#so i can get all the set up done before i have to start juggling w/ classes

[gedwimora]

i haven't gotten as far as i'd wanted in my reread but this is also around when i'd wanted to make him so we're gonna rework that plan and start doing theon things ig bc his blog is sitting there mocking me like it has since 2020.

[colormepurplex2]

Golden Cufflinks | JJK

▻ Golden Cufflinks ↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ Best Friend's Fiance, Strangers to True Mates ⤜ A/B/O AU | angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 11,742 ⤜ Summary: You’ve never given much thought to finding your true mate, firmly believing it’s something that will happen when it happens. But, when you do find him—thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks—it very well could ruin everything. They say not all’s fair in love and war; you just hadn’t expected your best friend’s wedding to be the battleground. ⚠️ Crass language, talk of designation hierarchy, mild talk of misogynistic practices of the past, confessions of cheating(not by main pairing), anger/arguments, kissing, dick sucking, mild cum intrigue, maybe mild breeding kink if you squint, unprotected v. sex, knotting, lots of slick and cum

Written for @hisunshiine as part of the 2nd Quarter 2023 @bangtanwritershq Awards Season! A/N: Congratualtions, Vanessa. You deserve all the kudos for a job well done during the 2nd Quarter 2023, I hope you enjoy the story!

A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi, @lo1k-diamonds, @moonleeai for the amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Nerves flutter in your belly as you gather your belongings from the plastic bin at the end of the rolling conveyor belt on the other side of security. As you walk away, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you have to juggle your purse and jacket to retrieve it.

You feel bad for making Hayun, your best friend for as long as you can remember, wait for a response, but you desperately just want to find your gate and have a seat first. Once you find it and settle in at a chair by the big windows looking out on the tarmac, you thumb to her contact.

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you right now for making me wait so long for a response,” Hayun sasses before her voice softens, “Hello, I love you.”

“Love you, too, girl,” you say, unable to help the smile that tilts your lips up. “Sorry, I’ve been MIA for the last few hours. Things have been hectic. I misplaced my passport this morning, but I finally found it under the bed and then missed the hotel shuttle. I had to call a rideshare, but of course, it took them forever to get through airport traffic, and ugh…” you trail off with a sigh. “I’m sitting down for the first time since I woke up this morning.”

Which was approximately four hours ago at this point. Your flight is set to take off less than an hour from now, so you imagine boarding might start soon. You’re not exaggerating when you say it’s been hectic. It was bad enough waking up at 3 AM, but you’re a chronic planner and stickler for time, so missing your flight was the absolute last thing you wanted to happen.

“Oh, babe, that sucks. I’m glad it’s all worked out, though. I really can’t wait to see you!”

The conversation passes quickly, easing your heart and mind as you catch up on the last twenty-four hours. You haven’t seen Hayun in a handful of years. Her career took her to the other side of the world, and yours kept you where you both grew up. The last time you saw her was through a haze of tears at this very airport when she boarded a plane destined for Seoul, South Korea, where she was adopted from at just two years old.

Visiting each other was always something you both talked about. But, as with most things, life just happens, and eventually, you find yourself making that visit you always talked about for reasons you never considered before—like your best friend tying the knot with a guy you’ve never met.

Sure, you’ve seen pictures of him and have heard him talk in the background of most of the phone calls you’ve exchanged with Hayun over the last few years. But, it was never on your friendship bingo card that the next time you’d find yourself seeing your best friend, it would be her at her wedding.

“I gotta go. They’re about to start boarding.”

“I’ll see you when you land. Can’t wait!”

Hayun disconnects the call, and you gather your belongings to prepare to line up in the boarding queue. It will be a long flight, but seeing Hayun again after so long apart will be worth it.

You fiddle with the bracelet on your left wrist, twisting and pinching at the silver moon charm dangling from the thin chain. Hayun has a matching one. They were presents from your parents on the day you were both recognized with your designations; she was thirteen, and you were fifteen.

The dynamics of Alphas and Omegas have long since changed from what it once was. Legend has it that once upon a time, an Alpha and an Omega were closer to their wolf-kin than how the world is now. Thanks to evolution and science, the only things remaining from that time are the more basic bodily functions—scents, knots, and slick, to sum it up.

The crescent charm on your wrist symbolizes your designation—Omega. But being an Omega doesn’t hold much meaning for you. You don’t feel all that special, and it’s not like you’re rare or any more or less capable than the next person. As it stands, you can see at least a dozen other moons jangling from bracelets, waiting to board the same plane you are.

There are also necklaces, tattoos, and other ways to display a designation scattered around the waiting area. The how of it is mostly regional, sometimes generational. The Beta standing behind you in the queue has a teardrop earring dangling from their left ear, and if it weren’t for the pheromone blockers you took this morning, you might be able to smell their unique scent.

You also have your own smell, a scent that is just you. You’ve been told it’s a sweet, citrusy bouquet like lemonade on a hot summer afternoon. However, also thanks to the blockers, it remains suppressed to the point someone would have to make you bleed or press their nose so firmly against your throat it hurts to smell it.

There really is only one thing that a lot of people are envious of when it comes to an Omega’s designation, and that is that they supposedly have an Alpha true mate out there somewhere that will call to their baser nature. It’s such a rare phenomenon these days that it might as well be part of the legends of old, too.

The bottom line is that no one cares about subgenders anymore; it doesn't matter whether your charm is the Omega crescent, the teardrop of a Beta, or the triskelion denoting an Alpha. In fact, you’re pretty sure you could ask the Beta for their earring and offer them your charm bracelet and no one would bat an eye over it.

Though you’d never do that, considering the chain around your wrist isn’t technically yours. The night after you presented as Omega, when you snuck away with Hayun to lay on a blanket under the stars and moon that was so like the charm hanging from your twin bracelets, you giggled as you exchanged them. Her tiny fingers trembled against your wrist as she secured her silver chain around it. You did the same with your own around hers a second later.

It was that night that you both swore always to be friends. No matter what happened in life or where either of you ended up, you would always remain true to one another. So far, your friendship has been unfailing, a constant thread of comfort and light for you both. No matter how long it’s been, the charm still smells faintly of your best friend—a perk of the charms themselves, holding a token essence of their owners. Hers holds a soft lilac and jasmine scent that you’ve always thought complimented your own citrus notes.

The flight attendant scanning boarding passes beckoning you forward breaks you out of your internal reflections. With a full heart and giddy anticipation curling in your belly, you find your seat and settle in.

It’s a long flight, longer than most flights you’ve taken. But when you finally walk off the plane, make it through customs and immigration, and finally empty into the arrivals terminal of the Incheon Airport, you feel immediate relief, and the hours spent in the air don’t seem so bad.

“Hey, over here!” a familiar voice calls out, catching your attention.

You spin on your heel, confusion setting in for just a moment before it’s replaced by another wave of relief and a little of something warmer. Taehyung, Hayun’s adopted brother, swamps you in a giant bear hug that quite literally sweeps you off of your feet.

“Wow, hey. This is a surprise. What are you doing here? Where’s Hayun?”

Taehyung scrunches up his face, letting out a small scoff. “It’s a good surprise, I hope. Something came up, and she had to meet with the wedding planner and caterer at the last minute. She called me and asked if I could pick you up.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah,” you confirm with a smile. “Good surprise.”

It’s no secret that you’ve always been fond of Taehyung. As a baby, you were toddling around with him long before his family adopted Hayun. She ended up being the sister you never knew you needed, even if you were a few years older.

When she moved to Seoul for work, Taehyung ended up being the physical representation that took her place. He flew out a week before you to help her with planning and will stay for a few weeks after you’ve already headed back home. They may have had their differences over the years, but their sibling bond is stronger than petty arguments and rivalries.

“Ready to get on the road? It’s a long drive.”

Hours later, with the rolling countryside and farms dotting the horizon, you discover the fiasco inside your backpack. The bottle of pheromone blockers you packed this morning somehow got shuffled to the bottom of your bag and popped open. The once-powder-filled capsules litter the bottom of your bag, broken open. Pale blue powder coats your things, the mild flower smell of the medicine lingering in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you groan. “Any chance there’s a clinic somewhere between here and where we’re going?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He frowns, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, making the triskelion signet ring on his index finger glitter in the mid-day sun. “We’d probably have to turn around and head nearly three hours back to get anywhere near a clinic with blockers. I'm told most people don’t use them anymore these days here. Maybe another one of the wedding party might have some you could borrow if you really need them. But, honestly, I don’t see anyone minding if you don’t use them.”

“Most people here don’t use them anymore?”

“Well, yeah, with the progression of equality and things like that. They’re so great here, way more progressive than back home. It’s very common for Omegas to go off of blockers or never even begin them. Laws have been implemented to punish Alphas who can’t control themselves. The responsibility of remaining safe shouldn’t be solely set on the shoulders of the Omega population.”

Talk like that has only recently become popular back home. You’ve heard the speeches and followed the media and the sources, but you suppose after nearly half of your life taking blockers, it just comes naturally to continue to do so.

“Hm, yeah, okay. I guess it’s no big deal, really. As long as you’re sure people won’t mind?”

Taehyung sniffs the air, his nose twitching. “I think you smell great, but just in case not everyone does, if someone says something, then I’ll personally drive all the way back to the city and pick you up some,” Taehyung promises, giving you one of his swoon-worthy smiles.

The crush you once upon a time had on Taehyung threatens to spark anew at the sight of his charming, boxy grin—a grin you would have once done anything to pull from him. But now, it just fills you with warmth and a homey comfort.

You give him a smile of your own. “Deal.”

“Hayun!”

Her squeal of delight when she turns around and catches sight of you echoes through the open space of the dimly lit bar of the bed and breakfast where the wedding is taking place.

It’s a cozy space with rich dark wood accents and royal blue velvet upholstery. Brass gas lamps and light fixtures give the entire lounge an upscale and chic atmosphere that you know is right up Hayun’s alley.

The few hours you had between checking in at the bed and breakfast and meeting Hayun for her very small—just you and one other person—bachelorette party were spent familiarizing yourself with the grounds.

The ceremony will take place in one of the lavish gardens, and the reception will follow in one of the grand dining halls. For a bed and breakfast, it’s far fancier than any you’ve ever been to. It definitely does not have the mom-and-pop feel that you typically associate with the term ‘B&B’.

“You’re here!” she shrills, throwing her arms around your neck.

Her petite form fits just like it always has against yours. Thick black hair, shorter than the last time you saw it, curls around the rounded lines of her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright and glisten with happy tears. With her bubbly personality and small, wispy frame, she's always reminded you of a fairy.

You sigh, taking a deep breath and savoring your best friend's soft, floral scent. Thanks to the bracelet tinkling around her wrist, it holds the smallest undercurrent of your sweet citrus. Clearly, she’s not taking blockers; the scents are heavy and delightful. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Hayun sucks in a deep breath that mirrors yours. “Wow, babe, you smell good! Finally gone off the blockers, huh?”

“Uh, kind of,” you chuckle, untangling yourself from her arms. “I brought some, but they broke open in my bag at some point.” You shrug. “Tae said it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s not. Absolutely not,” Hayun agrees, grinning broadly. “I’ve been off them for years and haven’t had a single issue. Come on, let’s have a drink and catch up!”

You settle in at a table, and it’s not long before Eunseo, Hayun’s other guest, joins you. You’ve heard a lot about Eunseo. Much the same way Taehyung took the place of Hayun for you, Eunseo took your place for Hayun. You half expect to feel some sort of friendship jealousy upon meeting Eunseo for the first time, but it doesn’t come. If anything, you’re immediately fond of the young woman.

The evening carries on, Hayun and Eunseo regaling you with tales from working together and their various adventures around Seoul. Eunseo shows genuine interest in your life back home, seeming eager to hear stories of Hayun’s childhood. She shows a particular interest in Taehyung, asking you in no certain terms more than you think is appropriate to share.

“But you’ve seen it, right?” Eunseo asks. Her elbows rest on the table, and her chin is nestled on her clasped hands, her eyes wide and glassy from the countless glasses of wine she’s had. “I bet it’s huge. Am I right?”

“Ugh,” Hayun groans. “Can we not talk about my brother’s dick. Please.” She makes a gagging sound before slurping down the rest of her cocktail and flagging down a passing waiter for another.

You try to wave off the waiter, but he’s turned toward the bar before you can get his attention. If Hayun has much more to drink, you’re not sure she’ll be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow unassisted.

“I’m just curious. It’s a harmless question,” Eunseo pouts. “Ignore her. Tell me. I just have to know.”

You swirl the straw around in your glass of water before giving Eunseo what you hope is a conspiratorial look. “Well—”

“What?! Ew. Are you really about to answer her? Please, dear god, do not tell me you have seen my brother’s penis. If you’ve seen it—fuck, I might actually puke.”

As much as you probably shouldn’t, you laugh, which earns further protests and obscene noises from Hayun.

“Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that maybe Eunseo should ask him herself.”

Hayun howls a protest, sloshing her new cocktail onto the table as she gesticulates a crude hand gesture in your direction. “Do not. I repeat, do not do that, Eunseo!”

