There was an entire universe in your eyes. He wanted to tell you he had already seen everything beautiful there was to see. He doesn't need the fucking ocean or the mountains or the stars, everything you're always being sappy about. He had the fate to look at you.

He doesn't say any of it though. He doesn't have the guts too.

Instead, he slides his fingers through yours. You look surprised, but you don't pull away. He almost stop breathing when your hold tightened.

He didn't know what you were thinking and he didn't want to know. He hoped you think it's because he doesn't want you to fall or to trip. He hoped you wouldn't feel the rush of blood in his ears that howled louder than the wind ever could. He hoped you didn't see the look on his face or hear the heart that was slamming against his chest.

He hoped that you would never find out. But he was so, so scared. So scared as the sun set and the light was leaving the world, with the waves washing away, that if he doesn't hold on to you, you'd slip through his fingers. You'd fade. You'd disappear like every good thing he's ever had in his life.

So he held on.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Next chapter incoming

I didn't except it this soon, either.

It's still writing itself and dear GODS I hope this momentum continues.

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch.8 of who even fcking knows like maybe ten-ish...? First Chapter Link for newcomers, will update with other chapter links soon

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. You're his prisoner now, and you have no real hope left that you can see aside from his acceptance of the Warlord proposal.

We're venturing into NSFW territory in this chapter. So Warnings for that, and continued Yandere stuff.

Wordcount: 3588

Taglist: @i-am-vita, @browneyedhufflepuff, @h0n3y-l3m0n05, @littleleelee, @nerium-lil, @dragon-bubs , @animefreak818 , @byysandra , @lufemia , @gizamalblythe, @lufemia @schanwow

You guys are all amazing tysm!!!!!

The first time you had awoken in the castle on Kuraigana Island, you had jumped so badly you had very nearly reverted straight out of your devil fruit form—and that in itself would have marked the end of your mission before it had even truly begun, given you had fallen asleep perched on Mihawk’s shoulder.

You jolted awake just as violently this time, and the first thing your gaze fixed upon was his sharp yellow eyes. You did panic for a moment, attempting to shift back into the avian form you had grown so accustomed to over the past two months, before remembering exactly where you were—lying across the cold stone floor of the dungeons.

Exactly how you had come to be here—by making the mistake of sneaking about in the middle of the night to call Bogard and inform him that you had no choice but to shift to plan B and propose the offer of Warlord status to your target.

Your target, who was seated in a chair in your damp, dark dungeon cell, staring down at you with a speculative frown.

“Awake at last.”

You winced as you strained against the floor to pull yourself up into a sitting position, too groggy for a moment to register why you were having such a difficult time, until the seastone shackles around your ankles clinked and rattled with your movements. Right. He had made completely sure that you wouldn’t be capable of escaping.

“You chose a particularly inopportune moment to faint earlier,” he commented, crossing his arms. “We were discussing this Warlord offer your superiors are considering presenting me with.”

You only vaguely recalled bringing it up—it must have been in the moments just before you lost consciousness. It was clear he had left you alone at some point during your slumber. He now had his open trench coat draped around his shoulders, his sword leaning against the corner of the cell. He traced your line of sight over to it and gave a small chuckle.

“Don’t worry yourself, dear. I simply prefer having my blade close. Though I’m sure you know that. You know a great deal more about me than I do you, after all. But I’m sure,” he went on, standing from the chair. You pressed your back against the wall as he approached you slowly, the toes of his boots coming to stop mere inches from your bare feet as he looked down at you, “that will come to change in time.”

He held his hand down toward you. You stared at it for a moment, before slowly lifting your hand, your breath catching as he took it in his with an almost gentle grip, this thumb tracing across your knuckles for a moment.

“You don’t have a fighter’s hands,” he said, turning your hand over, his much larger, rougher fingers tracing across your smooth palm. “Have you trained in anything aside from subterfuge?”

“Basic combat,” you said. “I’m best with throwing weapons and small blades.”

“Ideal for your stature and talent in stealth operations,” he commented.

He gave a small, thoughtful hum—then wrapped his hand around yours and pulled you to your feet, grabbing you by your hip before you could stumble straight into him. He turned with you and moved a hand to your shoulder, pushing you down into the chair he had just vacated himself.

“And, purely out of curiosity, what of your knowledge in birds?” he asked, pacing around the side of the chair slowly. “I can’t imagine you learned any of that from your Marine comrades.”

You shook your head, swallowing as his shadow fell over you from behind, glancing over at his hand resting against the back of the chair. “M...my mom,” you said quietly, your stomach churning at the sudden thought that you would probably never see her again. “She’s an ornithologist. Specializing in parrots and corvids. She runs a rescue service for them. I learned everything from her.”

“And yet you chose to join the Marines?” he said, amused. “Perhaps your father’s influence?” You gave a short nod. “Of course. Could have stayed at home on the farm, safe and sound, and yet...here you are. But I suppose it did give you the experience necessary to utilize your devil fruit to its fullest effect. I can see why your superiors chose you for this task. Not many could have pulled it off as well as you did.”

You felt the chair creak behind you as he leaned down against it, sending a cold chill down your spine as he reached up to brush your hair behind your ear, to tilt his head and fix you with an amused smirk as your shoulders grew stiff as stone.

“That was a compliment, little bird,” he said lightly, tracing his index finger slowly down the curve of your neck. “What do we say when someone compliments us?”

“Th—thank you,” you forced out, swallowing. “S-sir.”

“Good girl,” he lilted softly, close to your ear.

You thought you might faint all over again when he briefly pressed his lips to your temple before straightening back out and lightly ruffling your hair. As gentle as his actions seemed, they were laced with a thinly veiled threat—a threat that if you did anything other than what was asked of you, what he expected of you, there would be swift and severe repercussions. He didn’t have to say it for you to know it to be true.

“Are you able to provide me with the full details of this whole Warlord proposal?” he asked, moving around to the other side of the chair. He stopped in front of you, crossing his arms. “Or will you need to contact your superiors?”

“They would know more than I would,” you said quietly—and that wasn’t a lie. You had been given the basic details, but he would need to speak with someone of much higher rank than you to garner any further information. “I—I can call them. They’d likely want to set a meeting if you’re interested—”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” he said. “I’m interested to hear more of what the World Government might consider a mutually beneficial arrangement between pirates and Marines. I haven’t said I’m interested in the offer itself yet. That being said…”

You shifted back in the chair when he knelt down in front of you, reaching into his pocket—but all he pulled out was a small ring of keys. You recognized the Marine insignia etched into the metal ring before he lifted your foot and turned one of the keys in the shackle wrapped around your ankle.

“I am interested to speak to your commanding officers,” he said, lowering your foot back down. He lifted the other, and paused with the key in the lock, his sharp eyes darting up to meet yours. “You will accompany me to the study in the tower below my bedchambers. Should you make any attempt to escape or use your devil fruit ability, I don’t think I have to tell you what will happen.”

You swallowed, nodding quickly in understanding. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Very good. I was fairly sure you’d understand.” You bit your lip as he slipped his hand slowly up the length of your calf, his palm coming to rest against the side of your thigh just above your knee, his eyes remaining on yours as he turned the key and pulled the shackles away from you. You flinched as he lightly squeezed his hand around your thigh, keeping his hand there as he stood and rested his other hand against the back of the chair, hovering over you. “You’ll stand slowly, and you’ll walk in front of me. I don’t think there’s any need for me to hold your hand like a child. You ought to know your way around fairly well by now.”

“Y...yes, sir,” you repeated weakly.

Hundreds of thoughts swam through your head as you lead the way from the ground floor of the old, expansive castle to the eastern tower—whether you would ever see or speak to your mother again, how Garp and Bogard would respond to the news that you were compromised, whether or not you would even live to see the light of the next morning, why Mihawk was being so gentle with you, why you felt a flutter deep in your stomach every time he touched you.

Why, for the entire duration of the walk up to the study, with him even stopping once to allow you to venture alone into a small bathroom to clean yourself up and tend to any other personal needs—why you didn’t once consider the possibility of a potential escape plan.

He expected you to comply—he wouldn’t expect you to shift into your devil fruit form at the nearest window and take flight off into the quickly darkening evening sky.

Yet the thought only crossed your mind once he sat in the armchair behind the desk in the study, the thought of why you hadn’t considered the possibility. Before you could consider it any further, he lifted his hand and motioned for you to come over, leaning forward to pull the den den mushi across the desk toward him.

“You’ll call your superiors,” he said, his gaze not once leaving you as you slowly crossed the room. You nodded, stopping in front of the desk and reaching for the device. “No.” He pulled it further out of your reach, motioning for you again. “Come here.”

You tensed at the sharpening of his tone, and moved around to the opposite side of the desk with a little more urgency, stopping a few feet away from him, your eyes flickering between his yellow irises and the snail.

Closer, when he motioned for you again, stopping at the side of the chair, staring down at your feet as you shifted your weight between them.

You glanced up when he lifted his head again, pointing down at the floor and making a small, tight circular motion. “Turn,” he instructed.

You obeyed immediately, turning around slowly, arms crossed tight across your churning stomach.

“Better. Now…”

Your eyes clenched shut when he wrapped his hand around your wrist, gasping in alarm when he pulled you down, down onto the chair with him, your back against his chest. His hand left your wrist to brush against your hair, tucking the strands behind your ear and your shoulder.

And they shot open again when you felt him lean forward behind you, his broad torso pressed against your back, watching him grab the receiver of the den den mushi.

“Make the call for me, pet,” he said, handing it to you before pulling his arm tight around your waist, holding you against him as he leaned back again. “And keep quiet unless I say otherwise. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, sir.” You couldn’t speak in anything more than a strained whisper, your face flaring with heat, immediately reaching forward to dial the number at his command and holding the receiver between his ear and your own.

You shut your eyes again when you heard a familiar, gruff voice answer.

“Vice Admiral Garp. If you have this number you know what to do.”

“Vice Admiral Garp,” repeated Mihawk, sincerely surprised. “Garp the Fist. Hero of the Marines. My, my. I suppose I should be honored.” You drew in a sharp breath as his fingers curled lightly, possessively around your waist, as he turned his head and rest his forehead against your temple, his voice soft and warm against your ear. “I had no idea the adorable little pet you sent me was so important.”

You flinched at the sharp static that came through the other line for a moment, as if the old vice admiral had tightened his hand considerably around his own den den mushi.

“Dracule Mihawk,” he growled in response. “Where the hell is she?”

“Safe,” he responded. “Unharmed...relatively. Though I imagine she must be quite frightened, wondering what I plan to do with her.” You nearly whimpered when he reached across, curling a strand of your hair around his index finger. “Quite the gifted little spy. I might never have known what she truly was had I not overheard her conversation two nights ago.”

“Dammit, kid…” you heard Garp grumble under his breath. Then, louder, in a more commanding tone, “You’ve got two options, Hawk-Eye. You can let her go, or I can come get her myself.”

“With an entire armada of Navy vessels in tow, I presume?” he responded, sounding as if the idea bored him. “You’re not really in the position to be making threats, old man. The cadet is unharmed...for now. And really. You send me such a pretty little pet and expect me to sen her right back before I’ve even had any time to enjoy her company?”

You held your breath as his hand drifted down from your waist, his fingers brushing against the top of your thigh just below the hem of the over-sized shirt he had given you to wear.

“Call her your pet again, you sick son of a b—don’t—let go of that—”

“Mmm?” Mihawk hummed quietly, curiously at the sound of the brief scuffle at the other end of the call. You were fairly certain you knew what it meant, and...it was probably better that Garp didn’t handle this. Your suspicions were confirmed a moment later when another voice came through the call, far more curt but just as familiar to you.

“Read Admiral Bogard. My apologies for the vice admiral’s boorish behavior. He doesn’t handle negotiations well when it concerns one of our own. I presume this is a negotiation and you didn’t simply call for the sake of gloating?”

“Your presumption would be correct,” said Mihawk. “Though I admit, it was also to sate my own curisoty. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of supposed men would send such an innocent, vulnerable young woman on what could easily have turned out to be a suicide mission.” He rested his chin against your shoulder, trailing his dingers slowly back up the length of your thigh, smirking as you pressed your legs together tightly and tiny goosebumps raised across the surface of your skin. “I guess I have my answer.”

“I take it you have no intention of returning her without hostile measures being taken,” said Bogard, ignoring the taunt from the pirate. “I will ask yhat you allow her to speak so I can ascertain for myself that she is, as you claim, unharmed.”

“Oh, but of course,” said Mihawk, his voice low and dripping with mockery, his mouth nearly brushing your ear. “She’s right here, after all. Go on, pet. Speak.”

“I’m not hurt,” you said quietly.

“You’re sure?” You gave a quiet affirmative hum in response to Bogard’s question—and then jumped in alarm when Mihawk jerked the receiver from your hand, only to push it into your oposite hand. You swallowed, keeping your eyes turned down to your lap, to his hand splayed across your stomach. “Am I correct in assuming he’s listening?”

“Y—yes, sir.”

It became immediately clear why he had moved the receiver to your opposite hand, to the opposite side of your head—you pulled in a small, sharp gasp as his mouth touched the shell of your ear.

“H-he can hear me,” you added quietly, clenching your eyes shut as his hand clenched around the thin material of his shirt that covered your stomach and half of your thighs, tugging it a few inches higher. You could feel his lips curl into a smirk against the edge of your jaw.

“I wonder,” he murmured, “how long you can keep your composure, pretty bird.” He chuckled lightly at the shiver his voice sent through you—a shiver that, no matter how much you wanted it to be, wasn’t entirely in fear.

“Does he have any intention of harming you that you’re aware of?” asked Bogard. His tone was lighter now, but still kept its usual air of authority

“I—I don’t think so,” you said, fighting to keep your breath level as Mihawk trailed his lips lightly down the length of your neck, lifting his free hand to your jaw, urging you to lie your head back. You obeyed the silent command, your shoulders tensing as the back of your head fell back against his shoulder. “H—he-he wanted more details on the offer. The—the Warlord—”

“I’m sure he does,” said Bogard curtly. “And I’m more than willing to discuss it with him. Our immediate concern at the present is your safety. Are you able to tell us where you are?”