The conversation peters off, Hayun losing herself in another cocktail while Eunseo stares dreamily up at the ceiling.

“I think—hiccup—it's bedtime,” Eunseo slurs.

As if right on cue, a familiar face peeks through the entrance to the lounge. You wave Taehyung down, and he comes jogging across the space to your table. His shirt is rumpled with the top few buttons undone, but his eyes are clear, and you know he’ll be a perfect gentleman.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, pitching your voice low.

“I got this, don’t worry. We finished up a few hours ago anyway.”

Taehyung gives you a warm, private smile before turning to Eunseo. “Hey there, beautiful. Let’s get you on to bed, okay?”

“Where’s my savior?” Hayun asks, frowning after her brother escorting Eunseo from the lounge and back through the front lobby.

“Right here,” you tell her, sliding out of your chair and coming around to her side of the table. “Come on, let’s go.”

It takes you more than twice as long as it usually would to get to Hayun’s room. She leans against the wall in the hall as you dig through her pockets in search of her room key. Once you find it tucked between a few stray bills and her ID, you usher her into the room and deposit her onto the bed.

Her fiance has a room on the other side of the grounds, but after the ceremony, they will both be moving into one of the couple’s suites for the night before jet-setting off to Jeju Island for their week-long honeymoon.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Hayun’s question catches you off guard. You throw a confused look at her over your shoulder as you rummage through her suitcase in search of something for her to sleep in.

“What?”

She sighs as she rolls over, letting her head hang off the edge of the bed so she can look at you upside down. “Marrying Jungkook. It’s a mistake…so why am I doing it?”

“Hayun…what are you talking about? Jungkook is perfect for you. You guys have been dating for five years, and you told me you’ve never been happier. Where’s the mistake in that?”

The sound Hayun makes is akin to something a wounded animal might make. She flops, flailing her arms and legs like a child throwing a fit.

“That’s the thing, though! I’m happy, but I don’t love him. Oh god,” she cries. “I don’t love him.”

“Hey, hey now.” You abandon the search for sleeping clothes and crawl across the floor until you’re kneeling beside the bed. Smoothing your hand across her forehead, you ask, “Where is all this coming from?”

“He thinks I’m his true mate,” she whispers. The tears leaking from her eyes slide up her face, wetting the edges of her eyebrows before sliding over her forehead and disappearing into her hair. “But I know he’s not mine.”

“Wh—wait, what?” You push up from the floor and move onto the bed, gathering your best friend’s head into your lap so she’s no longer hanging upside down off the side of the bed.

She hiccups a sob, lips trembling as she explains, “He says I’m his true mate, that he knows because of my scent. But he doesn’t smell special to me…how is that possible?”

“Hayun, I don’t—”

“I cheated on him,” she whimpers in confession, cutting off what were going to be your soothing words of affirmation. They sour on your tongue, refusing to be released now.

Your stomach churns at her admittance. “You what?”

“You have every right to judge me. I’m a terrible person. But, when he told me I was his true mate…I panicked. I had to be sure I wasn’t broken, that me not finding his scent special wasn’t just something wrong with me.” Hayun blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears as they begin to come in earnest. She clutches at the front of her shirt, hand fisting over her heart. “So, I slept with two Alphas that I work with to see if it was any different. I had to be sure. I had to know.”

“Hayun, I-I-I don’t…I’m not—”

“I’m such a fucking mess,” she sobs, curling in on you and pressing her face against your stomach. “I don’t deserve him. I only said yes to marrying him because I don’t want to be alone forever. I can’t be like you. I need someone.”

Her words sting, causing you to flinch involuntarily. You watch as she falls apart in your lap, ultimately giving in to her grief. It’s on the tip of your tongue to call her out on her childish behavior, to set the record straight about your own love life, and to leave her to her wallowing. But…the shaking of her shoulders and soft whines from her remind you so much of a younger and more fragile Hayun—the Hayun of your shared childhoods.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” No matter how you might feel about her actions and the hurtful words she’s spilled, you hate to see your best friend so distraught and broken. “Hey, look at me.”

You wait until her watery eyes peel away from your shirt and meet yours. “Tell me you hate me; it’s okay.”

“Hayun, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You made…a mistake, that’s all. You were trying to figure things out. But…Hayun, you…you have to tell him.”

She frowns up at you, her expression sobering. “Tell him?”

“He’s about to marry you, Hayun. That’s a big freaking deal…you have to tell him tomorrow morning before anything else happens.”

The laugh that bubbles from her lips is anything but humorous. “I-I can’t do that! He’ll hate me. He’ll call the wedding off!” She shoves out of your lap and stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“If Jungkook truly loves you and says you’re his true mate, I don’t see that happening. But, he deserves to know. You have to know that. Either you tell him now, or he finds out years from now, and then it’ll be so much worse,” you try to reason with her.

“He doesn’t have to know!” she whisper-yells, her tears turning from sad to angry in an instant.

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing from her. “This isn’t right, Hayun. You can’t go into a marriage with someone with secrets like that!”

“It’s not like it’ll happen again. I’m not going to cheat on him while we’re married. Please,” she begs, her face once more softening into saddened anguish. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“He deserves to know, Hayun,” you whisper, remembering your own keen sting of betrayal from many years ago. There is a reason you don’t date much. “You say it won’t happen again?” you ask, trying to buy yourself some time to process everything Hayun just told you.

Her silence is deafening, and you think she’s about to not answer you the way you hope, but, finally, she murmurs, “No. Never. I swear it.”

“Okay. Okay, good. But, he still needs to know.”

Just because you’ve never actually met Jungkook, it doesn’t mean you don’t care for him. He’s the one who puts a smile on Hayun’s face when you can’t. He’s the reason she’s as happy as she is…or has been? Now, you’re not so sure. But, what you are certain about is that Hayun is far too drunk right now to know up from down and is just having a moment of raw vulnerability.

“Are you going to tell him?” she asks, voice a hoarse whisper.

You chew your bottom lip for a moment before slowly shaking your head. Thinking about it, even if you didn’t care for Jungkook, he still deserves to know on pure principle. “No. I won’t tell him.” She lets out a soft sigh of relief, which has you tacking on, “Because it’s not my place to tell him, it’s yours.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Okay.” She doesn’t say anything more beyond that, falling into a listless stupor, all of her energy sapped from the quick argument and endless cocktails from the bar.

After you wrestle her out of her clothes and put on a long nightgown, she tucks easily into bed. You leave a glass of water on the bedside table for her, then exit the room and head to your own.

A pang of uncertainty refuses to quell in the pit of your stomach. You toss and turn most of the night, falling into a fitful sleep just before the sun begins to kiss the horizon. It’s going to be a long day…a battle of wills you never saw coming.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook

Today is the big day, and Jungkook couldn’t be happier. Nothing could possibly bring him down from the high he’s feeling. Not even the fact that he is unable to find the cufflinks that were passed down to him by his father.

“Did you check the pockets of all your pants?” Jimin, Jungkook’s best friend, asks from where he’s lounging in one of the chairs on the other side of Jungkook’s hotel room.

“Yes,” he mutters, dumping his entire suitcase onto the bed to rifle through it once again. “I remember putting them with the pile of Hayun’s—oh fuck.”

“That’s great,” Taehyung sighs. “So my sister probably has them.” He checks his watch. “We don’t really have time to go on a scavenger hunt through her room. Jimin and I are supposed to meet the photographer to get started on some of the bride and groomsmen shots.”

Jungkook purses his lips and rakes his hands through his hair as he thinks of a solution. “I’d go look myself, but what if I run into Hayun between here and there? She specifically requested that we not see each other until the ceremony.”

Taehyung hums lightly. “I think I have an idea. The other girls don’t meet for pictures until after we’re done. So…yeah…okay…done,” he murmurs, tapping away at his phone screen. “If they’re in Hayun’s things, they’ll be delivered to you soon.”

“Thanks, Taehyung, you’re a lifesaver.”

Minutes later, Jungkook finds himself alone, Taehyung and Jimin having gone to meet with the photographer. Somewhere out there, beyond the confines of his room, his fiancee is probably smiling and laughing as she poses in front of the camera. If only Jungkook could see through walls. He’d give anything for even just a little glimpse of his bride-to-be.

When Jungkook first met Hayun almost six years ago, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to track her scent. The meeting he was heading for was instantly forgotten, replaced by a visceral need to discover the source of that titillating aroma that had his hindbrain firing on all cylinders.

Never before had Jungkook experienced something so…primal. It was both alarming and utterly fascinating. Amongst the harsh scents of car exhaust and the warm notes of roasted coffee, Jungkook wove his way through the crowd on the sidewalk to the doors of a little cafe; Hayun was inside, ordering a matcha tea to-go, and the rest was history.

Jungkook sighs, forcing himself to stop daydreaming and fiddling with his shirt's empty cuffs and focus on putting together the rest of his suit.

The scent hits Jungkook a moment before the sound of a soft knock reaches his ears. He’s standing in the ensuite bathroom, mid-skin care routine. Wiping his wet fingers off onto a towel, he draws in a deep breath to confirm the aroma wafting to him from beyond the door of his room.

A roguish smirk quirks up one side of his mouth as he exits the bathroom and moves across the room. Unable to help himself, he opens the door. “Hayun,” he chuckles, fingers wrapping around the doorknob, “I thought we agreed that you…you are not Hayun.” The words tumble from his suddenly numb lips, rasping past his too-dry tongue.

“Umm, no. Not Hayun, sorry. You’re Jungkook?”

The woman standing before him is clearly not his fiancee. The woman’s purple gown is familiar, Jungkook knowing it’s what Hayun chose for her attending party. You’re a friend of Hayun, clearly, yet you smell exactly like Hayun…if Hayun smelled like Hayun times a thousand. The fragrance slams into his olfactory system, and the edges of his vision grow blurry a moment before he shakes his head and steadies himself with a hand on the doorjamb.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice raspy with his suddenly dry throat. Revelations pounding him right between the eyes, washing through his body and keying right into his most basic of instincts.

Jungkook watches as your nostrils flare, and he knows it’s in that moment that you register his cedar and lavadin scent; the scent that marks him for what—who—he is.

“Jungkook,” you repeat his name, and he wants to howl with delight at how it sounds coming from your lips. “No. You can’t…it’s not—” your voice cuts off a second before you drop the small, black leather box you were holding and turn, disappearing in a flash of violet tulle and silk.

🥀🥀🥀

“Stop! Wait, please!” The shout of your name follows you down the hall, but you’re too focused on getting as far away from him and the feelings threatening to overwhelm you as you can.

“No, no, no,” you chant under your breath as you move as swiftly as the slippered feet will allow you to go without tripping yourself up.

It’s clearly not fast enough. It only takes a few frantic beats of your heart before a firm grip on your elbow draws you to a stumbling halt. The touch is electric, and your skin flushes with goosebumps at the heated contact.

“Don’t run,” Jungkook pants. “Please.”

You wretch your arm from his grip and whirl on him, a sharp remark ready on the tip of your tongue. Only, it dies there, never to be uttered, as your heart thumps violently in response to the look on his face—pure anguish.

Your voice is thread-thin as you finally manage to get words out, “This can’t be happening.”

Jungkook’s brow twitches, his lips tucked between his teeth. His emotions are stark on his face, and the conflict is raw and bare to you. Clearly, he’s warring the same as you, maybe even more so.

“Why do you smell like Hayun?” he asks, his voice soft in contrast to the raging storm you see in his eyes. “Why do you smell more like my true mate than she even does? Is this some wicked, cruel prank?”

You shake your head, intentionally drawing a breath through your mouth in hopes of saving your nose from another assault of his perfect scent. But, instead, his flavor laces over your tongue and slides down your throat to sit like a knot in your belly. You might as well have licked a stripe up his neck for all the good that did.

“I-I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to keep the pool of saliva under your tongue from dripping down your chin.

Jungkook steps closer to you, leading with his nose. He sniffs the air around you and something must not sit well with what he discovers because he rears back and bares his teeth. “Of course,” he mutters as his eyes drop to your left wrist.

Your eyes track his movement as he scoops up your wrist in a loose grip, and you realize it’s the bracelet there that has his attention. Everything clicks into place, and you feel like the faintest breeze could sweep you away with how lightheaded you’re feeling at this moment.

“We traded,” you whisper as if speaking low enough means the admission won’t utterly destroy the world as you know it.

“She’s not my true mate,” he states, voice as low as yours, fevered and quiet. “You are.”

Those words punch you in the chest, nearly taking you to your knees. If it weren’t for the hold Jungkook has on your wrist, you’re sure you’d be in a heap on the floor. As it is, he catches his other arm around your waist as you sway on the spot.

“Y-you shouldn’t.” Your protest is stilted, the words feeling robotic and unnatural as you gingerly press a hand against the arm that’s angled around your ribs. It was your intention to push his touch away, but the most you accomplish is flexing your fingers against the smooth cotton covering his thick bicep.

Somehow, you find yourself back in the room you had fled from just a few minutes ago. Jungkook settled you on the bed and is now pressing a chilled water bottle into your hands.

He kneels before you, headless of putting wrinkles in his black dress slacks. He’s wearing a thin white undershirt, his starched white button-up undone over it. The cuffs of the sleeves flop as he brings his hands into his lap and picks at the edges of his thumbnails.

Your eyes rove the room, catching on the black leather box still sitting on the floor by the door where you dropped it. Inside the box is nestled a pair of golden cufflinks—a pair you now understand have been passed down through the generations of Jeon men.

Absently, you press your thumb to your phone, unlocking it to reveal the text message that has irrevocably changed your life forever.

If you had known Taehyung’s text message requesting help would have led you to where you are right now, you’d probably have ignored it.

Yet, at the same time, if you had, you’d probably have had this revelation with Jungkook in the middle of the ceremony, and it would have caused all sorts of untoward chaos. No, it’s far better that it’s happening now instead of later. Maybe you can get ahead of this and fix it somehow. Though…

“Hey? You okay?” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts. “Fuck, that’s a stupid question. Sorry.”

“Huh? Oh. Umm…yeah. I don’t—what do we do now?” You turn your phone over, finger ghosting over the power button to lock the screen once more.

Jungkook sighs, and you can’t help watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, framing the swell of his defined chest with the action. He’s an exquisite specimen of masculinity, and even if it weren’t for the musky notes of his scent that mark him as your true mate, you’d find him devastatingly attractive.

“We need to tell Hayun. I c-can’t…I can’t marry her. Not when I’ve found—” he cuts off, wincing as his voice breaks. “I should go and find her. Now, before this can go any further. I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Wait,” you call after him. He stops halfway to the door and glances back at you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we tell her together?”

Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek a moment, his eyes flicking over your face as he thinks through your suggestion. Slowly, he nods. “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best.”

There is palpable tension between you and Jungkook as you follow behind him out of the main building. He texted Jimin, knowing he’d be the most reliable with his phone on him, asking where the photos were currently taking place.

It only took a few minutes for Jimin to respond that they were almost finished but were currently capturing some group shots on the walking path by the lake on the backside of the property.

You’re vaguely aware of where the lake is located, having given the map of the grounds that was posted on the backside of your room’s door a cursory look the day you arrived. It’s a relatively short distance, yet it feels like miles with the weight of pure dread sitting firmly on your shoulders.

At least it’s not a feeling you’re experiencing alone. Jungkook is right there with you, and you can clearly see the unease in the stiff way his body moves. The tips of his fingers twitch back in your direction every few steps like he’s fighting off the urge to slip them between your own.

The first person you catch sight of is Yoona, the photographer. She’s squatting in the grass, her large DSLR camera held up to her face, as she captures candid moments of Hayun, Taehyung, and Jimin repositioning themselves along the lake's edge.

Your heart squeezes hard at how beautiful Hayun is in her form-fitting silk ivory, off-the-shoulder wedding gown, the lacy bell sleeves fluttering around her hands. Her head is thrown back, the peel of her carefree laughter carrying to you and further crumbling your soul into a million pieces. You ache, not just for the desire to draw closer to your true mate, but for the inevitable aftermath of what is about to happen.

Taehyung is the first to notice you and Jungkook. The smile on his face slowly disappears, replaced by a concerned frown. Hayun catches his expression and follows his line of sight. Her gaze sears into you, and you feel like you might combust into a cloud of ash at any second with the irritation contained in her pretty brown eyes.

“What’s going on?” Hayun exclaims, throwing her hands up in a frustrated manner as she stalks towards you and Jungkook. “It’s not time for your photos yet,” she tells you before her eyes swing to Jungkook. “What happened to not seeing me before the wedding? That was your rule!”

“Hayun, we need to talk.”

“Talk about wh—” she cuts off, her question turning into a gasp. Your wide eyes flick to you. “You told him?”

“What? No!”

Your protest rings out at the same time that Jungkook says, “She’s my true mate.”

A breeze kicks up, sweeping from behind you and tossing errant strands of hair across Hayun’s forehead. You’d give anything for the power to pluck the wind from the air, shove it back…keep it from showering her with yours and Jungkook’s combined scents—a blatant confirmation echoing the words Jungkook just let loose.

Hayun stiffens. Her jaw goes rigid, and her face pales as her nostrils flare. It’s a moment that will be forever written across the band of your friendship. Betrayal flashes through her eyes before morphing into something akin to somber resignation.

“Hayun,” Jungkook begins. “I don’t—we didn’t…I’m sorry. What do we do?” He spreads his hands out in front of himself in a helpless manner.

By this time, Jimin and Taehyung have come up from behind Hayun, faces wary as they take in the scene with growing clarity. You look to Taehyung, hoping he can see the silent plea in your eyes.

“Explain,” Hayun says simply. Despite how collected she seems, you can see the subtle tremble in her hands and the way the muscles in her neck continue to flex and strain as she clenches and grinds her teeth.

Jungkook launches into recounting the events that brought you to his room and broke the proverbial dam. “We—we had no idea. I swear this is the first time we’ve ever met, and gods, the bracelets…” Jungkook trails off, a pained sound rumbling from his chest.

“Is this a joke?” Taehyung asks accusingly, and it’s like a barb to your heart.

“We wouldn’t do that.” Your croaked statement draws Hayun’s attention.

Hayun sniffles, her chin jerking a little higher into the air. “My nose tells me one thing, but my heart tells me another. Did you know about this last night? Is that why you pushed so hard for me to tell him?” The last part is whispered, meant only for you, which hurts even more.

“Hayun, no! You know that’s impossible. I couldn’t have known.”

“Tell me what?” Jungkook asks, having heard despite her whisper, his eyes swiveling between you and Hayun.

You shake your head at him, not wanting to throw further fuel on the fire. “Hayun, please, believe me.”

A pregnant moment full of thick tension passes before it fizzles, and Hayun shakes her head, not in a dismissive fashion but in gentle acceptance. “I believe you,” she tells you. “I guess…I guess there won’t be a wedding in four hours unless you two want…” She trails off, a bittersweet smile tugging at her cherry red painted lips.

Jungkook blanches, wide eyes landing on you. “What? Us? No. I mean, sorry…but—”

Hayun holds up her hand, quelling Jungkook’s flustered response. “I was teasing, Koo, trying to lighten the mood. Um,” she pauses, absently twisting the diamond engagement ring around her finger before slowly slipping it off and closing a fist around it. “Can we talk, though? There’s something I needed to tell you today anyway.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says wearily.

“Tae, do you mind…?” Hayun asks, not even having to fill in the blanks. Her brother instantly steps into his role as protector and savior.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll make some phone calls,” Taehyung assures her before grabbing Jimin’s arm and starting back down the walking path.

“I’ll just—” you thumb over your shoulder in the direction Tae and Jimin just disappeared in “—be in my room.”

“Wait,” Hayun calls, pulling your retreat up short. “Come here.” She opens her arms, her hands opening and closing in grabby motions. “Please.”

A sob cracks from your throat as you throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I’m so sorry, Hayun. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush. None of that. This isn’t anything we could have predicted or stopped from happening. If anything, maybe this is life’s way of getting back at me for what I did to him,” she whispers in your ear. “This is how it’s meant to be.”

Hayun smoothes a hand over your back and releases you. She steps back, using the back of a finger to lift the tears from your cheeks, and gives you a watery smile.

You’re not sure you can speak without completely losing yourself, so you just give her a tight nod and continue back on your way down the path. A part of you wants to hear what she has to say to Jungkook, to be there to soothe any hurts or aches…which is a startling realization that you’d not just tend to Hayun but to Jungkook, too. That internal, visceral part of you yearns to turn on your heel and…protect what’s yours.

It’s an odd revelation to think of Jungkook as yours. Well, yours unless either of you reject the bond. Though, that thought makes your stomach pitch and roil. You have to trail a hand along the wall in the hall leading to your room to keep yourself from curling over your abdomen at just the idea.

Once back in your room, you’re unsure what to do with yourself, so you absently start to gather your belongings and pack them up. Every few minutes, you find yourself pausing to stare at the door, ears pricking at the slightest sound from beyond it.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting. Whether it’s Hayun coming to your room so the two of you can cry together or Jungkook coming to claim y—uh, you shove that thought aside quickly because now is not the time. At. All.

The time for the wedding comes and passes without a single knock on your door nor a text or call on your phone. You’re tempted to go looking. For what, you’re not entirely sure—an answer, maybe, some sort of direction on what you should do now.

Finally, after hours of sitting in silence with just your thoughts for company, a soft knock sounds at your door. The long hem of your dress nearly trips you up in your haste to make it to the door. It swings open, and for some reason, your stomach drops, the flutter of disappointment heavy and unexpected.

“Hey, beautiful,” Taehyung says, his voice soft and full of emotion. “Mind if I come in?” 

His necktie is loose, and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. There is a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier. It makes your chest ache.

“Sure,” you say, stepping back and letting him into your room.

Taehyung sighs, perches on the end of your bed, and props his elbows on his knees. His chin rests on an upturned fist, his other hand dangling between his legs, clutching his phone.

He opens his mouth, a single word the only thing coming out, “So.”

“So,” you parrot.

“Hayun wants me to take her home…alone. I’m not sure what all she and Jungkook talked about, but I think they’re at least amicable in agreeing that it would be best if he gave her a few days at home alone before they start the process of separating their lives.” You’re not sure if the bitter tinge in your chest is hurt because Hayun isn’t the one telling you this or because now you have to find your own way to the airport. As if reading your thoughts, Taehyung continues, “I can be back in two days, maybe sooner, depending on traffic. Perhaps they’ll let you extend your stay. If not, I can talk to Jimin—”

“No, Tae, it’s okay. I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Hayun, make sure she’s okay...as okay as she can be, at least. Fuck.” The last word comes out choked, and you gnash your teeth on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting the angry tears out. You have no right to be angry. Hell, you’re not even sure why you’re angry. It just seems like the easiest emotion to feel right now, the only one that doesn’t leave you feeling like your world is slowly imploding.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, bringing one of his big hands up to cup the side of your face. His thumb prods at the swell of your cheek, causing you to release the tension in your jaw. “Hayun isn’t the only one I’m worried about here.”

“I’m fine—I will be fine,” you amend. “I promise. I think I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I’m mad at myself for ruining Hayun’s big day. I can’t believe this is happening at all. This…this just doesn’t happen. This is the kind of shit you read about in books, it’s not supposed to be real life.”

And there it is, you surmise—the truth of the matter. None of what’s happened makes sense. It honestly belongs on the pages of a book or in a movie script, not in your real life. It still feels surreal. If it weren’t for the subtle, lingering ache you instinctively know is associated with finding your true mate but not allowing yourself to fully accept it, you’d think this was all some elaborate party trick or impractical joke.

Taehyung smiles at you, but the unease in his eyes can’t be masked that easily. “I’m not sure what to say or what to do. You’re right. This isn’t a situation I think anyone was prepared for or ever thought possible, actually. But, here we are…and we have to face it the best way we can.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I'll tell you what: I’ll text Jimin—he’s a good guy, I think you’ll enjoy his company—and ask him to meet you in the lounge. Have a few drinks, wind down, and try to relax as best you can.”

“Sure,” you say lamely, trying to muster up at least a little bit of enthusiasm.

“That’s my girl.” Taehyung offers you another smile, this one not so tense. “Here, I have something for you.” He fishes into his pant pocket and produces a familiar thin silver chain, a tiny crescent moon dangling near one end.

The sight has your spine straightening. “Right, of course.” You quickly thumb open the clasp on the bracelet around your wrist, letting it fall from your skin for the first time since you put it on when Hayun gave it to you all those years ago. It never felt right to take it off…not until now.

Taehyung helps you swap the bracelet with the one in his hand. The metal feels cold against your skin and you immediately miss the subtle fragrance of Hayun’s scent clinging to your wrist. Though, you suppose that’s what has gotten you both into this mess to begin with. Taehyung explains in soft words how Jungkook explained to Hayun about the scent mix-up with the bracelets—such a silly, seemingly insignificant thing…the catalyst to spark such a colossal moment.

“I’m going to get on the road with Hayun, but I’ll call you as soon as we get to her place and check in on you, okay?”

Sitting at the bar with Jungkook’s best friend seemed like a good idea when Taehyung first presented it to you. But, at the time, you weren’t connecting the dots that Jimin was Jungkook’s best friend. He was just Jimin, the guy that just so happened also to be part of the wedding party that you had met in passing briefly, but he seemed like a good enough person. Now, however, you feel all the awkward tension radiating right between your shoulder blades, emphasized by the silence lingering between the two of you.

You traded in your lilac dress for jeans and a light silk blouse, canvas slip-ons in place of your slippers, yet no matter how comfortable you know your clothing is, you can’t shake the prickling discomfort eating away at the back of your neck.

“Want another?” Jimin asks, nodding to your mostly watered-down rum and coke. It’s barely late afternoon, and as much as Taehyung’s suggestion of a drink sounded like just what you needed, you’ve found yourself not in the mood to drink after all.