“I…”

“Go ahead, little cadet.” You swallowed at Mihawk’s low, amused murmur against your neck, his words affirming that he could still hear both ends of the conversation. “Tell Mommy and Daddy exactly where you are.” You bit back a whimper as he nipped lightly at your neck, his hand at your chin drifting down the column of your throat, stopping to circle a finger around the top button of your shirt.

“A study in one of the towers in the castle on Kuraigana Island,” you forced out quickly, tour words pressing together as he lifted you by your hip and shifted your position, pressing his knee between your thighs to push them further open.

“Alright. Good.” Bogard’s words sounded more distant to you with every passing second, your focus shifting to Mihawk’s hand slipping open the top button of your shirt. “You sound weak.”

“S-seastone,” you said quietly, fighting to keep the tremor out of your voice as the second button came loose, revealing the top of your plain white bra. You bit your lip, watching him push the shirt open enough to trace his fingers along the edge of the undergarment. “Seastone shackles. So I can’t use my devil fruit ability to escape.”

Even though he had removed the shackles before leading you up here, it was the first explanation that jumped to your mind to account for the low, trembling quality of your voice.

“Seastone. Of course,” Bogard said coolly. “Should have guessed. Wouldn’t have been difficult to salvage from one of the hundreds of our ships he’s destroyed…” He let out a sigh. “Do your best to stay safe. Do not attempt to escape on your own. Is that understood?”

“Mm—mm-hmm,” you hummed, almost whimpered, biting down on your bottom lip as Mihawk tugged the last few buttons of the shirt open, moving his hands to your shoulders to push the material down.

“Off,” he murmured against you jaw. “And you’ll hand the phone back to me.”

“H—he wants to—”

“Then put him back on,” said Bogard.

You quickly shifted the phone back to your other hand, and Mihawk plucked it away, holding it out at arm’s length as he briefly leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth as he commanded once more, “Off, pretty girl. Let me see you. I won’t ask again.” He pulled the receiver to his ear as you complied, trembling as you slowly shrugged the material away from your shoulders, pulling it free from your arms. “Bogard, was it?” you heard him say. “Oh, yes. I am very interested to hear more of how your people think any pirate might be inclined to consider becoming a government lapdog.”

He tugged you back against him again the moment you were free of the shirt, his fingertips tracing leisurely circles over the plane of your stomach.

Drifting higher and higher, playing against the edge of your ribs.

Slipping just beneath the lower edge of your bra, his lips curling into a smirk at the way you tensed against him, in some mix of anxiety and anticipation, growing less and less able to differentiate between the two.

Clenching your eyes shut and biting your tongue against a small whimper as he pushed his hand higher, cupping the swell of your breast in his palm, squeezing his fingers lightly around the pliable flesh.

You could hear his voice as the conversation dragged on, his tone as curt and professional as Bogard’s, but you could scarcely make out a single detail of his words with his rough hand brushing across your breasts, occasionally rolling around the sensitive points of your nipples, forced to use every ounce of your will to keep yourself silent—to pull your own hand up to cover your mouth and muffle a small cry when he lightly pinched one of the sensitive protrusions near the end of the conversation.

“Well, that’s all very intriguing,” he said with a light chuckle as he pulled you tighter against him. “I’ll have to take a bit of time to consider such a tempting proposal. I think...oh, forty-eight hours? Well, if that’s acceptable for you, then it’s more than acceptable for me.” You tensed as he shifted his hand beneath your bra, whimpering as he pinched your nipple a bit harder. “Ten o’clock, two days from now. Perfect. And be sure to inform your vice admiral that I’ll take very good care of our little cadet in the meantime. Oh, of course. No harm at all.”

He lowered his head, continuing in a murmur against your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

“She might not even want to return to your command once I’m through with her.”

[shadowdaddies]

I have a request! Reader accidentally hurts themself in an embarrassing way and Rhys/cass/az(idc which one) sees the injury(bruise, cut, etc) and freaks out asking “who did this??” And reader has to awkwardly admit that they did it.

Idk if that makes sense but I thought it was a cute idea for a drabble and I really like your writing 🥰 Feel free to make any changes!

thank you love!💜 I went with Cassian for this one, as a clumsy person myself this resonated with me lol

Falling for You

Cassian x Reader fluff

warnings: mentions of injury, a bit suggestive

Lunging towards Cassian, you swung your sword in an arc, only for the wooden practice blade to hit the training mat. Cassian’s foot swiped your ankle, knocking you flat on your back as his own weapon found your throat. 

With a teasing click of his tongue, your mate smirked down at you. “I believe you yield, my love.”

Scowling, you swatted the wooden blade away, standing up to stalk over to the weapons rack, shoving your tools inside. Warm hands wrapped around your waist, Cassian smirking as he pressed a kiss to your neck. 

“Come now, sweetheart. Don’t be a sore loser,” he purred. 

With mock offense, you turned to face your mate, poking him in the ribs. “I’ll be sore if I want to be,” you retorted.

Mischief danced in hazel eyes as Cassian pulled you impossibly close, fingers tilting your chin so your nose brushed his. “Mm, but what if I offer you a massage, maybe a bath to help with that soreness?”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, the scent of your arousal instant at his rough voice. A dark chuckle left your mate’s lips, the general giving no warning before he tossed you over his shoulder. 

“Cassian!” you yelled, swatting at him with a giggle while he carried you towards your bedroom. Your only response was a light smack on your ass, drawing another gasp as you settled in his hold.

Carrying you into the bathroom, Cassian set you down on the tile floor, directing you to undress while he moved to turn on the bath water. 

You shucked off your boots, peeling your pants and shirt off when you looked up to see Cassian staring at you, horror etched on his features. Frantically looking over your body, your eyes found Cassian’s. “What? What is it?” you questioned.

Your mate visibly swallowed, his voice thick as he gestured weakly to your leg. “Did I... did I do that?” he muttered, silver lining his eyes that bored into your skin.

You looked down to where he was pointing, finding a bruise you knew all too well, the blackish-purple skin marring a large part of your upper thigh. 

Embarrassment flooded over you, blush rising to your cheeks as you scrambled for words. You had hoped the injury would heal in time for Cassian to never know, but the way that he was looking at you right now, you needed to tell him.

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose. “No, Cass, you didn’t do that...” you whispered. The moment those words left your lips, his demeanor changed. 

The Lord of Bloodshed stood before you, eyes alight with fury. “Who did this to you? I will make them wish they were never born,” he growled, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his misplaced wrath.

“Calm down, love. No one else did this to me. I did it myself... on accident,” you muttered, lips pursed as you avoided eye contact.

Arching a questioning brow, Cassian’s hand gripped your chin, turning you to face him. “What happened, sweetheart?” he questioned, voice soft with concern.

You paced the bathroom, stopping at the tub where you dipped your toe into the warm water. With a smirk, you stepped into the small pool. “It doesn’t really matter,” you hummed, sending a playful splash towards Cassian. “Why don’t you come join me in the bath?” you purred, arching your chest above the water in an attempt to distract him.

Your mate smirked, and you knew that you had caught him as he removed his leathers, stepping into the tub with you. Wading to where you sat, Cassian’s broad hands found your waist, his neck dipping to your shoulder.

Warm lips found your sweet spot, sucking softly on the sensitive skin there as you sighed, rolling your hips against him. Suddenly he stilled his movements, lips moving against your neck. “Where did you get that bruise from, love?”

An exaggerated sigh escaped you. “Don’t laugh at me,” you muttered, gaze turning stern when Cassian pulled back, looking at you with a bemused expression. 

“Nyx tied my shoelaces together,” you pouted, arms crossing over your chest. “And I didn’t realize it, so when I tried to walk, I tripped.” With a huff, you glanced to Cassian, the male biting his lip hard to keep from laughing.

His joy and amusement spread through the bond, forcing a smile of your own at his happiness. A small laugh escaped you at the ridiculousness of the situation, Cassian bursting with booming laughter shortly after.

Your stomach hurt, tears in your eyes from how hard you both laughed, gasping for air as you finally settled down. Cassian moved to the edge of the tub, pulling you in his lap and pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered. 

Leaning up, you pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I love you too,” you murmured. 

“Maybe we can buy you some button up shoes, something child-proof” Cassian mused, earning an elbow to the stomach as you giggled in his arms.

[reminiscingtonight]

And The Things You'd Do

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader (Alessia Russo & Russo!Reader + Kyra Cooney-Cross & Russo!Reader)

Word Count: 1.4k

The Thing About Families (Part One) // That's How You Know It's Home (Part Three)

[WOSO Masterlist]

It’s the shuffling of feet that draws your attention. 

You’re off stretching on the side of the field. Having just come back from injury, you’ve been approved for some light training and warm-ups while the other girls do their own drills. You’ve been doing alright all by your lonesome, so you’re surprised to see the Australian girl approaching. 

You’re quick to narrow your eyes at the sheepish look on her face.

“What is it?”

Kyra turns and you instantly see the problem. She tries to wiggle her arm, one sleeve somehow caught underneath her pinnie. “I’m stuck.”

Sighing, you jerk your head at her. “C’mere.”

The young girl brightens up at your command, dutifully rushing to your side before allowing you to free her from her self-made prison. 

“Go on,” you chuckle when she finally pops free. 

Kyra lets out a whoop before sprinting back towards the other girls.

You’re smiling fondly at her departing figure when you hear a familiar drawl.

“Thought you were getting sick of her.”

You roll your eyes. “Please. I had to grow up with you, Gio, and Luca. Kyra’s a breeze compared to you lot.”

Alessia lets out an offended squawk. “You take that back!”

You raise an eyebrow at her raised arm and Alessia freezes. She gives you a grin, quickly recycling her plans to give you a noogie. “Sorry. Point taken.”

“What can I say? She grew on me.”

Alessia huffs, dragging a toe in the grass as the two of you slowly make your way back to the others. “The taste of coffee can grow on you. Being relegated to passenger-side-car-DJ can grow on you. Annoying Australians cannot grow on you!”

“Relax, rat. I’m not replacing you with her. Think of Kyra as your unofficial niece.”

Alessia pulls a face at your words.

You shake your head. “Take it up with Lia. I’m pretty sure she’s ready to duel Mini for guardianship.”

---

So maybe you should’ve thought things through. 

When the ref whips out her red card, pointing for you to get off the field, you realize you might have gone a little too far. 

In your defense, it really wasn’t your fault.

The first yellow you get on purpose. 

No one messes with your baby sister. 

When Alessia is blatantly fouled and the referee lets play go on without a single care that the blonde is clutching her ankle in pain, it only seems right that you bulldoze through the player at fault. 

She milks the muck out of it and you’re rolling your eyes at the yellow card pointed your way, confidently swaggering your way back across the field to where Alessia’s still on the ground. 

Alessia winces when the trainer presses a little too hard on the joint, fingers nearly crushing yours that you’ve graciously lent her for support. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t have to do what?”

Alessia tries to look stern but all you can see is the little girl who would follow you everywhere just because she could. You know she’s trying to be strong but you’d recognize the tearful look on her face from a mile away.

Lia doesn’t find the humor in your act of retribution, rightfully chastising you into the locker room at halftime.

“It’s not my fault! Look what she did to Less! She’ll lucky if she only needs to be in the boot for two weeks!”

It isn’t until Kim gives you one of her disapproving glares that you wilt. 

“Sorry Kim,” you mumble, scuffing your shoes on the ground. “Won’t happen again.”

It happens again.

There’s only ten minutes left in the match when you feed the ball into your midfield and time seems to come to a standstill. 

You watch on with a twisted horror as Kyra leaps up to receive your ball. She barely gets a touch on it before she’s caught on the wrong side of a flying elbow, crumpling to the ground.

The whistle blows and you can practically hear the blood pumping in your ears. One second you’re rushing across the field to be by Kyra’s side. The next you’re pivoting midstride, catching sight of the smirk on the offending player’s face. 

No one’s close enough to stop you from shoving her over. 

“You think that’s funny? Throwing your elbow into her face? Let’s see if you think it’s funny when I do it to you!” 

Steph catches you by the waist and hauls you back before anyone can test how serious you are. 

You’re still yelling and spitting when the ref stalks over, hand already digging into her pocket. 

There are boos and jeers when the inevitable comes and you throw a hand up in disgust. 

“Go on then, you gonna card her for drawing blood too?”

It’s clear your teammates don’t know what to do. 

Getting a yellow card is rare enough for you. But getting two and then being thrown out of a game? Practically unheard of in the years you’ve been at the club.

You ignore the look on their faces as you stomp all the way off the pitch and straight for the med room. You see Leah quirk her eyebrow, ready to give you an earful but you just push past, knowing full well that you’re going to get your ass handed to you later.

Alessia blinks up in surprise at the sound of the door opening.

She’s sat on top of an examining table, ankle propped on a pillow and wrapped in ice.

It only takes a second for her to realize what’s wrong with the picture. Alessia glances at the clock on the wall before her eyes flicker back to your fuming face. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you mutter. You poke at the ice, ignoring the way Alessia hisses and slaps your shoulder. “How’s the foot? Are we going to need to amputate?”

Alessia rolls her eyes. “My foot is fine. Now what is this I hear of you getting a red card?” 

You glare at her phone, the sound of another message coming in, no doubt your mother telling Alessia about what you’ve done.

“Tell ma to stop snitching. That girl got exactly what she deserved for elbowing Kyra In the face.”

“Kyra got what?” Alessia gasps, eyes going wide.

Before you can repeat, the door opens behind you.

The two of you turn to see a sullen looking Kyra.

“Hi.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard Kyra so quiet before.

“Oh wow, you look miserable.” You’re not sure if Alessia thinks this is hilarious or sad, but you’d definitely say the latter.

Kyra did look miserable. Her nose is already becoming discolored, swelling and bruises become more prominent.

“C’mere,” you huff, pressing an icepack against her nose when she gets close enough to you.

Kyra hisses and tries to jerk back but you just follow with the ice.