“Um, nah. I’m okay, thanks.”

“Cool. Okay. I’ll be right back.” Jimin drums his fingers on the tabletop and pops his lips before giving you a slight head nod and pushing up from his chair.

You watch as he saunters to the long bar, his crescent moon tattoo on the nape of his neck peeking out from the top of his collar, and props his elbows onto the shiny top. His smile is flirty and casual as the bartender, a beautiful woman with long, inky tresses and fiery red lipstick, sidles up in front of him.

They’re too far away for you to hear their conversation, but her tinkling laughter carries across the space, and you know it might be a while before Jimin returns to your table.

Which you’re okay with. Considering you know you’re not exactly pleasant company right now, you don’t blame him one bit. You glance down at your phone, once again reading the last text message Hayun sent you not too long ago.

Eunseo stopped by the lounge around the same time Jimin showed up. If her smile and lingering hug were any indicator, she clearly had a thing for him. She gave you a small wave goodbye before giving Jimin another hug and heading out. Apparently, she was going to follow Taehyung and Hayun back to Hayun and Jungkook’s place to help Hayun with whatever she needed over the next few days.

Does it hurt that your best friend is relying on someone else, her new best friend? Yes. Do you also understand why? Also, yes, but that doesn’t make the sting hurt any less.

You’re just about to give up and retreat back to your room, which the front desk still hasn’t given you a definitive answer about whether or not your stay can be extended while you wait for Tae, when a shadow falls across your table a second before.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Jungkook asks in a low voice.

He fidgets, threading and unthreading his fingers together while he waits for your answer. The suit he had half on earlier is gone, and in its place is a dark pair of jeans, the knees worn fashionably, and an oversized white graphic t-shirt. Black sneakers peek out from the rounded bottoms of his pant legs.

You clear your throat, forcing your eyes away from his and instead on the glass sitting in a puddle of condensation on the table before you. “Oh, I—uh, I was actually about to go. You’re welcome to the table, though. Jimin was—” You cut off, realizing Jimin is no longer in the lounge at all. “Well, he was here,” you add with a frown.

Jungkook scratches a hand across the back of his neck and gives you a hesitant smile. “Yeah, he texted me. He went…well, that doesn’t matter. Could we, um…can we talk?”

“Yes.” The response is out of your mouth before he even finishes asking. “Please, I think I’d like that,” you say, nodding toward the open seat across from you.

A shaky breath rattles from Jungkook as he eases into the empty seat. “Have you talked to Hayun at all?” he asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“A text message, but that’s all. I’m not sure she wants to talk to me right now.” Needing something to do with your hands, you trace a finger along the edge of the water pooled around the bottom of your glass and use your other to poke more drops on the side of your cup, making them race down to join the growing puddle.

Jungkook nods, his lips pursing thoughtfully. “She told me what happened last night. Her confession.” That draws your attention back to him, and you wait, fingers still on the glass, intent on hearing what he says next. “I thought I’d be angrier finding out the woman I’ve been with for years—the woman I was hours away from marrying—had cheated on me…but I’m not. For the life of me, I’m not mad at her…even though I know I should be.”

“How do you feel?”

Maybe it’s none of your business, but you have to ask.

Blowing out a breath, Jungkook slides one of his hands across the table and, giving you plenty of time to protest or pull away, slowly slides his fingers between yours, effectively joining his hand with yours. It’s the first time hand-holding has felt so intimate yet wholly innocent.

“Relieved, I think,” he finally says. “Grateful, maybe? Hayun was hurt. As she has every right to be, but she said she also felt relief, too. I think, as much as she said she loved me, she was still holding back even in the end.” With a rueful shake of his head, he tacks on, “We were just a disaster waiting to happen, held together only by the thin chain of a bracelet. We would have shattered eventually.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to where your fingers are entwined with his, trailing up to your wrist to land on the object he just spoke of.

“I’m relieved, too,” you whisper. Your eyes meet his as he glances up, and you’re instantly captivated.

This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to really study Jungkook. His hair is tousled like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. You suppose he probably had been and wonder if that’s one of his nervous ticks.

The bow of his lips is prominent and draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on his lips, making small mental notes at everything you see, like the tiny beauty mark under his bottom lip. His straight nose leads you to his expressive eyes, so dark and full of secrets you want to be privy to.

To say Jungkook is handsome would be a gross understatement. You’re not sure if it’s the fact he’s your true mate or just simply a gorgeous being, but he is pleasing to the eyes, that’s for sure.

You mentally kick yourself for thinking such thoughts about your best friend’s almost-husband after everything that has just happened. It’s not in good taste to entertain these thoughts so soon, right? True mate or not.

Yet, you can’t shove those thoughts away completely.

“Where did you go just now?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head and studying you intently.

Not wanting to explain yourself and the thoughts you were just having, you choose to ask him a question instead. “So, what now?”

You’re thankful Jungkook doesn’t push you to answer. He shifts in his seat and withdraws his fingers from between yours.

“I think we start with…” he trails off, a playful smile tugging up the side of his mouth as he holds the hand he pulled back in the air in front of you in offering. “Hi, I’m Jungkook.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you smile. A laugh escapes you, and you instantly feel a thousand times lighter with that simple action.

As you take his hand back into yours, allowing yourself to truly savor the feel of his skin against yours, you realize that no matter what happens with Hayun or the fact that you live thousands of miles apart from Jungkook…everything is going to be okay and maybe you wouldn’t have ignored Taehyung’s text after all.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook, 3 months later

The flight was long but worth it. Jungkook stretches as he climbs out of the Uber he took from the airport. You would have picked him up. In fact, you are supposed to pick him up…just, not until next week. He decided to surprise you by coming early. He hopes you don’t mind.

Time seemed to drag to a near stand-still following that fateful day at the bed and breakfast where he was so sure he’d be joining his life with Hayun’s officially. No one could have anticipated what actually went down that day. But, in the end, he and Hayun parted ways on pleasant terms, and it’s actually thanks to her that he’s here right now, a week early.

Jungkook was worried that with everything that happened, yours and Hayun’s friendship might suffer. But, surprisingly—and thankfully—you guys have been getting on great. Hayun has been looking at work prospects in Thailand but, from what you’ve told Jungkook, is planning to visit you and Taehyung for Christmas.

It’s been three months, and not a day has gone by that Jungkook hasn’t talked to you in some capacity. From the moment he offered to be your ride to the airport, and you agreed, he’s thought about nothing other than getting on a plane and following you. The draw to you is just that strong.

You’ve expressed similar feelings, already having planned a return trip to Seoul next month. Neither Jungkook nor you have really talked about what the future holds or how to even begin to navigate it. But Jungkook hopes that during the week he is here, you can both begin to figure that out.

Giddiness makes his tattooed fingers shake as he reaches out and grasps the brass knocker on your door. He gives it a rap against the thick wood and waits. Jungkook counts the breaths as his anticipation rises. It’s only three and a half exhales before he hears the soft pad of your feet on the other side of the door.

Jungkook can imagine you pressing up onto your tip toes in order to peer through the peephole. He’d pay money to be able to see the look on your face when you see it’s him. Not being able to see your face doesn’t take away from the dopamine rush he gets when the sound of your surprised squeal sounds through the door.

“Jungkook!” Your shout is followed by the frantic sound of you disengaging the locks on your door before you swing it open and launch yourself at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Oh, my gods! Why didn’t you tell me? You’re here!”

It feels good to laugh, but it feels even better to have you in his arms finally. The brief embrace he shared with you at the airport when he dropped you off was not enough and is what drove him to try and come sooner than planned.

Jungkook savors the warmth of your soft body pressed against his, your arms tight around his neck. Running one of his hands up your spine, he clasps the back of your neck and uses his hold there to angle your head away from his neck so he can look you in the face.

“Surprise,” he whispers. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You sigh dreamily, your eyes fluttering closed for a second like you’re savoring the feeling of being in his arms. “Pleasant surprise,” you murmur with a smile on your face.

Jungkook can’t help himself. He wants so badly to know if your smile tastes as good as he thinks it will. The press of his lips against yours causes you to melt against him, a throaty sound escaping around the intrusion of his tongue as he works it between your lips.

“Your taste,” he groans, forcing his mouth away from yours before the allure of you can drive him completely mad. Who is he kidding? He’s already there. “I need more.”

🥀🥀🥀

Those words do something to you.

I need more.

They echo the thoughts you’ve been harboring for the last three months. You’ve ached with those words, desperately willing yourself to be patient and let it happen when it’s meant to happen.

But, fuck, it feels so good to have him in your arms, to have his mouth brushing against yours. He tastes divine, a warm sweetness that compliments the musk of his scent that is slowly wrapping itself around you.

“Take me. Take it all,” you urge, completely baring yourself to him, body, mind, and soul. “I’m yours.”

It’s a frenzy, the frantic discarding of clothing. Your fingers work to free him of his jeans while also helping him with the criss-cross straps of your lounging romper. You don’t care that you’re still standing by your front door, bared down to your underwear. The only thing you’re focusing on now is how Jungkook holds you at arm's length and drinks you in from head to toe.

“You…are…everything.” The way he whispers those words crawls under your skin, rooting itself deep in your being. You feel sexy…desired, and unbelievably empty—your body clenches, the ache deep between your thighs. You’ve never been so turned on from just taking your clothes off before, from whispered words and a heated look.

Jungkook allows you to undress him as slow or as fast as you want. You try to take your time and savor every inch of skin you expose. But, you can barely contain yourself when you get to his jeans, shoving them unceremoniously down his thighs with your eyes locked on the many planes and angles of his toned chest and stomach.

Your fingers ghost over his skin, eliciting goosebumps in their wake as you explore the smooth and lush expanse of his shoulders and down his arms. Without needing to say anything more, he gathers you into his arms and covers your mouth with his once more.

It’s a miracle you make it to your bedroom. But, seeing Jungkook sprawled out on your bed is a sight you’ll never forget, with his lowered lids and bottom lip caught between his teeth. You want to taste every inch of him, from the tips of his ears down to the defined muscles of his calves.

Now, though, your gaze focuses on the front of his tented boxer briefs. The dark grey material has darkened even further, where you can see the distinct outline of the head of his cock. Saliva pools in your mouth.

You crawl on the bed, knees slotting between his, your hands on either side of his hips. With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and mouth gently at the wetness. You moan at the flavor of him, your tongue peeking out to seek more.

“Fuck,” you curse. “You taste so good.”

Jungkook lets out a quick breath. “You can’t say shit like that, baby girl. You’re going to make me lose it.” He flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, his lips moving like he’s sending up a silent prayer, before looking back down at you. “You have maybe three seconds before I can’t hold back any longer and tear that ass up.”

You chuckle softly, pouting out your lips in a faux sullen manner. “Yes, sir.”

That earns a growl from Jungkook that has heat racing down your spine as you hook your fingers into the band of his Calvin Klein’s and pull them down. He lifts his hips, helping you free him from their confines.

His cock stands so pretty before you, the full heft bobbing against his belly, smearing a pearl of precum against his golden skin. You dive in, licking at the sticky mess before taking the tip between your lips and lavishing your tongue over his slit.

Jungkook fists the sheets, a litany of curses falling from his lips. “Please,” he chokes.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you inch your way down his length, your jaw forcing itself wider to accommodate as much of him as you can. The blunt head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. You take a steadying breath in through your nose before forcing yourself a little further until your throat constricts around him and you have to pull back.

The second your mouth leaves his cock, saliva stringing from your lips to his tip, Jungkook grabs you and hauls you up over him. You laugh, loving the heat emanating from his body as yours covers his.

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

His strong hands land on your hips and tangle in the band of your panties. “I need these off. Please. I need you. I want to feel you…be inside you.”

You want that, too, you realize, your body already primed and begging for it. The sweet, fragrant notes of your arousal saturate the air, mixing with Jungkook’s to paint a picture of hedonism and wanton desires.

The rest of your clothes come off, your bra and panties are tossed to the side, leaving you utterly bare to him. Your inner thighs slide like velvet over his hips as you move your body against his until you can feel the press of the head of his cock against your entrance.

You wrap a hand around his base, angling him perfectly. It’s a slow descent into madness, the lowering of your body onto his. His eyes bore into yours, pouring out everything that has been building to this moment, this pinnacle that will forever throttle you onto a different path for your future—with him. You can feel every perfect inch slide along your walls as they adjust and welcome him. It’s like sliding home; he is the perfect fit for your body, filling you completely.

The pace you set, at first, is languid. An easy rise and fall of your hips as you both learn the body of the other. Jungkook’s hands mold around your breasts, his thumbs caressing over the pert points of your nipples.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, emphasizing your words with a generous roll of your hips. “So much better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it often?” he asks, a teasing tone to his words.