“The sooner you stop moving the sooner your 15 minutes of icing will be done.”

You don’t even make it to the 15 before the door slams open again for the third time. 

“What did I say about getting unnecessary cards?!”

“Unnecessary?” you gwak. “Look at the kid! What part of me defending her was unnecessary?”

You backtrack. “Look at both of the kids.” You gesture wildly between Alessia and Kyra. 

Lia rolls her eyes but follows your fingers nonetheless. 

“Ma’s never going to let Less leave our house ever again, and Mini will probably drop by to kidnap Kyra and revoke our Australian baby access!”

“I’m not a baby--”

“Ma can’t stop me from moving out--”

You and Lia whip around to glare at Alessia. “You’re not moving out.”

Alessia frowns. “Whatever.” She crosses her arms. “Kyra’s a baby.”

The younger girl gasps in defiance before whimpering at the pain that radiates through her nose.

Lia looks a little exasperated when she turns back to you.

“Please. No more red cards.”

“No more red cards,” you echo. 

When Lia grabs hold of your hand, leading you back to be chewed out by your captains, you turn to get one last glance at the two troublemakers.

Alessia and Kyra are already looking your way, shooting you two thumbs up.

You shake your head.

Oh the things you do for family.

[krashlite]

Design concepts for Etho!

Design notes under the cut!

Animal: hare fox

FACE/HEAD

Long face!

Rectangle eyes, very round ears

Expressions are based off his eyebrows

Eyes aren’t that expressive except with surprise and pleading

Reserved poses until he’s startled (at which point becomes more of a cartoon character).

Mostly uses his arms for posing

Movements are led by his hips

BODY TYPE (not that you see it)

Lean! Mostly hard muscles

Emphasized joints, specifically his knees, ankles, and wrists

Larger torso compared to the rest of his body to mimic hares

Longer hands/feet to resemble hare feet

CLOTHES

Covered head to toe in layers, the only skin we see is the top of his face. He does this regardless of climate and arc

Outfit bulk makes his limbs look tiny and disguises visible muscles

NEVER shows his face. It’s always conveniently out of frame, even when his scarf/mask is down

ZIPPERS.

Mostly wears darker colors but green’s his main color (like camouflage)

Boots get more worn down in later seasons (he gave up and just wore socks in SL and got new shoes for WL, which I’ll draw later)

ADDITIONAL

He has albinism! So no pigment in his hair, skin, or eyes.

He used to wear two red contacts to mess with people, but lost one of them and never replaced it

Eyes jitter!!

+ the traditional sketches from figuring out his outfit/shapes

[vhnywomen]

White Crocodile pointed toe ankle boots for Women’s

The white pointed toe ankle boots are a perfect choice for the office. They will look great with any outfit and add an elegant touch to your outfit. These boots are not only comfortable to walk in but also look good. White pointed toe ankle boots are low-heel ankle boots with a white color. They are well suited for the winter season.

White crocodile boots are a must have footwear for the office. They will make you stand out from the crowd and go well with most outfits. The red croc boots will give you that extra boost of confidence when you walk into a room full of people who don’t know what to say to you.

VHNY booties are very popular in the office, especially among women who like to wear them during their lunch breaks or on special occasions like holidays or birthdays. You can pair them with most outfits and they will surely turn heads wherever you go.

[fourmoony]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Three.

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: language, abandonment, falling, mentions of broken bone and reconstructive metal work, cheating.

ITN Masterlist

You –

The ice is smooth, freshly pressed by the Zamboni. You should be nervous. Usually, you’d be nervous. But you’re tired. Exhausted, actually. If Pince knew how much you want to turn boot and skate off the other side of the ice, she’d probably have an aneurism. This is it: your chance to become a National Champion. The gateway to worlds, to the Olympics. And all you can think about is the gaping hole in your chest, the knot your stomach has wound its way into. The sound of James’ truck door slamming an echo in the back of your head.

The crowd is silent, and your programme music starts. Four minutes. You only need to make it four minutes. Four minutes until you can walk away and spend the summer wallowing. Four minutes that hang over you like a heavy weight.

You know this routine like the back of your hand. You’ve practiced it so much you could do it in your sleep. Spins, jumps, twists. Every one of them brings a different memory. James picking you up off of your ass, frustrated and angry, sending you back to try again with encouraging words and an even more encouraging kiss. He’d cheer when you landed and buy you chocolate cake on the way home.

The music is loud and overwhelming. It grates on your skin. Images of James, of your happiest moments, of everything you lost – they spin and jump along with you. Heavy as the rain that soaked you on the twenty-minute walk back to your apartment that night. It hurts too much, burns too hot.

Pince likes to say that careers can end in a split second. You know well that they can. All it takes is a bad jump, a distraction. You’ve seen it happen. Countless young athletes losing their careers over one bad move. One fracture, one broken bone, one chip on the ice. One second and it’s all gone.

One second and you’re on the ice.

One second and the resounding crack of bone slices through the crowd.

One second and the lights have gone up.

One second and your entire life leading up to this moment flashes before your eyes.

One second and the world stops.

One second before the shattered sob leaves your throat and it all goes black.

Your ankle clicks and crunches when you roll it. It’s uncomfortable, but not sore – and as much as you hate to admit it, Pomfrey is right; that’s progress. Your toe touches the ground, your calf burns, your ankle hits a breaking point. With a wince, you straighten it, repeat the motion. The stretch room off the back of the rink is empty this early in the morning. The hockey team doesn’t come in for practice for another two hours, the ice is fresh, and as soon as the feeling comes back to the ball of your ankle, you’re going to make use of the free time.

With a breath, you pull your leg up, run the edge of your nail along the skin of your scar. There’s no feeling against the skin, there. It comes and goes, the numbness. Your doctor’s say it’s a side effect of the surgery, the damage to the nerve endings, the pins, the screws. Your finger trails a pattern up your leg, back down, over the ragged ridges of the marred skin. It’s starting to feel normal, the ways you need to live your life. Stretches every day, physical rehabilitation, being barely able to wear heels, mobility, and flexibility issues. Lily likes to joke that you’re a walking-talking-live version of the Met Office. The change in weather is, admittedly, easier to assume with the metal work in your ankle.

It’s been hard – rehabilitating. It’s been sore and scary, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. Remus talks, often, about the limitations that his condition puts on his career. It’s nice, in a twisted sort of way, to have someone who knows your pain. In comparison, your pain is a nick on Remus’ radar. His pain is chronic, his bones brittle and damaged. His career will be short lived – but, you know without a doubt that his time in the NHL will be legendary, regardless.

The feeling comes back slowly, to the slow rhythm of your finger tracing up and down. You stand, after a while, and reach for your skate bag. You don’t bother with shoes, socked feet padding against the rubber flooring all the way down to the team box. To your surprise, the ice is populated when you get to the plastic door into the benched area. Sirius and Remus are skating laps around the ice, passing a puck back and forth. They don’t have their kit on, just joggers and their team sweatshirts. James is in the same attire, socked feet kicked up on the bottle shelf beneath the boards. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, hood over his hair. Stray, dark strands of chocolate brown curling out the sides. He looks tired. Exhausted, even.

His eyes follow Remus and Sirius around the rink, ever the dutiful, attentive captain. You know there’s millions of play ideas running through his head, critiques on players that aren’t even in James’ eyesight. It’s astounding, though you hate to admit it, how good of a leader James is.

“You’re all here early.” You say, setting your skate bag beside James on the metal bench.

Your ex startles, eyes wide behind his glasses when he looks over. It’s odd, to think over the Summer he’s somehow forgotten to remember your schedule. He used to know it off by heart. You skate every Saturday morning before the hockey team starts their practice. Realisation crosses his features, like the ghost of a past life passing through his eyes. “Shit, I’ll pull them off. Sorry.” James apologises, pulling his feet from the shelf and sitting forward like he’s getting ready to call Sirius and Remus in.

“No, it’s fine. I’m cool as long as they are.” You take a seat, unzipping your skate bag.

James nods, swallows. The silence is thick, almost suffocating. There’s no flirty conversation, no teasing, no kind words of encouragement. Things have changed. As much as James promised they wouldn’t – they have. It has a lot to do with how things ended, you suppose. As long as you were together, you’d always thought it’d be your careers, the distance, that split you up. Your ex-boyfriend places his feet on the rubber mats below the bench, bounces his legs. “They’ll stay out of your way, just watch out for stray pucks.”

“Got it. You okay?” You ask as you sit down to tie your skates. “You look exhausted.”

James’ hazel eyes follow Sirius and Remus around the rink. You don’t think they’ve noticed your presence, yet. Content in their own world. “Yeah. All good.”

It’s a lie. You both know it. But you’re not the person James is going to talk to about that, anymore. You don’t have a response for him, so you take your skate guards off and leave him to stew in the box. The air is cold against your face, a pleasant feeling. Sirius and Remus have scratched the ice a little with their skates and sticks, but it’ll be fine. They hear your blades scratching the closer you get, turn to you as you approach.

“Hey, I just want to run my routine a couple times before tomorrow. I’ll try stay out of your way.” You tell them.

Sirius’ eyes flick to James almost protectively, like he’s checking his captain, his best friend, is aware of your presence. Since you and James broke up, you haven’t heard much from Sirius. It’s not that he’s picking sides – though, you wouldn’t blame him for picking James. What they have is unique. They’re bonded. But it hurts a little. Stings, because there was a time where Sirius was one of your best friends. You’d all been close. It feels now, like Lily and Remus are the only ones who make an effort.

“You have practice tonight, your ankle going to be okay?” Remus asks, pushing the puck back and forth absentmindedly.

“How’s your knee?” You deflect.

Remus bites back a grin and scoffs good naturedly, but Sirius’ eyes fly down to Remus’ knee as though he’ll be able to see through layers of clothes and skin, right down to the muscle. He looks almost panicked. Then, he looks back up, icy blues lit with a fire you’ve never been on the receiving end of. “He’s fine.”

“Relax, Sirius. I know he is.” Your eyes burn, a little, “I’ll try stay out of your way.”

Remus mutters something to Sirius – likely chastising him. You’re on the other side of the rink, pretending not to care, so you don’t hear it.

They stay out of your way for the majority of your ice time. Only one stray puck gets in your way, and James calls out in a panic when you almost land on it. Instead, you miss a jump and shout a shaky thanks as you clamber back to your feet on the ice. He stays firmly in the box – making you wonder why he even bothered to come to the ice this morning, at all. Not that it’s any of your business. Remus and Sirius run drills on one half of the ice whilst you weave in and around them. It’s not until you’re on your last run through that your foot goes numb. It’s quick, instant. You land on your ankle, there’s no feeling there, your leg buckles.

You hit the ice with a nasty amount of noise. Skates scraping and clashing, a whoosh of pained air. Your hip hurts, a searing pain that you already know will need to be iced. It takes a minute to gather your surroundings, turning until you’re sitting up. “Jesus,” You mutter, angry. It feels like this will never end – the numbness, the frustration, falling. It’s been months of your ankle going numb mid practice. Months of falling on your ass. “Fuck!”

Remus is at your side in an instant, Sirius close behind him. “Okay, up. Up, C’mon.”

You know you can’t get up, but you refuse to admit why. No one knows. Not even Pomfrey, not even Pince. You can’t run the risk of needing a surgery to fix the nerve endings. Can’t risk having to sit this season out. “Remus, give me a minute.”

“No, the longer you sit there, the less likely you’re going to go again. Up. Now.” Your best friend holds his hand out.

He’s just trying to help. But there’s anger simmering in your chest. Hot and raw and you want to lash out. For the first time, you think you understand why Remus is the way he is. So, you look at him, really, truly look at him and you think he understands. James crouches in front of you, eyes brimming with concern. You hate how much relief the sight of him brings you. Remus turns and drags Sirius off. They go back to their own corner of the ice. Your eyes well with tears.

“What’s goin’ on?” James asks.

His hands rest on the skate covering your bad ankle. You can’t feel them. The thought panics you because what if? What if one day, the feeling never comes back and it’s too late? James notices the fear in your eyes, his finger reaches up to press into your calf and you flinch. A look of understanding passes across his features, brows scrunching and dipping in the middle. “No one knows?”

“No one can know.”

James looks like he disagrees, but he nods. “I’ll bare your weight to get you up. Feet flat or Remus will notice, but weight bare on your good ankle.”

He doesn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t care. It’s not his role, anymore. But you nod, regardless. Even if the idea of him helping you lights a furious rage inside of you because how dare he act like he gives a shit now? You need to get off the ice, though. So you give him both of your hands, left blade flat on the ice as he pulls you up. Your hip screams at you, but you ignore it in favour of James’ socked feet. He’s run out onto the ice without shoes on.

“You’re going to get frost-bite.” You murmur, eyes flicking up to find his already on you.

He looks sad. Nostalgic, maybe. “Worth it.”

Your heart cracks open in your chest as you let James lead you off of the ice, all the while praying he doesn’t go full James and snitch on you to Pince, thinking he’s doing you some sort of favour. You have it under control. You’re dealing with it.

Maybe just not as well as you’d originally thought.

Regulus –

Barty is lying, rather annoyingly, half on Regulus’ legs and half on the bed. But he won’t ask Barty to move. As much as a distraction he’s made himself, Regulus finds he quite enjoys the idea that Barty wants to be this close to him. The sketch book on his lap stares up at him tauntingly. There’s half-finished scribbles of planets and stars; none of which Regulus has the energy to perfect. He does, however, have a strong notion to draw the way Barty’s body is curling around his legs. Regulus isn’t sure how to feel about that, so he ignores it; because if he thinks too much about it, he’ll start to push Barty away.

He’s aware that this isn’t going to last. Just like he’s aware that after his thesis paper is published, he’ll be returning to Grimmauld Place. Taking over Black Industries is probably at the bottom of the list of things Regulus wants to do with his life. But the thing about Barty Crouch is that he’s persuasive. He’s irresistible, as Regulus has come to realise. It’s more than just his regal looking cheek bones and sinful smile, his toned body, and tattoos that make Regulus more inspired to draw than he ever has; if only to one day see one of his drawings on Barty’s pale skin – it’s also his carefree attitude, his rebellious nature, and the big, bold, ‘fuck you’ middle finger he holds up to the world that makes Regulus want to get wrapped up in him and never get free.