With the amount of teasing photos and videos you’ve shared with each other over the last few weeks, he knows you have. You can tell he’s just giving you a hard time. That’s fine, because you can…

Jungkook throws his head back as you arch yours, letting his cock hit that special place inside that has you both seeing stars. “Fuck!” His hands drop to your hips, landing with a satisfying smack. His grip tightens, dimpling the supple flesh around his fingers. “Can I knot you?” he asks with a breathless moan. You’ve never taken an alpha’s knot. The idea has your body pulsing around his, flooding slick onto his pelvis as you continue to roll your hips. “Fuck, baby girl, do you like that idea? You want to take my knot like a good girl?”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, much less answer him. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a panting keen, your chin jerking up and down as you frantically nod your want.

Jungkook braces his feet against the mattress and uses his grip on your hips as leverage to thrust upward, sending you forward onto your hands. He’s relentless, pounding into you from below to the point your eyes roll back, and you have to squeeze them shut. Tiny pinpricks of light burst behind your lids as your body coils tighter than ever before.

You cry out as he sends you over the edge, your body careening into an unfathomable abyss of pleasure. The sounds coming from around his cock as it pounds into you are slick and obscene, debauched yet wholly satisfying. 

“Alpha, need your knot,” you mewl, your lips finding the triskelion tattoo over Jungkook’s left pec muscle. You nibble at it, your teeth sinking softly into the skin.

“Oh, baby, fuck…fuck…Fuuuckkk!” Jungkook shouts, the sound turning into a guttural snarl as his body goes primal.

He seats himself completely inside of you with one final, deliberate thrust, and then you can feel the swell of his knot capture within you. It hurts, your pleasure turning into a moment of pain and panic. You squirm, trying to lift your hips from his, but the clasp of his hands on your body won’t let you go far. You whine, “J-Jungkook.”

“I know, baby girl, I know. Relax. Let your body do what it needs to do.”

It’s like those words unlock some inner Omega part of your brain, and suddenly you feel your body rush with endorphins and dopamine as it accepts the thick jets of his cum now flooding in. Like administering a drug, it’s such a fast transition that you feel lightheaded and giddy, sheepish and almost silly over your moment of panic.

“Gods, that feels so…good.” You wiggle in his arms, gasping as his knot pulls tight. You want more, need more of that feeling…need more of his cum. “More, Alpha, please.”

Jungkook pants, a tired smile on his face. You can feel it when his cock pulses inside you, dribbling even more liquid heat into your body in answer to your plea. “That’s my pretty girl,” Jungkook coos, brushing a hand across your forehead. “You’re so beautiful taking my knot, full of my cum.” He curses softly, reverently, and another gush of heat fills your body. “I’m going to take such good care of you. I swear it.”

You fall into a half-sleep, content and sated as you are. There are no worries about the future, nor the past. You are happy…all thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks.

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2024-11-05 ColorMePurplex2

[goldsbitch]

Our wedding

Y/N and Lando probably went a little too overboard when planning their wedding. She finally looses it when his friend suggests a product placement bucket hat.

A dream wedding.

Distant palazzo, with acres of private lands to roam around at night. Lavish dress, designed to fit perfectly and re-done three times. Coordinators, who made sure everyone who needed to be invited actually was. And also took care about almost anything one can imagine.

A perfect wedding, that's what they both wanted. Go big or go home. Combining romance, with generously giving everyone they loved, or deemed important, the time of their life. To say that this event was supposed to be extra would be an understatement.

Lando said yes to all of Y/N's wished regarding flower arrangements, menu items and rooming lists. She said yes to all of this ideas about the music, sound systems set up in each part of the venue (because heaven would turn upside down if there had been one quiet spot with no music, according to Lando) and drinks choices. They could not agree on the photographer - so Lando just booked his, and hers option as well. Saving money was not on the table. He knew that the amount of good PR and brand deals the Quadrant team managed to get together was going to pay out in the long run. Everyone loves a wedding.

That's where the first issues started - the amount of people invited grew into higher hundreds. She voiced her point few times, but Lando quickly shut those off with a promise to book a private charter for all friends and family who were coming from her homeland. She caved in and agreed to just few more CEO's she'd never met, as long as they did not share their table.

It was the final two months before the wedding and things could not be more hectic. They had to plan the wedding around Lando's race schedule, so summer break between races it was. Y/N had to juggle her job with all of this planning, so she attended less races than she usually would. Most of the calls she shared with Lando were wedding related and it seemed like his best friend Max took it upon himself to speak on behalf of Lando - so sometimes it felt like she was marrying Max rather than her fiancé. After a total break down she had few days ago, which resulted in her crying on the phone to Lando at 4 am his local time, they agreed she absolutely had to come over to the next race so that they could find some down time.

//

Having to endure a tiring overnight flight, she finally stepped into the hotel where Lando was staying at. Exhausted, jet-lagged and generally in a bad mood were the main ingredients in the perfect cocktail of "you should just avoid me" Y/N. She finally opened the door to his room and let out a groan. Traveling to see him used to be her favorite thing. A bombastic cherry on top was that she immediately recognized Max's voice coming from the living room. Was this guy staying in the same room as them now?

"Y/N, is that you?" she heard, desperately hoping he hadn't heard her enter in. She felt like a bitch for wishing that, but he was the last person she wanted to see at that point. Her hopes of jumping in the bed and cuddling Lando the first thing coming here dissolved like cotton candy, leaving tooth aches behind.

"Yes, Max, it's me," she said, not even bothering adjusting her tone to something more socially appropriate.

"Great, just on time. Can you come in here? We have some decisions that are becoming pressing matters," he said dryly and added his own frustrated comment quietly "...since someone does not feel like answering emails." She heard that, bit her lip and swallowed all her comments, otherwise she would explode.

"What's up?" she asked, entering the living space. There were dozens of baseball caps and buckets hats laid down on the coffee table with Max and some random young guy towering over them.

"We need you to pick out one of these which you'll be wearing after the reception. I have a great brand deal on the table which I need to close today. So, go ahead - pick one." She could not believe the words coming out of Max's mouth. Was he for real?

"May I ask when did I agree to wearing a baseball cap with my dress right after my wedding?"

Max glanced at her and then rolled his eyes. "Can you just pick one? Lando is on board with this, he'll be wearing this green one," he pointed to objectively very nice stylish item of clothing - but still, it was a bucket hat. Rage levels shot up in Y/N blood steam.

"Max, I'm suppose to be wearing my wedding dress until the evening, that's also in some deal you guys made," she proclaimed, hoping this would finally make him get some sense. "The dress is very classical, I don't think this would fit the vibe."

"Oh, come, we agreed to sticking to the Quadrant Athletes color palette and all of these check that. We want to break the classical vibe up with this."

"I'm sorry, who exactly is we in this scenario? And who the fuck are you?!" she pointed at the guy standing next to Max.

"I'm...I'm the product placement controller," he said in a shy voice.

Her eyes just went wide at that point.

"Y/N, no need to freak out again, you need to create a viral moment to make the brand grow," Max said, as if he was talking about a new merch launch.

And that was the final straw. "I'm getting sick of you guys making my wedding into a Quadrant PR stunt. You need to realize this is my wedding, not yours! The whole event is already dripping with brand deals and promotions, is there nothing out of line to you? Will my mom also have to wear one of these hats? Will force the officiant to wear sneakers? Where will you stop?"

Max stared at her, his own cup finally also full. But unlike her, he spoke calmly - again, giving strong business vibes. "Oh, I'm sorry - I'm sorry I am pulling heaven and Earth to make sure your wedding does not ruin your future husband! I apologize that I seem to be more stressed about this wedding than you are. Sorry for caring and trying to uphold some standard."

"Max, this is all too much! I feel like I'm suffocating," she tried to reason with him once more.

He just had enough at that point. So many little moments of mutual disagreement finally grew on him.

"Yeah, well maybe you're just not suited for this world."

Before she could even take a breath to respond, a familiar voice cut them both off.

"Guys, that's enough I'd say," Lando said as he slowly stepped out the same corridor Y/N had entered moments ago. Both Max and Y/N turned around, knowing they'd have spoken way differently had they known he was there as well.

Max gulped, knowing he stepped over a line and immediately started to apologize. "Mate, I'm sorry, we just sort of lost it. I'm sorry."

Lando glanced at him, his face suddenly hard to read for both his friend and his fiancée. He quickly flashed Y/N a look, seeing the obvious distress finally on his own, in a way the camera on a phone just does not capture. It pained him to see them two fighting, but it pained him more to see her on the verge of crying.

She couldn't find words to apologize to Max. In fact she could barely even see him, as Lando took all of her attention.

"Can you guys leave us for now? I think we need to talk alone," Lando said in a tone so serious that Max hardly remembered last time he'd heard it.

"Yeah, mate. Of course," he said shyly, gesturing to his companion to quickly exit with him.

Once the door finally clicked, Y/N felt like she could get out of her frozen state.

"My god. Lando, I knew it would be a challenge these few months, but I did not expect to grow so far away from you," she said, as the words flew out of her mouth without her being able to control it.

He was more careful with his words, but brave nevertheless. "It's true. I don't think we've even been so distant."

Him acknowledging it just made it real and hurt more.

"Right. At least we have that in common."

There was an awkward silence, something these two hadn't experienced in months.

"Why is Max involved so much?" she asked, hoping that she would not hear anything that would make her biggest fear come true - Lando's lack of desire to marry her.

He took a moment to get his point in the right order. "He's my best friend. This is our wedding. I can't stop focusing on racing, but I want it to be perfect. I'd say not giving him any credit sometimes."

Of course, he was defending him. She wondered if he defended her in front of Max sometimes.

All card on the table. She gulped before uttering the next sentence. "I'm scared that I don't want to go to my own wedding anymore. I feel like an unwanted guest."

They shared a look full of hidden pain. It was impossible to tell, but Lando was scared as never before. "What are you saying...Do you want to call it of??"

She looked back at him, praying that he would understand. "God no, that's the last thing I want to do," she sighed and put her head in her hands. How did it got to a place where he could even assume that? "Marrying you, the love of my life, is my dream. In fact, I'd just like to jump to the moment where I can finally say yes to you."

The air still felt really heavy. "Then let's do just that."

"What do you mean?"

Lando took few steps closer to her, missing her close proximity for the past few weeks. He desperately needed to fix them. "Let's book a wedding for next week in Monaco, just you me and any other people required by the law."

The idea of that seemed silly at first. But the more she thought about it, the more she craved that idea. "So, you want to call the actual wedding off?"

Lando chuckled at the image of them cancelling that at last minute and all the hustle that would bring. "No, silly, not unless you really want to. But who says we can't have a fake ceremony there, celebrate with everyone, while already being married at that point? We don't need to tell anyone, keep the magic for them. We can have two weddings."

It was her time to laugh now. "So because we find organizing one wedding hard, we're going to be doing two now?"

"We are anything but conventional. And if this is news for you then, well...That would mean I'm marrying the queen of delulu. Twice."

The weight of the past weeks was lifted.

"Does this mean I can say "No." at the big wedding?" she teased him, closing the distance between them and holding his hand.

"Not if I'll say "No." first," he winked and quickly gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm not wearing a bucket hat. Just stating that now."

"Oh come, at least one of our weddings," he said as he ruffled her hair. "Wow, I think you need a post airport shower, my love."

"Do not try and change the topic - no bucket hats!" she mumbles as she tried to fix her hair.

"Fine, I'll just get you drunk. You'll wear a bucket hat at one of our weddings one way or another."

It felt so good to just banter with him, like they always did before they got caught up in all the stress. A shot of guilt went through her system, as she flashed back at the whole process so far.

"I should probably apologize to Max," she uttered, avoiding his eye contact once again.

He finally hugged her. "Yeah probably. But...let him rot in his feelings for a moment. I hate when someone makes you upset. Apart from me, of course."

"What makes me upset right now is the alarming amount clothes you're wearing."

"That's my girl!"

//

They got legally married the following weekend, Lando bribing anyone he could in order for them to skip few spots that were unavailable. The first wedding was secret and full of inappropriate, but honest kisses. The second one was fake, but they slayed it together, as newly married couple. Without the stress of actually getting married, they really enjoyed their wedding. The little secret stayed with them - and Max of course, because he just had to get involved with everything.

[ifyoucandaniel]

I want to thank you for making your list of recommended long batfam fics. I have been making my way through it and I am really enjoying them! ESPECIALLY cards on the table (I also love Dark Matter but I had already read it). Please let us know if you ever get more long batfam fic recs 🥺

okay so ive been waiting to answer this until i had gathered a good chunk of new long fics and ive been getting a lot of similar messages asking for recommendations, so here is another list of my fav long batman fics!

Jason and the Three Terrors by @cdelphiki, 220k, ongoing, T. if i can get you to read one thing, let it be this. ohhh my god where to even begin, this is a fic where jason stays with the league after his dip in the lazarus pit for a little while and winds up being charged with getting damian, his cousin, and his sister out of the league safely. this fic is just so fucking good, cdelphiki always writes such seamless relationship growth and watching jason go from "im dropping these brats off first chance i get" to "im a single mother of three and i need to provide for my kids" is phenomenal. 1000/10, the writing, the kids, the relationships, please do yourself a favor and read this.

A Collision of Masks by Movaz, 169k, completed, T. !! guys. this is such a good dick grayson-centric fic. this is set in an AU where batman never joined the justice league so the justice league knows very little about batman inc. and consequently dick never joins YJ so the YJ team is tasked with checking out a new hero called nightwing in bludhaven and police officer grayson is tasked with helping the team in their investigation :) really good fic exploring dick juggling all his identities and finally gaining people he can rely on! i actually did a bind of it so you know i love this story so much

Life Happens by @cdelphiki, 176k, complete, G. ok so this fic is probably one of the most beautiful stories of growth and love i've read. its about tim and damian being transported from their world into ours where they're only comic book characters and they start to build a life for themselves here. cdelphiki is one of the most amazing authors, im currently going through all of their works, but this one has just stayed with me and i dont think anyone should pass it up. watching tim and damian grow together and seeing damian have a real childhood and just the whole concept of life happening wether you want it to or not is so beautifully done. cannot recommend enough.

Honoring Promises by LananiA3O, completed, 14k, T. okay this isnt actually a long fic, but its one of my favorite fics ever and i need it on this list. if you're like me and you love UTRH aus where instead of sticking around as red hood after bruce threw a batarang at his throat jason fucks off and disappears to live a normal life, this is for you. from dick's pov, he realizes jasons last letter was a last attempt at reaching out and stalks him until he finds out what really happened to his little brother. i think about this every day and wish it was 10000 words long

The Time Before by @cdelphiki, 80k, completed, G. at this point this is basically just a cdelphiki fic rec lmao when i said everything by them was good, i meant that shit. this is a fic where jason is sent back into time when he was 9 years old but still has all his memories from the future. he goes to bruce for help despite wanting to do literally anything else and is surprised to realize maybe everything isn't how he remembers it 10 years in the future and maybe theres a chance he can go home when hes older again. once again cdelphiki hitting me in the feels with this one, really amazing study on how time and pain can change how you perceive and remember things and also just forgiveness and fixing mistakes and accepting mistakes were made. very good, highly recommend

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors by Sophene, 80k, completed, batlantern, T. I have no excuse for this, this is such a fun and funny fic i love it so much. basically HOA president single dad bruce with his 10 million adopted kids and then hal jordan moves in next door and plays his music too loud at 10pm on a school night and throws parties and bruce has a stick up his ass about it. i really really love the shift in hal when kyle comes to live with him as his ward (? i cant actually remember if hes adopted or just a ward) and seeing him finally understand why bruce acts the way he does when it comes to his kids. also seeing bruce just being a tired dad 90% of the fic when he isnt glaring at hal is so good.

Option C by CasualGeek, 78k, completed, T. this has, in my opinion, a very unique and interesting premise. basically, what if instead of becoming red hood, jason comes back to gotham and manages to get Joker put on trial for the murder of sheila haywood and get the insanity plea thrown out. really interesting approach to batman and joker and jason technically doing things through the legal justice system and what that means for him and the people around him. very good, read it all in one sitting

butcherbird, fly away home by e_va, 41k, completed, M. lost days jason todd loml! basically what if when jason was off on his world tour one of his tutors kidnapped bruce wayne and jason has feelings about it against his will. "what if lost days jason was stuck in the same room as a sick bruce for more than 10 minutes and actually had to talk to him without punching him" AU and i throughly enjoyed it. @darlingatlas recommended this one and she never misses with the jason recs

this kind of weather by r_astra, 55k, completed, T. this is the fic something in the static was originally inspired by and if you know me, i love that series, and i love this fic too. another what if jasons mom didnt die until later and social services gets involved before he can bolt and bruce seeks him out with some very interesting news. i love fics that display jason’s relationship with crime alley and him being one of them. very good, i love jason so much

ok now these aren't actually long fics but i need to get them out here because i love them so much and highly recommend!

To My Brother by a_silly_gander, 7k, completed, T. Lost days jason au where he starts sending post cards from his travels to dick on a whim while we follow his time away and the people he meets. i love this one so much, please read it if you love jason and dick, its so special to me.

Enhanced Fashion Sense is a Perk of Being a Cat by 12pt_timesnewromanfont, 23k, complete, G. selina breaks into drake manor to steal a cat artifact and accidentally meets the drakes ten year old son they left home alone. then she starts keeping tabs on him and eventually adopts him and makes him stray. i really love selina finding tim before bruce and taking care of him <3 10/10 i wish selina would adopt me

[ticklishraspberries]

Stubborn (Achilles/Patroclus)

Summary: Achilles has always been stubborn and prideful. Patroclus sees an opportunity to make the best of the Greeks give in, and takes it happily. (I just re-read this book the other day and was struck with the urge to write a fic for it. I know I haven't written in a while, and I haven't written for this fandom in years, so please be gentle, lmfao. I hope you enjoy!!)

Achilles is stubborn.

Patroclus knows this, has always known this, because he has never known Achilles to be anything but stubborn. For a child with such a weight on his shoulders, a prophecy on his head, the blood of the gods running through his veins — well, who can blame him?

If Achilles sets his mind to something, he will do it. Whether that be mastering the use of a spear, juggling figs, playing the lyre, or breaking through all of Patroclus’s walls, Achilles will do it, can do it.

It’s normally a positive trait, that determination. But in a young boy, it can get annoying quite fast. And Patroclus never usually finds Achilles annoying: He’s in awe of him, smitten by him, happily attached to his hip. But Patroclus is only human, after all, and there is only so much teasing one boy can take before he has to seek some sort of revenge.

Achilles has known that Patroclus is ticklish for years, one of the early discoveries that had brought them closer together. However, in all that time, Patroclus has never gotten the upper hand on Achilles, which is just entirely unfair.

“I’m not ticklish,” Achilles had said. It was a sunny afternoon on the grounds of his father’s palace. “I never have been, even when I was small.”

Patroclus bites back the urge to argue that he is still quite small. “Everyone says they aren’t ticklish, to stop others from trying.”

“You didn’t lie,” Achilles replied with a smirk.

Patroclus felt his face flush. “I knew you would try anyway. Lying would have done me no good.”

“I guess that’s true. Well, you don’t have to bother trying. I’ll just get you back twice as bad.”

What should have been a threat had not deterred him in the slightest, though, and Patroclus had tears of mirth streaked down his face within minutes.

It didn’t stop him from trying again, but Achilles was always one step ahead. He always saw it coming, and always grabbed at the offending hands before they even made contact, and smirked before pinning Patroclus to the grass or the mattress and tickling him half to tears for daring to try and tickle the best of the Greeks.

However, here, in Chiron’s cave, the morning is quiet and still. The centaur is off fetching something to fix a meal, and Achilles is asleep beside Patroclus, unclothed and lying in a particularly vulnerable position, one arm tucked beneath his head of golden hair. Patroclus isn’t sure what compels him to do it then, to ruin the peaceful moment, or why tickling Achilles is even at the forefront of his mind: They’re older now, and this is surely something childish, but the chance to startle a laugh from the other boy has never felt stronger.

Patroclus cuddles close to his side, stroking the hair from his face. Achilles barely stirs, only gives a pleasant hum in his sleep. It’s probably cruel to pull him from such a peaceful slumber, but he doesn’t care. How many mornings had Achilles jumped onto his bed at sunrise, pushing bony knees into his sides and shaking his shoulders, pressing their faces close and loudly announcing the break of a new day?

Maybe Achilles deserves a morning of ruined rest, too.

Patroclus doesn’t quite know where to start. In the past, he’s always tried the obvious places: Stomach, sides, feet. Achilles has never reacted in the expected ways, never cracking a smile or squirming away. Perhaps there’s another spot he can try?

His hand still lingers by Achilles’ face, and he brings it slowly towards his collarbone, his touch featherlight as it traces the curve there before moving up to stroke the side of his neck.

He’s surprised when Achilles twitches in his sleep, his brow furrowing and his shoulder shrugging upwards. This only encourages him further, bringing his other hand to Achilles’ ribs and repeating the same motion.

Achilles makes a noise somewhere between a giggle and a groan as he seems to slowly awaken, his arms lazily moving to push at Patroclus. He rolls over onto his side and tugs the sheet, trying to cover his body, but Patroclus pushes it away and scoots closer, throwing an arm over his waist and pulling his back flush against his own chest.

“I thought you said you weren’t ticklish,” he mutters in Achilles’ ear, making sure his lips brush against the shell of it.

Achilles shivers. “No one but you has ever really tried.”

“So, you admit it then? You are ticklish?” Patroclus asks, grinning. He’s tickling his belly with both hands now, hugging him around his middle so he can’t squirm away. Even with all his strength and stamina, Achilles is still tired and caught off guard, and his body is weak to resist as the soft laughter comes in waves.

Still, he says, “I don’t admit anything.” The sentence carries much less weight when it’s said between laughs, though.

Patroclus shouldn’t be surprised by this. Like he’s said, Achilles is stubborn. For someone who says he hates to lie, he omits the truth and dances around topics like this, to uphold both his integrity and his dignity. It’s quite endearing to watch, honestly.

Patroclus chuckles. “Of course you don’t,” he says.

In an obvious attempt to distract him from the tickling, Achilles flips over and presses their lips together, and Patroclus can’t help but kiss back. However, he’s not going to give in so easily.

He runs his fingers along Achilles’ lower back, up his spine, over his shoulder blades, the touch light and teasing, and he feels goosebumps rising over the skin. While soft touches like this usually tickle Patroclus, he knows Achilles will find them soothing, even sensual. Luring him into a false sense of security will help him regain that element of surprise.

It’s funny, how strategically Patroclus is thinking about something so obsolete. He plans like a war general whose enemy is the ego of his lover, and his attack is to send a fleet of tickling fingers to his weakest spots.

As they kiss, Patroclus grabs onto Achilles’ sides and squeezes them roughly, and a startled laugh falls from the half-god’s lips, his body shrinking away.

“Admit that you’re ticklish,” Patroclus says in a voice so unlike his usual tone, deeper and more commanding. There’s still plenty of mischief dancing behind it, though.

“Never,” Achilles grits out.

“Then I’ll never stop,” he replies. He figures there are worse things to fill his days with. Touching Achilles, hearing his laughter. It would be a quite fulfilling existence if you asked him.

He explores bits of sensitive flesh, but no spot seems to get a greater reaction than the crease where his thighs meet the sacred place between his legs. Pressing the pads of his fingers there actually makes Achilles whimper, and the sound is dizzying.

“Okay, okay,” he finally pants. “I’m ticklish!”

Patroclus stops instantly, rewarding Achilles for his good behavior. He presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, pushes back that golden hair once again.

“That’s what I thought.”

Breathless but smiling helplessly, Achilles nudges him in the ribs with his elbow. It’s rare to see him admit defeat, but it’s a beautiful sight. His flushed skin, his laughter lines.

Stubborn is an accurate way to describe Achilles, yes, but Patroclus will always mention his beauty first. Heroes are usually remembered for their fatal flaw, but Patroclus will always know him for the good things: The golden hair that cascades down his back like a waterfall. His determination, his resilience, his kindness. His laughter. The fact that even with godly blood in his veins, Achilles is just a boy, who juggles figs and is ticklish.

This, and this, and this. The good, the beautiful things.

[pearlescentparade]

If its fine or im not bothering you but..

Can u pease do a forsaken elliot x reader where they own a baby pet chicken and is over protective of it? Id like a fluff :D

(Please please i rarely see forsaken x reader)

THIS IS SO RANDOM BUT SO CUTE OMG....

🍕elliot x reader fluff + a pet chicken💝

rush hour at builder brother's pizza is nothing short of hectic. lines upon lines of people are waiting to be served both inside and outside of the establishment, many of whom just got off work and simply opted for pizza dinner. elliot, being assigned to cook duty today, juggles between building pizzas and keeping an eye on the ones cooking in the oven. images of pizza or soda continue to pop up on the order screen ahead of him. everytime he submits an order onto the conveyor belt to the boxing station, another takes its place instantaneously. it feels almost never-ending.. but it's no biggie for builder brother's best employee!

at this point, elliot's working on auto-pilot. he doesn't even have to look as he tosses another pizza into the oven! maybe he should've though, because the fire alarm starts to blare. elliot winces and groans at the deafening noise interrupting his highly efficient workflow, a red tint flashing in the kitchen as it wailed.

what could've possibly set it off? he didn't accidentally throw a soda into an oven, did he? no, he hasn't done that since his rookie days... he'd know the difference between a whole pizza and a cold soda! and he most certainly didn't use any pizza with bugs crawling all over it...

oh well, only one way to find out.. elliot nabs the fire extinguisher on the wall near the door to the cashier area, aiming the nozzle and putting out the flames with the extinguishing agent. white chemical solution permeates throughout the room, and when it settles, elliot opens the pizza oven to discover the source of the problem...

a terrified, soot-covered, baby chicken.

"woah- hey little buddy! now's uh.. really not a good time to be in there.." he's quick to take the chicken out from the oven and gently plop it on the floor where it's safe. the chick chirps in distress, furiously flapping its wings at the pizza boy as he puts his hands up in defense. rightfully so, it almost got baked alive!