He wishes he could keep Barty, but he can’t. So, he won’t draw him. For now, he’ll enjoy his rebellious streak brought about by the sarcastic, smart mouth, piece of shit guy he met in the art supply store in the spring and worry about the calendar counting down his return to Grimmauld place later.

Admitting defeat, Regulus places his sketchbook and pencil on his bedside table. Barty stirs at the movement, head straining to look at Regulus with a devious grin. He threads his fingers through the soft strands of Barty’s inky black hair and smiles softly. It’s obvious his smile isn’t believable, because Barty huffs, pushes himself up until he’s straddling Regulus’ hips. He’s not in the mood for whatever Barty is about to initiate, but Barty seems to notice that because his eyes soften. “What’s on your mind?”

Regulus studies Barty. He really is very beautiful. He’d be easy to draw. The itch is there. But he can’t. So, he won’t. “I was thinking that I can’t focus when you’re lounging over me like a stray cat.” It’s obvious in his voice that it’s a lie. But the good thing about Barty is that he doesn’t push Regulus to talk when he clearly doesn’t want to.

“We both know that you’re the cat, in this relationship, Regulus. You’re all claws and uptight attitude.” The boy on top of Regulus quips, a smile that tells Regulus he’s rather pleased with himself.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not all claws.” Because Regulus knows he’s uptight.

Barty grins. It’s charming and knowing, practically dripping with sin. He reaches for the neckline of his t-shirt; acts like he’s going to pull it upward. “Should we look at my back?”

Regulus holds the hem around Barty’s waist and tugs, scowling. “No, let’s not.”

Barty laughs, collapsing on top of Regulus. He enjoys the weight, presses his fingers into his shoulder blades because he knows he likes rough touches. Gentle touches make him jumpy. He listens to Barty laugh for a while, enjoys the sound of it vibrating against the skin of his neck. He stares at the ceiling and wonders if he should tell Barty that one of the reasons he’s struggling to draw is probably because his estranged brother has cropped his ugly head up.

Barty is good with advice. Mainly because the majority of his advice is to get high and ignore all of your problems. His mother would pitch a fit if she knew all the shit Regulus was getting up to, these days. She calls once a week, always short and curt. It’s more of a call to make sure Regulus is behaving, than to check in on how he’s actually doing. He’s not sure what he’s going to tell her when she asks who his student assistant ended up being. If she knew, she’d likely pull him out of university all together and ban him from leaving the house ever again. Not that he had any choice in who it was.

“Sirius is my student assistant.” He breathes out, the admittance bringing a hollow ache to his chest.

He doesn’t talk much about Sirius. Mainly because it hurts, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that as much as he tried, nothing was ever good enough for his older brother. Not enough to make him stay. And Regulus knows that expecting Sirius to stay was unfair – maybe it’s more to do with the idea that he left him there. Scared, alone. Baring the crown that Sirius found too heavy. Barty lifts his head until his eyes meet Regulus’. Reading, trying to gage how he should treat this. He’s not sure if he wants Barty to get him high and help him say fuck you to his problems, or if he wants him to offer to kick the shit out of Sirius.

“Okay. Go on.” Barty urges, fingers tracing Regulus’ collar bones.

The feeling grounds him as he huffs and closes his eyes. Thinking. Trying to sort through his emotions because, really, he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“He said I’m just like our father. I was a dick to him.”

Barty smiles sadly. “You were surprised to see him.”

“I knew I’d see him, eventually. I mean, I’ve done a good job of avoiding him. But I thought, maybe naively, when I came to Hogwarts that maybe there’d be a chance he’d want to explain. But he didn’t. He just looked at me with pure hatred and stormed off into the stacks.” It sounds childish, the way Regulus’ voice takes on a petulant whine.

But Barty nods, like he understands. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have siblings, but he does have an uncomfortable family situation. So, he’s sympathetic, at least. “Maybe he’s scared to apologise because he thinks you won’t hear him.” Barty offers.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just an asshole.”

The other boy scoffs amusedly, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You think he’d want me to be a part of his life? If I could forgive him.” Regulus asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

Barty presses his lips to Regulus’. It’s soft, caring. Rare, for them. “I dunno Sirius. I’ve never met him. But I do know that anyone who doesn’t want a part of you in their life is a fucking idiot. And you don’t need another idiot in your life. You already have me.”

He likes that answer, so he kisses Barty until they’re both a mess of tangled limbs and swollen lips. Until it turns out that there’s other ways to forget his problems. And all of them suddenly have a lot to do with Barty Crouch.

James –

He’s pacing. He knows he’s pacing, and he knows that his footsteps are clunking against the wooden floorboards, and that Remus will likely lose his mind if he continues. But James can’t stop. It’s how he thinks, how he processes. Years of thinking on his feet, of having to have a mind as sharp as a tack, having to move whilst processing a hundred different outcomes. The only outcome he can think of right now is you hating him even more than you already do when he inevitably goes to Pince and tells her that your ankle isn’t properly healed.

He did the necessary reading to conclude that prolonged numbness is definitely not a normal side effect of having a reconstructive surgery. A temporary side effect, yes. But it’s been months since your surgery. That’s not a good sign, according to a very reliable source (if you count Reddit as a reliable source; James isn’t sure if he does). And he knows he’s catastrophising. He’s prone to it. But he’s worried. And wouldn’t he rather you hate him that little bit more and eventually be able to get back on the ice next year (after another surgery, Reddit had confirmed) than risk it all now and never skate again? James doesn’t feel qualified to make that decision. He hasn’t been a captain long, and even then, it’s not like he’s in charge of people’s livelihoods. He wouldn’t have taken the job if that was the case.

James knows how much Nationals means for you – it’s the gateway to the World Championships, to the Olympics. He cost you that last year, and he hates himself for it. Is he really willing to do that to you again? He’s not sure. So, he paces. He loses count of how many times he picks up his phone and almost hits the green call button next to your name. He’s not even sure you’d answer, even less sure of what he’d say to you if, by some miracle, you answered. ‘I think you should miss out on Nationals again, this year, have another risky surgery and hope for the best. Okay, bye!’ doesn’t exactly seem like a good plan to him.

Remus is the embodiment of exhaustion when he pushes James’ bedroom door open and leans against the frame like a parent ready to chastise their hyper-active child. James cringes. Remus needs all the rest he can get. Between hospital appointments, hockey, and his classes, he never stops. “Sorry. I’ll try be quieter.” His voice comes out rushed and anxious, an alarm bell sounding off to alert Remus of his worry.

The taller boy tilts his head and studies James. Sometimes, he loves how perceptive Remus can be. It helps offence, and it generally means that he’s a better friend. But now, he shifts awkwardly because for the second time in the space of a year, he’s keeping a secret from his best friend. He hates lying to Remus. But your words play on a loop in his head. No one can know. You’d been so scared. Terrified, even, at the idea of everything you’ve worked for over the summer being ripped away from you. Call James selfish, but he doesn’t particularly want to be the one to do it. Even though he knows he should because it will be better in the long run.

“Or” Remus suggests, “You could stop pacing and tell me what’s going on with Y/N.”

James opens his mouth. Subsequently closes it because he doesn’t know what to say. He won’t betray your trust. He hates lying to Remus. But he knows, ultimately, if he really doesn’t want to talk about it, his best friend won’t push him.

He feels himself shrug, his best attempt at feigning nonchalance. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Remus’ honey eyes read like a book. He knows James is lying, scrutinising him whilst simultaneously trying to figure out why he’s lying for you. As far as Remus knows he’s on bad terms with you. And technically, that’s true. But James would give anything to fix that. He just hasn’t figured out how, yet.

“You know,” Remus pushes off the door frame, ever the one for imparting wisdom in the most dramatic of ways and pushes his hands into his pockets. “If I didn’t know well enough, I’d say you’re trying to decide her future for her. I can tell you right now, that won’t end well. Whatever it is she’s hiding, I’ve been there. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but one she has to do on her own.

“Don’t make her hate you any more than she does now, James. I’m still rooting for you.”

“You know?” James asks, throat dry.

“About the numbness or you cheating on her?” Remus asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he leaves James standing, alone, in the middle of his room with a sinking feeling that he’s let everyone down.

He’s not sure how Remus knows. Maybe you told him even though you’d told James you weren’t going to tell anyone.

An amicable breakup, you’d suggested. It’ll save us both the embarrassment.

He hates himself. Hates himself for all of the things he wishes he’d sat you down and forced you to listen to over the summer. Hates that he didn’t fight for you more. There’s so much you don’t know. So much you don’t want to hear. So much James wishes he’d done differently. Starting with how he wishes he’d run out onto the ice, consequences be damned, the minute he saw you land on your ankle, the minute he heard you sobbing in pain. He wishes he hadn’t walked away, feeling sorry for himself that he’d ripped Nationals from you. That, despite how hard he’d tried, he’d still failed you.

And he hates even more that he even considered doing it for a second time.

James sits on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, and he decides there and then that he’s not going to tell Pince. But he is, even if you fight him every step of the way, going to find a way to fix this for you. You’ll have a chance at Nationals if it’s the last thing James does.

And it starts with a call to Euphemia Potter.

[elisegravesbondageliberation]

As it’s been nearly ten long years since Elise Graves and the Pope have played together, Elise wanted to make it special by dressing her best. With her feet pointed straight and locked into knee-high ballet boots, and her legs encased in fence net stockings, Elise struggles to stand up on her toes. Thankfully, the Pope, in his innate wisdom, secures Elise’s ankles and legs to the side of a bondage bench. With Elise’s ass framed by both the top of the stockings as well as a latex suspender belt, it is perfectly put on display as the Pope bends her over the bench. Elise’s waist is made even smaller with the assistance of a sexy latex corset, as her arms are bound in a latex arm binder and pulled up behind her in a strict strappado position. This is the position that the Pope wants Elise in. This is how he wants her - restricted by shiny latex, while leaving her most useful bits uncovered. The Pope dives right in, wasting no time to become reacquainted with Elise. With each stroke of the flogger, strike of the cane, slap of the ass, and pinch of the nipple, they are reunited in a shared fondness for BDSM. As Elise’s ass grows more and more red, and her face contorts in both suffering and pleasure, they are both equally satisfied on a deep level. Of course, when the Pope breaks out the Fucksall (a hand-held fucking machine), all hell breaks loose. :)

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

never not mine | jjk | "... the whispers..."

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

We broke all the pieces but still want to play the game. This confrontation is long overdue and is either going to end in handcuffs or tangled limbs.

part i | this is part ii | part iii

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alcohol consumption; things are thrown during a public altercation; second chance romance?; angst and fluff and feels; Jungkook's POV

non-idol!AU; fashion model!Jungkook — ft fellow model/actor!Kim Taehyung and model/businessman!Kim Seokjin; a few cameos you can speculate on and one named cameo hehe; reader is not part of the entertainment industry

--

whether I'm gonna be your wife or gonna smash up your bike, I haven't decided yet but I'm gonna get you back – imgonnagetyouback by taylor swift

It was a night just like any other night, which meant Jeon Jungkook was somewhere doing something because he was someone. On this night he was visiting a new upscale nightclub owned by one of his close friends, which was why he was at a table surrounded by his bros, expensive bottles of alcohol, and beautiful women. Not his scene, really. He was an introvert at heart. Despite that, he had obligations to be here. Obligations to laugh, to jest, to be merry, to be somebody.

But he knew he was just a somebody surrounded by much better bodies.

So, really, he was only a ghost.

“Hey, isn’t that…?”

It was luck and good friends that got him in the position he was in now. Jungkook knew that. He couldn’t complain too much when they invited him out. After all, they were only doing it because they cared about him. Yeah.

“She's really staring at you, man.”

Someone nudged his arm. For a moment, he didn’t comprehend that it was him that was being spoken to. Maybe it was the heavy black leather jacket. Underneath, he wore a tight white tank, and completed his outfit with studded charcoal-wash jeans and black leather boots. Nice, sure, but there were other men that much more sharply dressed with bigger designer labels. Of course, he cleaned up well with his slicked-back black hair and clean-shaven jawline. So did any other male model out there. He was not so egotistical to think he was the most interesting man there.

“Hmph, who?” he snickered, swinging around in his chair with the ice in his glass clinking. He would figure out who everyone was talking about from the reactions of the public. He snapped his head around, stray tendrils of black falling free onto his forehead, obscuring his vision for a split second, and then he faced the crowd beneath the VIP tables.

Time slowed.

The club was loud. Very loud, due to the deafening combination of music, chatter and laughter. It was lit with the imperfect balance of light and dark, oscillating spotlights exposing corners and weaving through moving bodies clad in fitted dresses, high heels, tailored blazers, suit pants. The alcohol was high-grade. The crowd was cherry-picked and pre-screened at the door. It was what it was. Individuals who had money blowing money, ignoring the sins around them to commit their own. It was hard to pick out someone.

But Jungkook saw her right away.

The club became quiet from his point of view. Sound became a mishmash of muffled, incoherent noises fading to the background as the faces blurred. The music dulled. All lights dimmed except in one area. Everything was still moving, still thriving, still breathing yet he was only aware of one single person.

His ex-girlfriend stared right at him from below.

Even from this distance he could feel the blades in her gaze.

Black patent leather jacket. Very short, cut just under the breasts. Black lace corset, see-through except for the cups. Skintight lilac miniskirt. Legs for days. Pointed-toe black pumps with a thin ankle strap, the kind he had trouble with due to the small delicate buckle.

He tried to breathe but the air was like concrete in his lungs.

She tilted her head, narrowing her smoked-out eyes. Her lips were glossy crimson, cool-toned to match the palette of her outfit. Her hair had been pinned up, exposing her graceful neck and glimmering collarbones.

She began to walk through the crowd.

Jungkook spun around and suddenly all the sound roared back, intense and thunderingly hostile. He winced, clutching his drink and holding the side of his head, trying to make sense of it all.