"hey, i'm- i'm sorry! truly! but how was i supposed a chicken was in the kitchen? ...how did you even get here in the first place??" seriously, nobody saw a whole animal waltz into the building and decide to say anything about it? the chicken only stares up at elliot, its big beady eyes peering into his soul. his heart twists at the sight. it's so young.. could it have been separated from it's momma? it's practically a lost baby.. and it wouldn't survive for very long by itself (considering that it has displayed absolutely zero survival instincts)... and you did say you want to get a pet...

opening the pocket of his work uniform, elliot securely stows away the baby chick. now that that's settled, it's time to hit the rest of these orders!

...

imagine your shock when your boyfriend comes home with a chick after texting you that he 'had a surprise for you'.

the creature fits in the size of your palm, as you both stare at each other with curiosity. "oh my- elliot, where did you get him from?! and why is he so dirty..." "i-i don't know, he just appeared while i was working! ...he uh.. must've rolled around in the oven charcoal. good thing i found him before anything happened, haha..!" nervously, he shrugs, hoping you don't prod deeper. while elliot hates lying to you, he would hate to tell you that he almost cooked the fella alive even more. you wouldn't let him hear the end of it.. "ohh, poor guy! let's get you cleaned up." as you march to the bathroom to run a bath for your new friend, elliot lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. he then trails after you, following you to the bathroom to help with cleaning the chick.

the chick splashes vigorously in the bubble bath as you attempt to wash out the dirt from between his feathers, excitedly zooming around the tub. from the sink, elliot supervises with instructions for how to clean a baby chicken pulled up on his phone. soon enough, you've completely gotten rid of all the soot and reverted him back to his sunny yellow coat.

"he's so small.. what if he gets hurt or sneaks off somewhere when we're not looking? oh, and he'll get colder much easier.." you express your worry with knitted brows as you carefully dry him off with a small cloth. for something his size, everything can be dangerous! even something as mundane as a ball could easily squish him if it lands on him. "maybe we oughta babyproof the house? i could ring up builderman tomorrow and ask him to install some baby gates to keep him from running everywhere! until then, we can use some makeshift stuff."

and so, operation: childproof the chick is a go. first things first, you need a way to know when he's on the move!

"look elliot! this collar has a bell and a bow!" "we might have to adjust it a bit considering how small the guy is... but he'd look so cute!"

all your doors and windows are to be tightly shut and locked at all times, so the chick can't slip out and get eaten by a hawk or something. and finally, double-check appliances before turning them on (elliot suggested this one). you considered having the little fella sleep with you in your bed, but the fear of accidentally squishing him when you roll over is very real. instead, he gets a small but well-furbished crib padded with blankets.

in the next few days, builderman comes over to help. all elliot told him is that you two wanted some extra security precautions. the engineer is all smiles and jokes until he reaches your shared bedroom and spots the crib.

"...now, i don't mean to pry into your guys'.. 'personal' business but, are you two er.. expecting?" elliot quirks an eyebrow, "expecting what?" builderman vaguely gestures with his hands, "y'know, any.. 'bundles of joy' on the way? i know kids these days are excited to settle down and all." "whaddya mean?" you and your boyfriend share a mutual confused look. cheeping emits from the crib, and as builderman peers into it, he realizes there's been a misunderstanding. "..ah, nevermind."

while you do have a baby, he's more of the feathery kind.

(parade postscript: just realized that about half of this drabble is only elliot and how he met the chicken </3 sorry)

[lesbiankimdahyun]

Summer Session

1K words

CW: None!

A/N: we are so back, baby <3 special appearance (in name only) made by SEVENTEEN’s Vernon!

[Sana x F!Reader] 

Requested: Yes

Your start to the summer was boring. You hated to admit it, but it was a little lonely without the rest of your classmates around in your college town. For the 65 members of your graduate school cohort, summer meant trying to fulfill mandatory internship requirements and putting in a few hundred hours of service in your soon-to-be field. You were lucky to get an internship in the city, avoiding the hassle of subletting and juggling double rent for the next three months. But staying put also meant you were separated from everyone else; your closest school friends were now scattered across the country, interning in other cities and less available now that you were all in different time zones. 

Desperate to be able to talk to someone face to face instead of over FaceTime, you downloaded Tinder. Finding a partner was of zero interest to you at the moment, but you figured if you went on enough awkward first dates, you’d meet someone who could stick as a friend. A lot of your current friendships had started out that way, anyway– as first and second dates that shifted into platonic relationships instead. You knew it was possible, you just had to put in a little effort. 

One warm Friday night in June, you prepared dinner for yourself eagerly, happy to be done interning for the week. Clearing some space for your plate on the coffee table, you sat down in front of your TV. Taking a sip of the chilled wine you’d poured, you hit play on a new drama series and settled in to watch and eat.

Your meal was delicious, but the pilot episode of the show wasn’t as good as you’d hoped. Part of the way through, you pulled out your phone and opened Tinder. Your eyes flicked back and forth between the television screen and the profiles of girls on your phone. You swiped halfheartedly for a while, but quickly lost interest in that, too. You were just about to grab your book and turn the TV off when you did a double take at the next profile Tinder brought up for you. 

You knew her.

It was a girl from your cohort: Sana. You sat up straight, nearly knocking your wine over as you blindly reached for it, eyes still taking in the pretty dark haired girl on your screen. You had always thought Sana seemed fruity, but since she never attended any of the queer student activities for your program and you’d never seen her at any of the gay clubs, you thought for sure you’d read her wrong. 

Taking a quick screenshot, you hurriedly took another sip of wine and quickly sent it to Chaeyoung, a close friend in your program. Within seconds, your phone was vibrating with her reply.

Chae 🍓: omg 

Chae 🍓: SANA?!?!?!?!?!

Chae 🍓: !!!!!!!!

Chae 🍓: i fucking knew it!!!!!

Chae 🍓: was it a match 👀

You hesitated for a moment, then went back to the app and swiped right before all of your courage left you. The app simply presented the profile of another girl after Sana’s disappeared. You chuckled to yourself, slightly embarrassed as you crafted a reply. No, you sent. Sorry to get your hopes up~ 

You hadn’t realized your own hopes had been up until Sunday night arrived and you noticed that  none of the matches you’d gotten on the app over the weekend were Sana. And when Chae texted you curiously about it on Monday, it was even more embarrassing to admit that you had nothing new to report. You decided to give up on having any hope at all the next day. It wasn’t like you and Sana were close, after all. You’d only ever hung out outside of class to work on occasional group projects with her. There was no reason at all to expect anything from her.  

But on Wednesday while you ate lunch alone on the outdoor deck of your internship office’s downtown headquarters, your phone vibrated. You sighed a little, setting down your sweating can of pop before grabbing your phone. You assumed it was a Slack message from a coworker at worst, and at best a text from Chaeyoung or another one of your friends. To your surprise, the two incoming texts you had just gotten were from a number you didn’t know. 

Unknown: hey, is this Y/N? 

Unknown: it’s Sana 😊

Your eyes went wide. How did she get your number? You were about to pull up your message conversation with Chaeyoung, but another text from Sana appeared. Your feeling of pleasant surprise changed to complete and utter horror. Sana had sent you a screenshot of your own Tinder profile. 

Maybe: Sana: saw you~ i didn’t know you were around for the summer! 

You locked your phone immediately and screamed silently, begging the earth to swallow you whole. It didn’t, so instead, you saved Sana’s number, then took a screenshot of the whole conversation and sent it to Chaeyoung with lightning speed. You had to, you thought, before you died of mortification. You gave Chae all of fifteen seconds before you then glanced at your watch and called her. 

“I was literally just about to call you,” Chaeyoung’s voice was bursting with excitement. “She totally wants you,” she teased, laughing. “Well?” 

You groaned. “I haven’t replied yet! And stop laughing, I might have to transfer to another program out of state because how EMBARRASSING this is.”

“Oh come on, this is a great segue!” Chaeyoung replied. “Tell her–” Chae’s voice cut out a little as your phone vibrated– another incoming text. You pulled your phone away from your ear and exhaled sharply. 

Sana: vernon gave me your #, i hope that’s cool. we should hang sometime! are you free this weekend? :]

“Y/N? Hello?” Chae’s voice seemed soft and distant as you stared at your screen. You hadn’t put Chaeyoung on speakerphone, but her waiting silence felt louder somehow. 

“She–” you cleared your throat a little as you processed everything and put your phone back up to your ear. “She just asked if I’m free this weekend.” 

[fmle-drven]

Bring your baby to work day

POV: You are price’s assistant. No one can watch your 6 month old baby boy, so you bring him to work!

Price x ghost x Johnny x Kyle

(Something cheesy and short)

It’s 8:03am. Already running late. You huff in frustration as you load the baby into the car seat. Your dead beat baby daddy decided to take a vacation this week and no one else can watch the baby. Luckily, you have the most amazing boss in the world and your own office. Shouldn’t be too much trouble right?

You arrive on base at 8:30am. Grabbing your sleeping boy in his car seat and your diaper bag, you hurry into the building. You try to dodge everyone. You don’t want anyone waking him up, knowing once he wakes up he will not go back to sleep. Making it to your office, you place the baby next to your office chair steadily. Peaking over the handle to make sure his big doe eyes are still closed. Letting out a sigh of relief, you sit gently into your office chair and shoot a quick text to John.

“Good morning sir, I made it. In my office, baby is asleep.”

The next hour and a half goes by quick. You’re able to finish up a few documents, put together the power point for the briefing, and managed to get a head start on reviewing the next mission. That is until you hear the all too familiar foot steps of Ghost. Panic sets in. Praying ghost doesn’t come in here.

Sure enough………

Ghost doesn’t bother to knock. He barges in and almost instantly he makes eye contact with the car seat next to you. Your eyes are as wide as his as realization sets in. Almost on cue, your baby boy starts to wail. You roll your eyes at ghost as you lean down and take your son into your arms.

“Y/N…. ‘M so sorry. I-I dinnt know ya had the lad today” ghost stumbles out. His eyes soften at the sight of the young boy, the lads face red as tears satin his cheeks.

“I’ll come get you later ghost. I gotta calm him down now” you sharply state. You knew bringing your boy in was a bad idea. Should have just stayed home.

As ghost makes his exit, you stand up and cradle your baby. Rocking back and forth whilst shushing and cooing him. You start to slowly pace the small office. Bouncing and rocking your bundle of joy as he will not let off. His high pitched screams can be heard down the hall, and most likely the training field. You bend down to open the diaper bag for his paci when there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Come innnnnn” you lowly call out, knowing someone’s here to complain.

John opens the door. His head tilts in empathy at the sight. You look up, hair covering your almost tear filled eyes. Great. You’re probably getting sent home.

“John I- ugh. I finish the notes and power point for the brief meeting this afternoon and I- fuck….” You’re stampering out as you drop the pacifier and knock over the bag while juggling your wiggling son.

“That’s great. But I heard what ghost did and I can hear the little man screaming from my office.”

“I’m so sorry.” You breathe out

John takes a second before simple saying. “Give him here.” Taking his hands from behind his vest and out stretching them.

You waste no time handing him over. A breath of relief even just for a moment. John takes the young boy in his arms. “Now now young man. We got some manly work to do.” He says as he pivots and strides out of your office.

“Don’t worry, I will take good care of him. Now get your work done dear” John says before shutting the door.

You can hear the cries getting softer, now your office is quiet. You sit back at your desk, wipe the stray tear on your cheek before getting back to work. The minutes turn into hours lost as you are about knee deep in intel for your next mission. Papers scatter your desk, chewing on your pen as you suddenly realize…….. MY SON.

You quickly run out of the office and start the search in price’s office. Empty. Next was Johnny’s. No sign of life. You almost look in ghosts office, but quickly realize that man would not have a baby anywhere near him after what occurred this morning. You start to panic. Where the hell did these idiots take your precious baby boy. He’s probably hungry, needs a diaper change. What if one of them dropped him? Oh god, you think.

You run all over the place, finally reaching the mess hall. There you see it. Johnny has your boy in his arms. Your son is tugging on his Mohawk and yanking Johnnys neck. Ghost, price and Kyle are giggling. Your son is babbling, smiling and jumping around while tugging the tuff of hair.

“He’s got me ‘air mate” Johnny laughs out, one hand trying to release the baby’s death grip.

“He’s gonna be one ‘ell of a fighta” Kyle states. He’s amazed this little thing had that level of strength.

“We outta get him into training as soon as the lamb is 18.” Ghost giggles, reaching out a gloved finger to tickle the child’s neck.

You stood in silence at the door frame, soaking in this moment. The biggest and baddest task force on the eastern hemisphere is here, with your son, treating him as one of them. In this moment, you knew your baby was the most protected child in the world. Your heart was so full. These men have just met your child yet, now he’s apart of our dysfunctional little family.

“If I would have known we had built in child care, I would have brought him a long time ago.” You cheekily call out, walking towards the group.