“Tch, why is she here?”

“Right? She doesn’t belong here.”

“She can be wherever she wants to be,” replied a calm, deep voice.

He could hear voices around him talking but it wasn’t making any sense. How? Why? Was he seeing things? And why did it matter? It didn’t. It didn’t. He took another sip of his glass and found it bitter and tasteless. Maybe that was in his head too. It didn’t matter if she was here. Someone was tugging on his arm. He pulled himself free, snapping his hand down onto the table.

The world crashed back into place as his drink sloshed and spat out from his force.

A startled feminine gasp.

The calm, deep voice returned. “You okay, man?”

Jungkook jerked his head up and saw Kim Taehyung carefully surveying him. He was a man with strong, masculine features and a comforting baritone voice that reminded one of cozy winters and romantic nights. Out of all his friends, they were the closest in age. However, Taehyung was more than a year older and a much more seasoned veteran of the modeling industry. He had been scouted at a very young age, quickly learning the ins-and-outs without losing who he was. He was grounded, easygoing, and never had a crack in his composure. At least, that was how Jungkook thought of him.

Taehyung raised a dark eyebrow, repeating his question without saying a word.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook scowled, then controlled his face a bit better. “What?”

Those dark, moody eyes served him a dose of silent judgement as one of the girls at the table spoke up again.

“Oooh, she’s sitting down at a table.”

He told himself not to look. It didn’t matter if she was here. And yet his head moved on its own, pivoting to the left so fast he almost had whiplash. At high-end clubs like this, there were tables available depending on to how much a patron spent. The larger tables had to be paid for in advance to be secured a space. Such reservations were violently expensive, signaling VIP status. A lot of the smaller tables on the lower level were occupied. The more exclusive tables were higher up, needing stairs to access the higher tiers. A waiter was holding her hand, carefully guiding his ex-girlfriend up the stairs to an empty round table that typically seated ten.

There was no one else at the table.

She sat down at the seat closest to overlooking the club.

“She can afford that?”

A crackling laugh. “Doubt it.”

“Who are you to say what she can’t afford?” Taehyung cut in sharply in a disapproving tone.

“O-Oh, well… It’s just not that common, you know.”

The chittering was from the women they had invited to the table earlier. Shit, their presence seemed so frivolous and annoying now. Jungkook had half a mind to turn around and glare at them. Instead, he was transfixed by the woman in patent leather and tight lilac. She crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, and leaned back in her chair, scanning the crowd. A waiter came back and brought a bucket of ice with a champagne bottle and accompanying flutes. A waitress came by with another bottle. Porcelain, with painted flue floral design, and placed two crystal glasses onto the table. His former lover smiled at them, nodding. They bowed and took their leave after serving her.

Instead of touching the drinks, the woman turned her body and locked her icy stare right on him.

Jungkook stiffened and turned away quickly, feeling his body running hot. The table was still talking, but it was behind hands and feigned disinterest. Taehyung sighed, shaking his head. Of course, there had been other friends at the table too. Only now did Jungkook notice that they were missing. Must have wandered off. At the very least, their host Kim Seokjin would definitely be gone for a while. He was an affluent actor, model, and owner of several establishments, including this luxury nightclub. Eventually the tall, broad-shouldered man would return to see them off, but there was no telling when.

“Did you know she was gonna be here?” Jungkook hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from the women. They still lingered for the free drinks which Taehyung kept supplied. No sense in wasting Seokjin’s endless tab after all.

Taehyung frowned. “I don’t police people’s actions. Does it matter what she does?”

Jungkook scoffed. “Oh, so this wasn’t your idea?”

Those normally warm brown eyes turned cold. “It wasn’t. Besides, she’s no longer your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely not.”

A growl collected in Jungkook’s throat and he was about to let it loose. He swiveled his head again only for the sound to die before it began. A man was standing by her table. He was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, with tied-back bleached-blond hair that laid over his shoulders. He had a pleasant decorum and a smile like a predatory feline. She gestured him to sit down and poured him a drink as invitation. He watched in horror as his ex-girlfriend chatted up a beautiful stranger.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or run over there to flip the table.

A low voice cut through his thoughts.

“Wasn’t the breakup amicable?”

He froze.

Slowly, Jungkook faced Taehyung, his long-time friend. He never really could bring himself to fully lie to those piercing dark orbs, now reflecting the same reserved gaze that Taehyung had given him when Jungkook provided the same flimsy excuse he was once again repeating.

“I… It wasn’t meant to be,” Jungkook mumbled once more. “The traveling… it was too much for us.”

The older male was too good at reading between the lines, especially when it came to romance, his forte. “Hm.” He knew when he wasn’t getting the full story. “It’s probably too late to ask now, but was it what you wanted?”

Jungkook couldn’t help it.

“It was…”

He looked over his shoulder again.

“… What I deserved.”

She was thanking the blond-haired man. He bowed ninety degrees and leaned in, whispering something in her ear before leaving the table. His glass was empty. Someone else was approaching the table. A pretty woman with long black hair in a white minidress and short, pearl-white nails sat down, bowing lightly and introducing herself. His ex-girlfriend offered between the two drinks and the pretty woman chose the champagne. A waiter came over to uncork it for them, pouring a healthy amount into the two flutes.

They two chatted, immediately absorbed with each other.

“For a guy naturally talented at a lot of things, you’re such a stupid idiot.”

He was.

Wait.

Jungkook scowled, turning back to a disapproving Taehyung cradling a small ceramic cup. It was hand-painted with the smallest of brushstrokes, depicting a flock of black birds disappearing into the white sky. He took a sip with a gruff sigh, making a tense face. He was a wine guy, but he couldn’t turn down traditional Korean alcohol. That would be uncouth.

“How long are you going to continue moping?” Taehyung scoffed.

“I’m not moping,” Jungkook countered, hunched over the table and gripping his whiskey glass a little too hard.

“You are convincing no one. Least of all me.”

His eyes flickered upward, glaring. Taehyung remained refined, unperturbed, nearly prince-like in his half-open floral-and-forest-green silk shirt and ruffled hair. A black-brown curl perfectly grazed one of his eyebrows, accenting his condescending look with a dash of softness.

“Did you ever realize how much she did for you?”

Jungkook pushed away his glass. He couldn’t reply. He stuck his tongue in his cheek, trying not to feel. It was only then that he noticed that the table was strangely silent despite the fervor of the environment – the women had made themselves scarce, understanding that this conversation was much too serious for their girlypop night.

Finally, he forced himself to speak. “For me? I take care of myself.”

Taehyung winced. Hard. “You cannot be serious right now.”

Another peek behind him. A different man at her table now. Silvery-blonde hair, tan skin, muscular like a godly titan. She caught him looking and stared directly back. Jungkook cursed under his breath. “What did she do then? Hm? Enlighten me.” His voice was becoming rougher, slipping out of his practiced Seoul dialect and into his Busan dialect. The broad-shouldered man at the table had no suit jacket. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up. He must have noticed her lack of attention, because he began to turn around as well.

Jungkook jerked away before they could lock eyes too.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Taehyung exhaled, not quite annoyed but getting there. “But I know you were the one that was wrong.”

Yeah, right.

“Never once did she complain about you. Never once did she butt into your business and cause you trouble when she could have. Never once did she talk behind your back when we both know damn well that you’re no saint, Jeon Jungkook.”

His tattooed hand against the table balled up into a fist, the familiar ache in his chest splitting, threatening.

Unintimidated, Taehyung continued. “The travelling was rough? Of course, it is. And there are probably a thousand ways to make it up to someone you love, but instead now I’m looking at you sitting here and her sitting there, pretending to be strangers. Tells me a whole lot about how that worked out.” His natural Daegu satoori was becoming more evident during his tirade. Taehyung wasn’t trying to be polite, though.

“You don’t know anything,” Jungkook retorted.

“I don’t.” Those dark brown eyes burned hot, scrutinizing him and tearing him apart. “And I don’t need to. Your hostility is telling me everything.”

“It was you,” Jungkook snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. “You invited her here.”

Taehyung’s low voice became lower, more accusatory. “Go ahead. Keep deflecting. Run back home and hide. That’s what you want to do, right?” His gaze narrowed and Taehyung’s normally friendly warmth morphed into scalding heat. “You heard what they said. She doesn’t belong here. And yet, here she is. They all talked and gossiped and badmouthed her, right to your face even, and yet you said nothing. You still don’t have the fucking balls, man. You didn’t respect her for all she was. In spite of that, she stood beside you, head held high, until you tossed her away. You brought her into this world, you ripped her out of it, and guess what? She is here. She holds her own. You deluded yourself into thinking she needed you. But she doesn’t, and it’s the other way around.”

Jungkook shot up out of his seat, nearly knocking the chair over. He was breathing hard, his furious anger so violent that it clawed at his insides, and Taehyung tilted his head, mirroring the expression of an adult tiger observing a foolish cub.

“You’re wrong,” Jungkook gritted out between clenched teeth. “You’re fucking wrong.”

He… No. She did this. This was her fault. She was the one that always pushed him to go for what he wanted. She was the one who always helped him make it work. Last minute changes happened often early in his career and she always smiled at him and told him to go, to run, to chase those adventures. And she always waited for him to come home.

“I wasn’t like that.”

In the middle of dinners for two. In vacations cut short. In forgotten special dates. Go. She always waited for him to come home. He couldn’t be blamed for that. Those were all her own decisions. He just had to do what he had to do, didn’t he? He couldn’t be blamed for doing what he thought was best. He couldn’t be blamed for trying his best. This dull ache created from a thousand cuts was not made from his own hand.

Right?

“You’re hopeless.” Taehyung slumped back in his chair and sighed. “Do as you wish.”

He wasn’t the person Taehyung was saying he was.

If he was, then…

No.

Jungkook whipped around and locked his eyes to the table, walking determinedly up to it.

There was a different man sitting there now. A very tall one with very short hair, violate energy, and a striking profile, deeply engaged in conversation with his ex-girlfriend. Currently laughing bashfully at something she must have said. The stranger was wearing a crisp black dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and well-tailored black slacks. Jungkook wanted to punch him in his very handsome face. He didn’t care that the man’s shoulders and arms were so built that they were nearly bursting the seams of his dress shirt, nor did he care that starting a fight right now would do absolutely nothing except get him thrown out in handcuffs.

Jungkook wanted to kill him.

Her eyes took a moment to shift from the very handsome stranger to him.

It hurt.

It really fucking hurt.

He glared back. Her gaze was not as heated, nor did it hold the same ice she had during their last conversation way back then. There was a completely different mix of emotions conveyed now. Almost disconnected, lonely, and loathing all at once, the last not directed at him but at herself.

As if she didn’t want to care but did and hated herself for it.

It wasn’t who she was at all, and Jungkook hated himself for doing this to her.

“Dude, I’m going to need you to get lost.”

Startled, the seated man turned his head to see Jungkook giving him a death stare. He hated seeing the puppy-like expression on such a masculine-looking man, not because he looked down on that but because it was a genuine, adorable reaction that couldn’t be faked.

She probably liked that.

She probably deserved that.

Jungkook was determined to ruin this too. Why the fuck not?

The man looked confused, and then irritated. “Uh… Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t think you belong here.” He had a commanding, stern tone. He shifted in his seat, halfway to rising. “This conversation doesn’t include you.”

“No, this conversation doesn’t include you,” Jungkook snapped, glancing at her. His ex-girlfriend did nothing but raise an eyebrow at him, her arms crossed under her breasts. “Fuck off.”

The man in the black dress shirt began to stand, brows furrowing. “Hey, I’m going to have to ask you to leave–”

“Excuse me.”

She stood up.

From this distance, Jungkook could fully take in how the smoke-grey eyeshadow accentuated the shape of her eyes, making them more prominent and intense. The lights caught the glow of her skin and the vividness of the scarlet of her lips, giving her an ethereal, untouchable demeanor. Loose layers of her hair framed her face despite the majority of it being pinned up, casting cold, dark shadows around the hot radiance of her gaze.

“I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but I think it’s best if you give us a moment,” she said politely to the tall stranger while bowing. “I was enchanted to meet you tonight, Kim Mingyu.”

A pink flush dusted over the man’s cheeks. This motherfucker had the audacity to be flustered. Jungkook still wanted to punch him in the face. Maybe more now than before.

“O… Oh… Um. Alright.” He glanced between Jungkook and her. “Will you be okay?”

She smiled, maintaining confident eye contact with the stranger. “Let’s not assume the worst of people. And… Your words have given me courage. I thank you.”

It took everything in Jungkook not to trip the guy on his very expensive designer shoes as he hastily bowed and took his leave, offering an awkward half-wave before backing away. She raised a hand back, not looking away even when he turned around.

And then.

Quiet.

At least as quiet as a loud nightclub could be. But it all became background noise in the face of loaded silence. The safety off now. The bass faded into heartbeats as she raised her eyes and, once again, they faced each other across the table. Jungkook stood with his hands balled up into fists in the pockets of his leather jacket. His former lover stood with her hands in front of her. She was still the most beautiful, graceful, and collected woman that he had ever had the pleasure to know.

“I’m…”

And he missed her so, so much.

“I’m sorry.”

So fucking much.

Her eyes flickered down in a pause, and then back up. “It really doesn’t matter anymore. The past is in the past.”

Her name on his lips felt foreign and familiar all at once. She didn’t react. It was as if he had said nothing at all. He said it again, almost with an edge of panic, and she closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. He wanted to run to the other side. He wanted to climb on top of the table and grab her hands and tell her it was going to be okay, that he was going to be better, that she was the love of his life and that he could be hers too, please, if only he had a chance. Instead, he stayed where he was, frozen in place, trying not to do the wrong thing even though everything about this scene and script was all wrong.

Her eyes opened in a resigned, resolute flutter.

“Do you think saying sorry takes back everything you’ve done?” she asked in a measured tone.

He pulled his hands out of his jacket, shaking his head. “No. No, of course not. I… You didn’t give me a chance to apologize, and I–”

“Apologize for what?” she coldly interrupted.

“W-Well… For… everything, really.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know.”

Jungkook blinked hard, trying to banish his tears. “Know?” he echoed.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” Her words were sharpened steel, cutting right through him.

“I do,” he insisted. “For all the times I left during dinner, for all the times I’ve left during our scheduled time together, for forgetting your birthday, anniversary–”

“For the blatant disrespect,” she interrupted, her hands separating, those intense eyes narrowing. “For always believing I could fend for myself when you got swept up during work events. For contacting me not to talk about my day, but to interrogate me on what I was doing. For not believing me and asking me to send photos every time I was out somewhere.”

He sputtered, taken aback. “That wasn’t… Those things–”

“For always knowing I understood your position and taking it for granted.” Her glare was like daggers, cutting through all the lies he told himself. “And yet never understanding mine. Never believing in the love I had for you.”

“I did believe!”

“And so you accused me of lying?” she shot back, scathing him. “I have never done anything to make you believe I was disloyal to you, but I was five minutes late to a date and suddenly I need to be lying? Suddenly that was a sign of my nefarious plans? Suddenly I’m the bad guy that needs to be backed into a corner? Suddenly I must beg on my knees to soothe your feelings?”

“I didn’t ask for that,” he retorted. “I just asked why you didn’t text that you were late.”

“I don’t need to repeat what I said then,” she growled, bristling. She had been five minutes late because of an elderly taxi driver taking his time. “Because it didn’t matter what the reason was for you. I know that now. You were scared. You were insecure. You were nervous that I was beginning to fall out of love with you. You latched onto the first thing I did wrong and blew it out of proportion to force me to grovel to you. You could have asked me directly how I felt. Instead, you decided to play fucking games.”

Jungkook couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Her hands balled up into fists by her sides. “I was patient. I was understanding. I loved you.” She dug her nails into her palms, clenching her jaw. “But I was not going to let myself be manipulated by your insecurities. I was not about to lose myself to become an extension of you, Jeon Jungkook.”

Past tense.

“You… loved me?”

She might as well have stabbed him right through the heart.

A thundering pause.

Finally, she sighed. Her hands relaxed.

“When I came in here, I didn’t know if I wanted to run to you or slap you.”

She looked around, down at the crowd, up to the lights, to the bar, the tables, the people.

“Before you, all I had was a decent job. Not exciting, but good enough to enjoy the life I wanted. I had loose acquaintances and once-in-a-blue-moon friends. I had mediocre hobbies that I was okay at. Before you, that had been enough. This,” she breathed, indicating the people and the money being flaunted around like water during a rainstorm. “I didn’t know this. I didn’t know how lonely it was to be standing this high. I didn’t know… My acquaintances and few friends saw the life you gave me and faded away, no longer relating to the extravagance I was exposed to. My job became a forbidden topic for the mere crime that it was boring. My hobbies became childish to these refined eyes. Yet… I could live with all that. The life I wanted was the one I had with you. And… it turned out to be miserable.”

For the first time, Jungkook realized how much she lost loving him.

“I was miserable.”

She half-laughed, empty.

“But I loved you.”

Lowered her head.

“And I was so, so damn angry with you.”

She smacked the table with her palm, hard enough to make the people around them flash them a startled look. Her fingers tensed, cherry-red manicure flaring over the wood.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” This was the part Jungkook didn’t understand. His voice rose in both frustration and desperation. “Why didn’t you just blow up on me? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Say what?” she snarled, snapping her head up, each word a bullet tearing through him. “Huh? No, don’t go? How dare you leave me, again? Create the war wounds right before we part? What good does all that do? Make us both upset right before you run off? Because you would anyway. You know you would, because you are stubborn and selfish and always doing what you need to do, putting me at the bottom of the list since I am capable… right? I can handle myself, right?”

He was rounding the table, knocking chairs aside. “You could have been angry at me. You just didn’t want to be!”

“Who wants to be angry? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“What, you were worried that you would no longer be the perfect girlfriend if you weren’t understanding?” he accused.

She looked livid. “Don’t you dare flip my consideration onto me.”

He stopped right in front of her, tension all over his neck and jaw. “It’s your fault too. I can’t change if you act like everything is fine!”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious? I have to be the one to teach you not to be a fucking selfish prick and think about someone else for a change?” she hissed.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Of course, you know!”

They were beginning to draw whispers and stunned faces but neither of them was backing down or ashamed enough. Or, perhaps, they were simply completely unaware of the disruption they were causing.

“You knew – no, you still know,” she snarled, jabbing him in the chest with a impeccably manicured finger. “You have never felt like you fit in with these people. That was why you tried so hard. That was why you took every opportunity to be a lapdog. That was why you dated me, because I am not privileged and enabled, that’s why you dragged me into your world and got paranoid when I wasn’t showing the same apprehensions as you, putting me in impossible positions and playing games, when we could have been teamed up against the world, when we could have been yin and yang, but all we were was a pair of damn cowards!”

His eyes went wide.

Fury laced in her helpless expression.

“You could have protected me. All you did was make me throw myself to the wolves to protect you!”

Her hands slammed into his chest and she shoved him, hard. He stumbled back, throwing his right arm out, knocking over a champagne flute and shattering it. Glass exploded onto the floor, delicate shards shooting out and catching the light, scattering into dust beneath designer feet.

People gasped and someone screamed at the unexpected noise.

His left hand reached out and gripped the patent leather sleeve of her jacket. Their gazes locked in shock and comprehension. His lips parted. One of his knees was still bent to steady himself from falling. But before Jungkook could say anything, she squeezed her eyes shut, breaking their connection, and ripped her arm from his grasp.

Then she seized the porcelain bottle with painted blue flowers and threw it onto the floor, shattering that too.

One moment of awful, dazed silence.

The next moment, men in security uniforms swiftly and silently crossed the distance and surrounded them. He was being grabbed and pinned down to the table, metal handcuffs clicked onto his wrists behind his back despite his protests. His jaw dropped when one of the men touched her shoulder and she immediately turned around and slapped him. Instantly, she too was firmly pushed down and also restrained, both of them staring at each other over the surface of the wood, their previously well-styled hair in disarray all over their faces, their eyes wide with the realization of the severity of their public argument.

He couldn’t help but think she looked fucking hot.

Something flickered in her eyes. She recognized his exact thought from their shared look. And his ex-girlfriend burst out laughing at this absurd situation, even as security hoisted them up and dragged them down the stairs. So, fuck it. He couldn’t help it either.

Jungkook started laughing too.

-

“This is your fault, by the way.”

“Feel free to add it to the list of shit I’ve done wrong.”

They were still handcuffed. Both standing a respectful distance away  from each other in the middle of a storeroom crammed with boxes stacked like a cardboard maze. There were no windows. The door was closed and presumably locked. Neither of them had moved towards it. There would be no criminal undercover going on here. They were already in deep enough shit. Adding attempted escape would probably change their current storeroom location into separate jail cells for the night.

They did not look at each other.

Jungkook leaned against the boxes, his hands stuck behind his back. One of the sides of his leather jacket had slipped down, exposing his right shoulder. It was nice, actually, since the previous scuffle had left him rather hot-blooded. He snuck a glance beside him.

His ex-girlfriend’s body was facing the door. The backs of her hands rested on the prominent curve of her ass in that tight lilac skirt, her straight posture making her waist look even smaller. Must be nice to have a built-in shelf. His eye line travelled up to her hair, seeing it half-undone and falling down her neck. Half of the pins were still holding up by sheer luck. The patent leather of her jacket crackled as she adjusted, stretching out her ankle. She was still in her high heels.

“Uncomfortable?” he found himself quietly asking.

“Could be worse,” she answered back, still not turning around.

He waited for her to elaborate.

She didn’t.

The silence was palpable. Somehow not unbearable. He looked back down at his feet, wondering why they had been left here. He half-expected security to escort them off the premises and into a police car, but they had marched them behind the kitchen and told them to stay put and not cause trouble, similarly to how misbehaving kids were put in time-out. Then again, the owner of the club was his affluent friend Kim Seokjin. Perhaps this was a rich people thing. Or an under-the-table thing.

Her voice echoed in his head.

You have never felt like you fit in with these people.

“Hey, uh…” he started, trailing off.

A light sigh.

Then, she shook her head, somewhat vigorously. Some of the hairpins loosened up. “Ugh, my hair is more annoying than anything,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s all messed up.”

Hell yeah, it was, and it was a turn-on, reminding him of after-sex tousling. Jungkook kept his mouth shut. Not the right time for that. He chewed on his lower lip, wondering if he could do anything. Wondering if he should do anything. She still hadn’t turned around.

So, he did.

He turned around, bent down slightly, and tried to reach up. The angle was difficult. Not high enough either. His leather sleeves were also constricting his movement and making loud creaking sounds. He looked back, trying to reach up with a grunt, and she stiffened, swinging her head around. He froze in an awkward position. She stared at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He blinked back. “Um… I… I was trying to help…?”

Her eyebrow raised. “By… doing yoga?”

He let out an impatient huff. “No, I’m trying to help you take the pins out of your hair,” Jungkook clarified, straightening with a frustrated shake of his body. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it? But I’m not flexible enough and you’re too tall in your heels.”

She paused. He looked away, feeling somewhat embarrassed for even trying. Who was he to think that he could do something like that? Hah. His hands tightened behind him. They weren’t close like that anymore. They weren’t even friends.

He felt a sting in his heart remembering that.

“Sorry… I should have asked if you wanted the help at all.”

He exhaled heavily.

Stillness.

Then he heard the crack of patent leather and raised his head to see her squat down, lowering one knee to the concrete floor, her back perfectly straight and her head at his waist height. She was facing the door again so he couldn’t see her expression.

“If… Well, it would be helpful if you could… If you could remove the hairpins,” she mumbled, keeping her head up. “Please.”

He gawked at her kneeled form, unmoving.

His heartbeat accelerated.

“Um… if you’re going to do it, faster would be better,” she added hesitantly with placed-in chuckle. “I don’t know how long I can keep my balance in these shoes.”

His cheeks burned. “Uh, yeah, s-sorry. I’m on it.”

The metal handcuffs clinked as he moved. He turned around and backed up a bit, reaching out to feel for her hair. Sucked in a quiet breath as his fingers grazed the soft strands, memories of stolen nights drifting back to him. He swallowed hard and bit his lip, using touch to search for the hairpins, and then loosening them as gently as he could. One by one. He tried to tuck them in his palm as he continued. Sometimes he would need to rest one hand on her head and use the other to pull them out slowly and carefully. She said nothing, tilting her head slightly as he made his way around. He felt his way along her scalp, running his fingers through her hair, remembering the familiar scent he could detect when he used to breathe it in, remembering his hands holding her head as he used to lean in and kiss her, remembering that he had lost all of that now.

Jungkook lowered his chin, letting out a soundless cry.

“You liked my hair down, I recall,” she commented behind him, her soothing voice mirroring the rolling tide late at night.

“Y… Yeah.”

He smiled despite himself. He pulled back his handcuffed hands.

“You have lovely hair. I don’t like seeing it all tucked away.”

For a moment, there was a quietness as those words sank in. She shifted, and he heard her stand up, the sharp click of her heels indicating as much, but he kept his back to her, unsure if this was the last time he would touch her hair. The last time he hadn’t known it would be the last, so he didn’t mourn the moment until way later, but this time…

“Thank you.”

He breathed in through his nose. Oddly stuffy in here.

“Y… You’re welcome.”

He wished he could take it all back, but he couldn’t. He wished he could prove he was a better man, but he didn’t know how or even if he could. She was right. He had gotten swept up in his ambitions and the superficial relationships. He had been afraid. He had let that fear control him because he had felt out of sorts with who he was, who he was becoming, and who he wanted to be.

“I really… I really am sorry.”

They were back-to-back. Not touching. Just close enough to feel each other’s presence without seeing them. Hands behind their backs, staring in opposite directions but finally seeing the path before them.

“I know.”

She let out a soft breath.

“I wished for the way I felt to change once I could accept your apologies, but,” she whispered. “Life isn’t that simple or clear cut.”

His chest ached. “Yeah.” It didn’t matter if his actions had unintentional consequences. The consequences still existed. “You’re right. About it all. About the person I became and how I treated you because of it. About how this was because of me feeling like I don’t fit in.”

She didn’t say anything, yet Jungkook could sense her acknowledgment. He couldn’t really explain why he knew. Maybe it had something to do with their current circumstances.

“I keep trying and I… I don’t know. Maybe I’m too simple-minded. Maybe I can’t understand the world these people live in. I mean, my friends seem like normal people but there are still moments where I catch myself thinking, I wouldn’t have thought to do or say that. I feel so… disconnected, sometimes. Meaningless. Maybe I’m not worth a damn to them.”

He was rambling, slipping between his refined dialect and his Busan satoori. He caught himself, about to correct his wording.

“You don’t have to be like the people around you to fit in,” she chided.

He stopped trying to form a sentence and listened.

“You don’t listen. That has always been your strength. Your charm is your natural character with the added spice of rebellion.” Her chuckle lightened, making his heart tighten and feel like exploding at the same time. “Your talent has always been bravely walking your own path, confusing as it may be. There is a pureness in that. You have friends because they want to protect that part of you. Haven’t you noticed? Your friends have never asked you to change or be like them. They just accept you for how you are and push away people who try to mold you into their vision.”

His friends? Well, true, they were the main reasons for him getting the jobs he got. He had always felt somewhat inadequate, realizing his success was from seniors in the industry helping him out. They all told him that this was how it worked. They all told him to do well so he could get more opportunities. It was part of the reason that he felt that he couldn’t let those connections down. He had always felt that he couldn’t refuse.

“Your friends have always been on your side. They don’t want you to be like them. They want you to stay as you are. You mean that much to those around you.”

But perhaps he had been wrong all along.

“Only you thought you needed to change.”

There was probably a lot of sound outside, but the distracting racket was inaudible from the distant storeroom. Her quiet voice amplified her words in this slice of stillness. There something stricken and bitter haunting the air between them as the revelation settled.

He clutched her hairpins in his fist.

“I didn’t… I didn’t date you just because you weren’t part of this vapid world I’m in.”

He wanted her to know.

“I wish…”

The tears stung the corners of his eyes. He refused to let them go. Jungkook looked up to the ceiling, taking in each breath as steadily as he could. He felt like he was drowning, except instead of water, it was all the things he never said.

“I wish I could have been strong enough for you to be angry at me sooner. Tonight, I realized… It was my own shortcomings that made you stay quiet.” He chuckled dryly in admiration. “You endured more than I ever could. More than anyone should.” He didn’t know if he was making any sense but he kept on going. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so mad. That was the most emotion I’ve ever seen from you. You must have spent a lot of nights… feeling so alone because of my selfishness.”

This was not a romantic setting at all. They were stuck in a storeroom with no windows, surrounded by boxes, handcuffed for being a public disruption, for being too dramatic and too emotional. Neither of them could look at the other. A disaster in every sense of the world.

But.

Maybe this was the most honest moment they had ever shared.

Her laugh simmered behind him.

“I’m sorry for losing my shit.”

He half-smiled in rueful relief.

“It wasn’t so bad. Low-key kinda hot. I almost lost the plot at times.”

She laughed under her breath. “You don’t mean that.”

A single heartbeat of silence.

“I kinda do,” he admitted, feeling the upturned corners of his lips falter.

It became quiet once more. An embarrassed quiet, but maybe only on his side. Jungkook still couldn’t bring himself to turn around and find out. He shifted awkwardly, realizing he was still holding her hairpins in his hand. Uh. Well, he couldn’t exactly ask her to put them in her pocket. Did she even have any pockets with that outfit? He furrowed his brows, thinking about that tight skirt and lace corset. Doubtful there would be any pockets in such fitted clothing. Maybe in her jacket, but it was so short that he would basically have to reach for her tits to…

His face heated slightly realizing that he was heavily focusing on her body right now.

Click.

He didn’t really register the sound behind him at first. It sounded like something falling onto the concrete. There was another sharp tapping sound, but before he could shift and twist his body to see, he felt her fingertips brush against the knuckles of his fist.

“I’m sorry too.”

He was too shocked to even move or react. Just stood there wide-eyed, struck by the lightning of her touch, realizing they were that close and that it was her who initiated that.

“I should have brought up the little things that bothered me. I shouldn’t have let it snowball simply because I thought it would make your life easier. I should have tried to remind you not to be intimidated by those around you,” she sighed heavily. “And I should have believed in your apology more than I did.”

The pads of her fingertips stilled.

One by one, they lost contact.

Jungkook dropped all the hairpins on the floor in a cascade of metal raindrops.

He reached back and grabbed her hand, gripping her fingers tightly, gasping as he felt her cool skin against his warmth. He felt her initial rise of reluctance, however, she did not pull away. Their handcuffs clinked against each other, the chains colliding. He scrambled to reach a little higher. Grasping her hand in his. Her right in his right. He tried to say something. Something romantic, something reassuring, something self-derogatory even.

But nothing come out.

He tried to breathe and was choked by inner tears. Tried again, shaking, trying to be silent. Her fingers curled around the back of his hand and laid there. She gave him a light squeeze.

“Don’t worry.”

Her calming voice a dream on this night.

“I’m here.”

They held hands.

It must have been only for a short while. It felt like forever packed in minutes. He inhaled deeply, catching fleeting traces of her sweet and sultry perfume. Closed his eyes with an exhale. Another inhale, slower this time. Maybe this was futile. Maybe this was objectively wildly inappropriate. Maybe he was the fucking worst, wishing, hoping they could reset to something new. All of this could crash and burn.

Or.

Or, maybe.

He swallowed tightly. Leaned back just a little. Their shoulder blades touched. A moment of suspended anticipation. She leaned back against him. The backs of their heads didn’t yet touch. He felt her hair on his neck. It was only the tops of their backs that touched, but now there was only centimeters of trembling air between them.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice rough and nervous.

“Only a little.” Her thumb brushed against the side of his palm. “I’ll be alright.”

Yeah, he knew that. “You’re the most capable person I know.”

She sighed. “It’s not all sunshine and roses.”

He scrunched up his face in search for the words. “Well… You suit moonlight and thorns more.”

She nearly snorted. He felt her shoulders shake in silent laughter. He winced, thinking he said something wrong.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I like those better, anyway!” He blurted it out quickly. Maybe too quickly, curling a bit in on himself once he realized what he said, cringing, but she tugged on his hand ever so slightly. It was obvious she was shaking her head from her hair swishing over his neck.

“You always had a thirst for danger, Jungkook.”

Her tone was slight and playful. He felt his cheeks burn and his heart race so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe from the pressure. Nearly stuttered when he heard his name in her voice, clenching his jaw shut so he didn’t make a fool of himself. Again. His entire body tensed, on edge and vibrating from the rush of emotions.

“Are you trying to break my hand?”

He was gripping her hand way too tight. “S-Sorry!” He loosened his stiff fingers, twisting his wrist to keep his hand cupped around hers. “Sorry…”

“Heh, it’s not like you to apologize,” she teased.

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “Hey...”

Her head laid against his shoulder.

He stilled, heartbeat pounding. She looked up at the ceiling. At least, he presumed that from the angle. The back of her head touched his left shoulder, just barely. Her hair spilled against his collarbone and back, messy and free.

“I bet you have somebody. You’re too good-looking to have nobody lined up.”

Her murmur was soft and resigned. Guilty.

Her words hung in the air.

He tipped his head back, the nape of his neck against her shoulder. The patent leather of her jacket squeaked loudly under his presence. He wished. He hoped. He…

“I have someone,” he confessed.

He squeezed her hand. Their faces tilted upwards to the ceiling, and still Jungkook could recall every detail of her eyes – the way they glimmered when she smiled, the way they sparked when she was serious, the way they twinkled during all their special moments, the way they hollowed out when she turned away from him.

His fingers gently separated hers, interlocking.

The words were at the tip of his tongue.

His lips parted.

Suddenly there were loud footsteps on the other side of the heavy wood door. His ex-girlfriend jerked up in alarm. Jungkook stumbled. Both of them quickly sprang away from each other as the noisy jangle of keys was heard and then the heavy door swung open, revealing the two of them standing there, tense, now staring wide-eyed at a tall, broad-shouldered man flanked by two security guards. His black hair was perfectly parted, half brushing against his forehead and half combed back, giving a corporate feel in his tailored black suit. He was strikingly handsome by all accounts. Intense dark brown eyes, sculpted brows, full lips, stunning jawline.

Kim Seokjin wore an exasperated, annoyed expression.

He ticked his head to Jeon Jungkook’s ex-girlfriend.

“You. Come with me.”

She hesitated for a second and stepped forward, hanging her head a bit. “I sincerely apologize for the trouble I’ve caused.”

It would be expected for such a stern, posh-looking man to be harsh. Instead, Seokjin stuck his fists by his waist and sighed loudly, similarly to a disappointed grandmother scolding her favorite child.

“Haaah… come on. You’re not going to jail. I want to talk to you alone. Hey, uncuff her,” the owner of the nightclub tutted. One of the security guards went around her to unlock the handcuffs. “It took me a while to handle everything out there. At least the incident won’t be on the news or anything.” He reached out and held her elbow as she was released, steadying her balance and leading her out of the room. The guards followed, not taking a second glance back.

Jungkook frowned. “Hey, hyung–”

Seokjin whipped up and pointed a finger at him. “No. You stay here.”

Jungkook balked, offended. “What?! What about me?”

The older man glared at him like he was the naughty child. “I’ll have a conversation with you after. Stay.”

Anger boiled high. “I’m not a dog!”

Offensively, Seokjin barked back with, “You’re right. Dogs are loyal. And want to listen to people. You have the listening skills of a straw. In one end and out the other.”

The door slammed shut with finality.

Jungkook stood there, speechless, gawking at the sheer audacity.

Then he kicked the floor with a roar of impatience once Kim Seokjin’s insult finally registered. What the hell! Kim Seokjin was the one to invite him here in the first place! Seokjin was the oldest of Jungkook’s friends that took him under his wing, teaching him about various business aspects behind the scenes and making sure Jungkook knew the importance of having a good lawyer to look over his contracts. Now Seokjin had him locked up as if he was a five-year-old receiving a time out! Who did he think he was, his disciplinarian?

“What the fuck?!”

Then Jungkook ceased all movement, no longer stomping around in circles.

It was him.

Kim Seokjin had invited him here tonight.

It was him. Kim Seokjin had told him he better get his ass over here on this night in particular if he knew what was good for him. Not unusual, as his friends usually had to threaten him to go outside these days. It was you. You invited her here. It wasn’t Taehyung who invited her. He had been telling the truth all along.

“That bastard.”

Snarling, Jungkook whipped his head to the door and glared at it, fully intending to charge like a goddamn bull right into Kim Seokjin once it opened again.

I, I hear the whispers in your eyes I'll make you wanna think twice you'll find that you were never not mine you're mine

-

i hear... | ... the whispers... | ... in your eyes.

--

masterpost

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

[janeyseymour]

do you think we could get one where reader proposes?

Yes, yes you can. I was actually already in the process of writing this!

Fire in My Heart- pt 5 (Can be read on it's own!!)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

wc: ~4.1k

You don’t really know who to ask, but you want someone’s blessing to propose to Melissa. You can’t ask her mother… she isn’t around anymore. Her beloved Nonna isn’t around anymore. Her dad is alive, but as she so eloquently put it, “That motherfucker is dead to me.”

So you really don’t know who to ask.

“Yeah, Barb,” Melissa comes wandering in. “Yeah. Hey, I just got home, so I have to make sure Y/N is alright and start dinner, but we can definitely talk about this tomorrow morning? …Yeah, okay. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay, bye.”

And then it hits you. You can ask Barbara for her blessing. The kindergarten teacher is like a sister to your girlfriend. That’s perfect.

The redhead saunters over to you, and while you’re pretty much fully healed from your injuries, Melissa still dotes on you like she did the first week. “Hey, babe,” she leans forward and kisses you softly. She pulls back, and you have a perfect view of her cleavage. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” you tell her. “I’m sick of desk duty though. I can’t wait to get back out into the field.”

“Until the doctor clears you, you ain’t heading back into another burning building,” she tells you sternly. “I ain’t riskin’ nothin’. Did you ice your ribs today at work?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m really doing okay, Mel.”

She clicks her tongue in a disapproving manner before walking into the kitchen. She returns a few seconds later with an ice pack. “Ice.”

“Mel,” you sigh.

“Ice,” she says again and holds out the ice pack even more aggressively. You snatch it out of her hands and press it to your rib cage, sucking in a breath as you hold it to your skin. She settles next to you before nudging you. She has you sit in between her legs and pulls you to her chest. She kisses your cheek as you relax against her. 

“How was your day, love?” you ask softly as you crane your neck to look at those striking green eyes.

“Those kids sure do keep me on my toes,” she chuckles lowly. “Aiden snuck his hamster into his backpack, and then he lost it in my classroom… I found the fucking rodent in my purse.”

“Good lord,” you laugh weakly. “I don’t know how you do it, some days.”

“I don’t know how I do it some days,” she retorts back.

You ice until the timer on her phone goes off, and she gently maneuvers around you to head into the kitchen.

“I just picked up some stuff to make chili, are you good with that?” she calls to you from the other room.

You smile. Chili is one of your favorite dishes of hers. “I’m good with that. Mind if I join you?”

“As long as you take it easy,” she tells you. “You’ll sit at the island and look pretty.”

“I can help chop up some vegetables,” you roll your eyes as you stand from your place on the couch and hobble into the next room.

“You’ll sit. You’re still injured,” she points the knife that she’s holding at you.

“My ribs are all but healed, and I don’t have to do anything with my ankle to chop vegetables,” you roll your eyes as you gesture to the boot your foot is still in. 

“I gotta take care of my girl,” she rolls her eyes as she starts to chop them while staring at you. You have no idea how she does that- not looking at the vegetables and still not clipping her knuckles with the knife.

You sigh as you pull out your phone and start scrolling through it. You shoot Randy a text.

I’m gonna be in late tomorrow, you tell him.

Oh?

I have some business I have to take care of. Hold down the fort for me?

How late are we talking?

I have to drop off Melissa’s lunch at the school and talk to a few people, but then I’ll be in for my dreaded desk duty.

I gotcha covered.

Thanks.

No problem, Chief.

You grin as you read that last text. Now you know you can grab the septa, a taxi, or an Uber down to Abbott to speak with Barbara. You know her prep is in the morning, so you’ll be able to track her down.

The next morning, you wake up with your girlfriend, chuckling as she makes her lunch. You know you’ll be able to distract her enough that she’ll forget her Tupperware on the counter and you’ll be able to make your way into the school without it seeming fishy. You do everything you can to seduce her, and with the way she’s looking at you, you know you’ve won her over.

“Baby, I’m fine,” you roll your eyes as she makes sure that you’re okay for the fifth time. “Can we just…?”

Finally, she relents. By the time the two of you are finished, she’s running late, and she dashes out the door, leaving her meal on the island. Perfect.

You know Barb has her prep earlier on in the day, so you can time taking Melissa’s lunch out with her schedule. You’ll arrive a bit earlier so you can drop off the redhead’s lunch and then make your way down to the kindergarten wing.

Your phone buzzes around the twenty minutes later. Melissa’s at school.

Forgot my lunch, and it’s all your fault.

I’m sorry? you text her back.

No you’re not, she replies. You chuckle. You really aren’t sorry. Not in the slightest. 

You attempt to take the bus, but it rattles your ribs too much, and you have to get off a stop after you got on. You can practically hear Melissa telling you that she told you so. So you stop into the coffee shop that the two of you frequent quite often, pick up her favorite, and call an Uber. 

As you make your way into the school, Ava sees you.

“Hey girl,” she looks you up and down. “Damn.”

“I’m just here to drop off Mel’s lunch and talk to Barb,” you tell her with a playful roll of the eyes. “I don’ need you flirtin’ with me or nothin’.”

“Girl, I ain’t flirting,” she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I know when someone can kick my ass for hitting on their girl, and Schemmenti is one of those someones. G’head.”

You make your way down to the second grade wing and grin as you appear in the doorway.

“Miss Y/N!” one of the kids shouts and points over at you. Almost immediately, your girlfriend looks up and over in your direction. The kids all leap up to give you hugs.

“Ah,” the teacher tuts. “No huggin’ her. She’s still recovering from her injuries.”

“From the building jump?!” Jade asks with wide eyes.

“From the building jump… a true hero,” Melissa tells her kids with a sparkle in her eyes. She knows how much the kids idolize you and love you. When she finally returned to school, the next day, she came home with about a hundred cards from her kids for you.

“I was just doing my job,” you rolls your eyes playfully, although you do toss your hair playfully. “Anyway, I’m just here to drop off Miss Schemmenti’s lunch and a coffee. I have to run to work now.”

She takes the tupperware container and the to-go cup of coffee from your hands, gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek, and you’re on your way. You head down towards the kindergarten wing, and there is Mrs. Howard lining her kids up for gym.

“Oh, Y/N,” she smiles at you. “Here for Melissa?… Omari, stand in line quietly please.”

“Actually, I’m here to talk to you,” you tell her. “Mind if I come in?”

“Absolutely,” she says. “I just have to walk my class down to the gym, but then I’ll be back. Feel free to step inside.”

It’s only a few minutes before the kindergarten teacher returns and takes a seat at her desk. She gestures for you to sit in the rocking chair, which you do.

“What brings you around?” she asks.

“I have something I want to ask you,” you sigh softly.

“And that would be?”

You take a deep breath, rubbing nervously at your collarbone as you do. “It’s going to sound a bit silly considering you already are somewhat clued in from our first get together at the house… but… I don’t necessarily have anyone in Melissa’s family that can bless us getting engaged.”

The older woman hasn’t quite put it together yet, so she furrows her brows. “Okay?”

“Melissa’s mother has passed, so has her Nonna. And her father is still alive, but she hasn’t spoken to him since she was twenty-three. I could ask Kristen Marie, but I don’t know how close they are, even having reconciled now. You’re like a sister to Mel. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is… Barb, is it okay if I ask Mel-”

“Sweetheart,” Barbara cuts you off. “Are you asking me for my stamp of approval?”

You bite your lip and nod nervously.

Her eyes well with tears. “Honey, of course I approve. I’ve approved of you since the day we all gathered at your house.”

You break out into a grin. “Really?”

“Of course, dear,” she chuckles through her tears and stands to give you a hug. “And it means so much to me that you would ask me for my approval.”

“Well, you are the closest person to Mel,” you shrug as you return the gesture, patting her back gently.

“When are you planning on asking her?”

“I have a follow up appointment in two weeks to get cleared from the boot, and then I should be cleared by then to go back into the field,” you tell her. “Mel and I were planning on having a celebration with the boys at our house, and we’ve been talking about inviting the Abbott group over for that too.”

“We’ll all be there,” the teacher assures you. “Anything for our favorite firefighter.”

So, two weeks later, you and your girlfriend are sitting in the doctors office waiting for them to come in and give you the go ahead to continue life as normal.

“It seems like you actually took this healing process seriously,” the doctor quips. “Change of pace from your usual road to recovery.”

“She didn’t want to,” the redhead snorts. “I practically forced her to stay bedridden for the first month.”

“It was torture,” you groan and elbow Melissa.

“Well, maybe you should be thanking her, because you should be all good to head back into the field,” your doctor winks at you.

“Oh thank god,” you sigh with relief. “I’m so sick of desk duty.”

“Just no more jumping out of burning buildings,” the doctor tuts at you. “You hear?”

“Loud and clear, doc,” you grin as you mock salute your doctor.

He hands you the paperwork to turn in to your company so that you can fully document that you’ve been cleared, and the two of you walk out of the office hand in hand.

“Congrats, babe,” Melissa tells you as she kisses your cheek. “Celebratory breakfast? I still have three hours before I have to go to Abbott.”

“I told you you didn’t need to take a half day,” you roll your eyes, but you nod. Breakfast sounds amazing.

Over breakfast, the two of you discuss having everybody over for a barbecue, and by the end of your meal it’s planned. You send a text to your boys, letting them know that it was non-negotiable. She sends a text to her friends, telling them that she couldn’t care less if they showed or not, but the invite was there. 

Non-negotiable? Randy texts you separately.

Gonna propose, Tell no one or I’ll fire your ass, you reply back before deleting the texts. There’s no way you’re going to blow this surprise.

You then proceed to have the same conversation with Joe.

Of course, one of them spills the beans to the younger firefighters, but neither is willing to give up the other, and you know you don’t have it in your heart to fire them, so you just threaten the entire squad that if they ruin this for you, there will be hell to pay.

Much to Melissa’s chagrin, all of her crew replies to the group text stating that they will indeed be there. You get a text from Barbara later that she told that crew the invite was non-negotiable- but she didn’t tell them the real reason why. She claimed it’s because the two of you have always shown up for their dinner parties, and this was going to be no different.

So here you are, the two of you cleaning your house up and down. Melissa chuckles to herself as she remembers the nervous wreck she was when her friends came over to meet you for the first time- oh how the tables have turned.

“Amore, they’ve all been here before,” she rolls her eyes as she makes up her charcuterie board.

“Yes, but this is the first time everyone is going to be here and meet each other,” you counter. You shake your hands nervously. She has no idea why you’re this nervous. She has no idea that you currently have her ring in your pocket.

“It’ll be fine,” she tries to comfort you. “They’ll all get along just fine.”

A few hours later, everyone is trickling in. Most of your crew has shown up- Randy and Joe are manning the grills. Jake, Luke, and Zach are shoving as much of your girlfriend’s pasta into their mouths as they can, and the rest are sitting around your lawn and patio chatting with the elementary school teachers. While Melissa is playing perfect hostess, Barbara saunters her way up to you, trying not to look suspicious.

“You doin’ it?” she asks you quietly.

“Yeah,” you grin and look up at her, only to see your girlfriend coming up behind her. “Yeah! The wine is in the fridge, Barb! Do you want me to get you some?”

The kindergarten teacher raises a suspicious brow at you, but with a stern look from her, she nods. “Sure, dear. Thank you.” She hands you the wine glass, and as you pass by your girlfriend, you give her a gentle kiss to the cheek.

“Are you feeling less nervous, hun?” she asks you as she attaches herself to your arm.

“Just fine, babe,” you try to sound as calm as possible. “A little nervous Joe’s gonna catch something on fire… he’s got a habit of doing that while cooking.” Not a lie. It’s happened before, and you’re willing to bet money it’ll happen again. It just better not be here. He can’t ruin tonight for you.

“Well, lucky for us, we have a whole crew of firefighters, and the chief,” she hip checks you gently.

“I suppose you’re right,” you chuckle nervously, hoping she didn’t feel the ring box when she did that. You open the fridge and pour some wine for Barb before turning slightly. “Do you want a glass too?”

“I was thinking beer instead,” she gives a small shrug. “With the burgers and stuff.”

“I’ll grab that then once I get this wine to Barb.”

“I got it,” Melissa takes the glass out of your hand. “You go hang with your boys.” She turns in the direction of her colleague.

So you do. You hover in between both Randy and Joe, who are all grins as they know exactly what is going to happen at some point today. They don’t know when you’re going to do it, and quite frankly, neither do you. But it’s going to happen.

“Hun,” the redhead comes up behind you and snakes her arms around you. In one hand is a bottle of Yuengling for herself, and in the other hand is a can of Vizzy for you.

“Thanks,” you smile as you lean into her a bit. You take the drink and sip on it. She’s warm, and you can’t help but fiddle with one of her rings on her left hand. You subconsciously play with her ring finger- where the ring in your pocket will be later tonight.

Dinner is ready a bit later, and everybody is sitting around outside. You almost do it right then and there, while everyone is humming quietly as they enjoy the wide spread of food. But you stop when you see that Melissa is stuffing her face with food. She’s enjoying her dinner too much for it to be interrupted right now. You chuckle softly as you watch her practically wiggling with glee. She takes another sip of her beer before kissing your cheek gently.

“See? Everything is fine. Joe didn’t catch anything on fire, and the food is delicious,” she tells you as she rests her hand on your thigh. She squeezes it gently, trying to calm your nerves.

“You were right,” you grin back before taking a bite of you burger. “Shit. Joe really does know how to grill when he isn’t catching it on fire.”

“Oi,” the man you were talking about chimes in from across the table. “I’m a damn good cook. It’s how I got my Linda to marry me in the first place.”

“That’s how I got Y/N to go out on a third date with me,” Melissa chuckles. “I made dinner for our second date, and landed myself a hot firefighter.”

“Yeah,” you throw in. “But Mel didn’t catch her kitchen on fire while cookin’ us dinner.”

That gets a good chuckle from your audience.

The Abbott crew takes to cleaning up dinner and putting out the various desserts that people had brought while your gang starts putting together the fire pit.

“When are you gonna do it, Chief?” Zach asks as he practically bounces on his toes.

“I swear, you’re more excited about it than I am,” you chuckle.

“I want you guys to get engaged so Luke and I can be beer boys!”

“Hell yeah,” Luke jumps into the conversation. “Fuck flower girls when you could have beer boys!”

You roll your eyes. “Soon. Don’t blow it.”

You’re all sitting around outside, most eyes on you and Melissa as she tells some ridiculous story. You’re lounging in her lap, her leather jacket draped over you. She’s got a tight hold on you, making sure that you won’t fall off of her. 

“It was ridiculous,” she lets go to gesture, and you fall off of her lap and onto the ground. Thankfully, you’re not close enough to the open flame to catch on fire. You chuckle as you dust yourself off, and Melissa looks absolutely mortified that she practically threw you to the ground.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” she gasps, hands flying to her face.

“No, no,” you laugh as you continue to dust yourself off. “I had to get on the ground anyway, so you helped me get there.”

“What?” she furrows her brows.

You turn over and stay on one knee as you produce the ring box from your pocket. “Mel,” you start.

She slaps your arm in shock. “Shut up.” Her hands fly up to her mouth again. “Shut up! What are you doing?!”

“Mel, honey,” you open the box. “It’s you. It’s always been you. I’ve just been waiting for the right time, and now is as good a time as any- with us surrounded by the people that mean the most to us. Will you-”

You can’t finish your question because your girlfriend has tackled you to the ground in a hug.

“Will you-”

“Yes! Yes!” she shouts into your ear.

“Jesus, woman,” you joke as you continue to hold her close. “Will you let me finish asking my question?”

“Yes!” is all Melissa can get out before Barbara cuts in.

“Woman, let her ask!”

“Will you marry me?” you can finally ask the full question.

“Yes!” your girlfriend, no fiancee, yells again before crashing your lips together. There are cheers from all around as the two of you embrace on the ground.

You carefully sit up, the redhead still in your lap as you take the ring out of its box and slip it on her finger. She holds out her hand to get a look at it, and you know it’s the perfect one. It looks like it was made to be sitting on her finger.

The boys are all whooping and hollering that “Chief just got engaged!”, the Abbot clan is clapping and cheering right with them, but all you can see is Melissa.

Barbara walks over to her bag and pulls out two giant bottles of champagne. She knows exactly where you keep your champagne flutes, and she’s brought extra- and starts pouring out the sparkling beverage.

Janine and Gregory help pass them out, and then all eyes are on you, as you are apparently being put on the spot to make some sort of speech. 

You pull yourself and Melissa off the ground, looping an arm around her waist as you do.

You clear your throat. “I know this was a party to celebrate the fact that I was cleared from my injuries, and I’m able to go back into the field. And luckily for me,” you chuckle. “I had one of the best people by my side to help pick me up while I was down. I had my rock, my star, and the sunshine in my life through every icing time, through the physical therapy… through it all. And although I’ve always known it was Mel, this time has only helped solidify that I couldn’t imagine going through better or worse with anyone else… So, while there have been quite a few times that I’ve almost popped the question-”

“What?” the redhead looks at you with a strange look.

“Like… after you first met the guys, when we went to that nice dinner, when I was on morphine in the hospital… a lot of times during my recovery,” you laugh and kiss the side of her head. “And while there were quite a few times I always popped the question, I knew there were two things I wanted in this proposal: for everyone that we love to be here with us to celebrate the occasion, and… to have someone’s blessing to ask you to marry me.”

“What? You didn’t ask-” you shake your head quickly.

“I asked someone that I know means the world to Mel, and someone who is an extended part of our family,” you grin as you look Barb in the eye. You then turn to your fiancee. “I asked Barbara Howard.”

“And I of course said yes,” the kindergarten teacher says with a smile.

“So, thank you all for coming out to celebrate with us, even if most of you didn’t know it was happening,” you finish as you raise your glass in a toast.

“So that’s why Barb said it was non-negotiable that we were all here,” Mr. Johnson realizes loudly.

After the fire pit died out, your guests made their exits with warm congratulations, and you helped Melissa spiff up a bit, the two of you finally retire to bed. You lay down and allow her to curl into your side. She lays a gentle hand over your shoulder, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see the sparkling ring on her finger.

“I have one for you too, y’know,” Melissa whispers to you as she stretches to kiss your cheek. “It’s in my drawer at work… I asked Randy if I could propose.”

You sit up partially. “That bastard knew and didn’t say anything?”

She laughs. “I may or may not have threatened his car, his house, and his life.”

“Once an arsonist, always an arsonist,” you sigh as you settle back down. She curls back into your hold, her head resting gently on your shoulder.

“And now you get to marry into an arsonist family, future Mrs. Schemmenti,” she grins against you.

“Good God,” you whisper to yourself. You hadn’t even thought about the fact that you were marrying into a family that loves fire. How that slipped your mind, you’ll never know.

“You love me,” she mumbles, and you can tell she’s starting to drift off.

“You’re right,” you sigh softly as you kiss her temple. “I do love you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she mutters.

[cassarttstudio]

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