“ yer boy is great! Should bring ‘em more often” Johnny says with a wide smile while handing the baby over.

You prop your boy on your hip. The little one looks up at you with loving eyes. The boys hearts nearly explode. They haven’t seen you in action with the little one.

“Well, in 6 months you are all invited to his first birthday, how about that” smiling up at your colleagues. They all nod in agreement.

“Well.” You sigh out with a smile. “I best take him to go get fed and maybe a nap if we are lucky” you say, ending the sentence with a little baby talk.

“Uh……. Y/N…….. would ya mind if I fed ‘em” Ghost asks, looking down at the ground and shuffling his feet nervously.

You cock an eyebrow. “Seriously?” Asking in pure disbelief.

“Yes. I would like to feed the small child” he looks up at you with puppy dog eyes.

All the boys look at ghost as if they were waiting for a GOTCHA from ghost. You hesistate before handing off your son to him. Ghost carefully grabs the boy, holding him close to his chest and supporting his neck with his fingers. The baby looks up at the masked man, instantly grabbing on to the fabric. Curious little one.

“Alright, follow me uncle ghost, I’m gonna show you how to feed, burp and change a baby. Let go soldier.” You sternly say as you turn on your heel and guide the way.

These men have been nothing but amazing to you. But to watch them melt at your boy and treat him with even more respect is something out of a movie.

Maybe you should bring the wee lad more often ;)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: This week is killing me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday sees your second day in your new position. As you send off your letter of resignation to the agency, you can't help the coil that winds tight in your stomach. There's no going back now.

You close out of the several templates you Googled in your efforts. It's the one thing you know how to do. Willa, the friendly librarian who checked out the PC for you, always said, if you can Google, you can figure it out. Still, you feel like there's so much you don't know that you're not sure a search engine can answer.

You close the laptop and take both your phones with you into the hallway. You have to go check out that gazebo and figure out if you need to make a call about it. Oh, and the fridge was beeping when you filled your bottle, you have to call the maintenance number that flashed up too.

That makes you even more anxious. You've never really been the sort for phone calls. You never had anyone to talk to and everything else was easier done in person. Well, you'll have to muddle through. Work isn't supposed to be fun or easy.

As you near the staircase, your flip chimes. You juggle to answer the right phone. The slim touchscreen is set only to buzz, an option not available on the clumsy burner. You answer the call as you stop on the top stair.

The woman on the other end asks for you by name. You confirm your identity as you hear familiar noises in the background. She's a nurse from the downtown hospital.

“I'm calling to confirm your father's discharge tomorrow at noon,” she says over the rustle of paper and clack of keys, “we'll need the bed so if there is any delay, another day would be added to the invoice.”

“I understand, I'll be there, erm… noon. Tomorrow,” you don't have your notebook so you key a reminder into the other phone. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, miss, we would recommend you arrive earlier. We have some resources and counseling available on what you can expect getting the patient settled at home,” she continues, “nine would be ideal. I'll be able to add a note for the doctor to check in as well.”

“Oh, yes, I can do that,” you squeak, “thank you.”

“Alright then, I have all that logged. You have a good day.”

“You too,” you utter before the line dies.

Phone calls weren't too bad. You think you did okay with that one. Then again, you didn't think! You're supposed to work tomorrow. Mr. Laufeyson said you could take Wednesday off, and tomorrow is only Monday.

You close the flip phone and stare at it. Oh boy. You really don't want to spoil this. Just the mention of the coming invoice underlines your desperation. You need the money. Your dad needs it.

“Are you finished?” Mr. Laufeyson's timbre drawls from down the hall. You glance over as he stands just in the doorway of his study. You gulp.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson. I didn't mean to disturb–”

“Yet you did,” he insists.

“I was only going to check–”

“Not my concern so long as it's done,” he waves you off, “an important call, I assume, to make such a racket.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, um,” you shove the phones away, one in each of your pockets. “I… could I have the day tomorrow? Instead of Wednesday. My father is getting out of the hospital and–”

“The day? What time?” He snips as he approaches with decisive steps.

“Well, I'm supposed to go at nine,” you explain, “I'll come in Wednesday still.”

“You will come in tomorrow, after all that,” he says. “You can work later then.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, but my father will need help getting settled–”

“Figure it out. You agreed to this schedule–”

“I did but–” you stop yourself as his eyes flare, “I will be here in the afternoon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“You will be. In the appropriate attire, I expect,” he snarls and spins to strut back to his office, swinging the door shut sharply.

You waver at the hard slam. You didn't mean to anger him. You can't help that your father needs you. You thought Mr. Laufeyson would be more understanding, after all, he's the one who pointed out how much you needed the money.

🧹

Your father shoos you away as you try to help him sit. He lets go of the walker and flops back with a grunt, his oxygen tank clinking against the aid’s metal leg. He coughs and snatches around blindly on the cushion for the remote. You retrieve it from the folding table beside him and put it in his hand.

That agitates him further as he growls and jams down the button to turn on the television. You yawn and back away. You still have a full day left ahead of you, and what feels like one behind you. You spent the night doing some last minute tidying to make sure everything is read for your father.

“Smokes,” he snaps his fingers and hacks.

“Er,” you hesitate. You go to find the half-crushed pack you found with him on the floor. You knew better than to throw it out. You return to him, clutching the package nervously, “Dr. Shearer said–”

“Give it to me,” he demands.

You relent and obey. He’s been doubly miserable than before. You feel like an annoying gnat buzzing around his head as he tries to swat you away.

“I made you meals for the weak. They’re all labeled in the fridge–”

“I’m not a goddamn kid,” he scowls and takes the lighter from the folding table.

“I know, but–”

“But I’m home. You probably hate that,” he sneers, “you’d be happy if I died in that hospital.”

You’re taken aback by the accusation. You gasp and shake your head, “of course not, I’m happy you’re here. That you’re alive–”

“Painfully,” he snorts darkly, “the fuck you keep me here for?”

You take a breath and frown. Your eyes tinge and your cheeks pinch, “because you're my dad… and I love you,” you croak.

He doesn’t reply as he pulls out a cigarette and moves the tube from below his nose. You watch him, waiting. He lights the smoke and sucks on it eagerly. You drop your head and give a shrug.

“I gotta go to work,” you say, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t be slamming around when you come in,” he dusts ash over the freshly vacuumed carpet, “doctor said I needa sleep.”

“I won’t,” you promise and back away.

As you leave the room, your chest plummets in dread. You think of coming home, of finding him like you did before, laying on the floor, lifeless. You sniff and swipe away the speckling of tears. More than you want him to love you, you want him to love himself. You don’t just want him to want you around, you want him to be around.

🧹

You hurry up to Mr. Laufeyson’s gate with your kit and water bottle jostling. You fumble around until you find the smartphone and bring up the digits to punch into the code box. You buzz through and shuffle inside. You set off on your usual path around the back.

You stop at the rear door and try to untangle the strap of the water bottle from your kit. Your hand lingers on the front of the ballooning shirt. You still haven’t gone to look for clothes so you did your best with what you had. One of your father’s forgotten button-ups and a pair of pants that could pass in an office. It’s ill-fitting and scratch but better than jeans.

You get inside and leave your kit in the closet. Today’s a cleaning day but you have a few things to check off the schedule first. With your water bottle bouncing on your hip, you go upstairs and scurry down to the library.

As you enter, you’re surprised to discover the space less than empty. You apologise aloud and choke on the word, ‘mister’. It isn’t the house’s single resident as you expect, no, this figure could not be more different than Mr. Laufeyson. You recognise them, from the dinner.

The blond man faces you as he stands by the window, the drapes open to add the peculiarity of the situation. Like the man, the space is golden with sunlight. You lean back on your heel as you clutch the door handle.

“Hello,” he grins as he greets you in a playful demeanour. You can’t answer. You don’t know if you should. 

Is it rule one; don’t speak unless permitted; or the other rule, do not disturb my guests. You can’t figure out the riddle so you languish in perplexity.

“Aren’t you a sweet little lamb,” he muses as he steps away from the window, placing his hands on the back of the dimpled leather chair. His large hands. If you thought Mr. Laufeyson was tall, this man is even taller and twice as wide. “I remember you. The sweet maid.”

You blink. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? You can’t speak. You’re too terrified; not just of the strange man but of the one you know by name. Your employer would be unhappy to know you spoke out of turn.

“Have you seen my brother at all?” He prompts disregarding your stagnant silence. “Has he spoken of me? His brother? I'm Thor.”

You look down at your hand on the door handle.

“And what is your name?” He asks.

You don’t answer. You know it’s not right but you have no other choice. You pull the door shut and close the man in. You retreat in a half-sprint and barrel back down the stairs. You trip at the bottom and barely save yourself from stumbling to your knees.

You latch onto the banister post to keep your balance and catch your breath. You hear the door above. Oh no, would he follow you? Another door clicks and you look up to find a shadow on the other side of the frosted glass framed in the front entrance.

Mr. Laufeyson steps inside coolly, unbothered as swings the door shut and tugs on the lapel of his suit jacket. His eyes fall on you and he scuffs on his sole, tilting his head in curiosity. You didn’t realise he hadn’t even been there. You look at the ceiling with wide eyes; so how was the other man inside?

“Well, there you are,” he says matter-of-factly, “this place is sore in need of a dusting–”

Laufeyson is interrupted by a clamour of footsteps above. You let go of the banister and sidle away as his green eyes flick to the top to the staircase. You shy away and listen as the man descends in a series of thunder thumps. You turn to peek down the hall, wanting to hide in your chores.

“Stay,” Laufeyson commands. You turn back to him as he points at your feet. You stop in place and sway. He faces his visitor as he comes to the bottom stair, “brother, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Can I not come see my baby brother?” The other man; the stranger; his brother, called Thor, booms.

“You may, when you warn me of it,” Laufeyson rebuffs.

“Ah, don’t be so grim,” Thor claps his shoulders and is swiftly shrugged off, “this place is always so dark. I hope you don’t mind, I opened a few windows.”

“I do mind,” Laufeyson says, “you do always presume.”

“And you are always offer such a warm welcome,” he tries to tap Laufeyson’s cheek but is batted away. The dark of the brothers backs up with a scoff. “Ah, and there she is. I was only just coming to find the little maid. She rushed off so suddenly–”

“You don’t need to bother with her,” Laufeyson dismissed with a slice of his hand through the air, “maid,” he points at you again, “back to work.”

You lean back on your heel, ready to disappear.

“Ah, don’t be so rude, brother. She is sweet. You get more bees with honey–”

“Do not tell me how to run my house,” Laufeyson growls, an edge in his voice you’ve never heard before. Dangerous and dark.

“Is she not doing you a service? A please would be appropriate–”

“You are not mother. I don’t need you to mind my manners,” Laufeyson girds and nears his brother, unflinching even as he comes up a few inches short of chest to chest, “nor do you need to worry for my staff. She does not take orders from you.”

“And I suppose that’s all she gets from you,” Thor chuckles.

You furrow your brow, stunned by their spat. You’re not quite sure what that last bit meant. You work for Mr. Laufeyson so of course he would tell you what to do. And why are they so volatile? They’re brothers. You don’t have any siblings but you always wanted one. So that you had a friend. So you weren’t alone. 

“Maid, go,” Laufeyson repeats, “now.”

Your eyes widen and you nod. You quickly turn and rush down the hall to the closet. You’re shaking as you try to sort out one phone from the other and find the old list of tasks. You can hardly steady your hands to get a pair of gloves on.

You take your time in the back of the house as you hear the men’s footfalls climb the staircase. You let your nerves settle just a little. You’re alone, for now, and your mission is simple. Clean and stay unseen.

[russellsppttemplates]

https://www.tumblr.com/russellsppttemplates/748410598698663936/i-might-do-another-blurb-night-soon-so-if-you?source=share

feeling a little under the weather recently (happens to the best of us fr) so could you write a charles leclerc x fem reader where reader is like studying and busy trying to balance social life and studying and being active and he notices it so he comes back from a race weekend and calms her down and they have a short rest day? thank youuuu!!!

Note: I hope you feel better soon! 🫶✨️

"Didn't you go on a run yesterday?", Charles asked as he called you for the second time after he was done with all his duties after the race, the first call missed because you had tried a new pilates studio and had to go back home to shower and change because you had a brunch with your friends.

"Yes, but the pilates was fun too! Question: this shirt or this shirt?", you showed him both options.

"The red one - c'mon amour, that was too easy", he smirked, "so you're having a day off? That's nice". Charles had noticed how tired you had been recently, trying to juggle every sphere of your life, so he was more than happy that you were taking the day off for yourself.

"No, I'm not! I watched the race, worked out and I'm having yummy food and then I'm coming back home to study for the afternoon", you assured him, "maybe tomorrow we can have some chill time when you come back", you smiled.

Charles would make sure of it.

.

"Amour, I'm home!", Charles called, leaving his bags by the door and looking for you, figuring you would be in the kitchen considering what time it was.

"Charles!", you smiled as you spotted him, setting the spatula down and hugging your boyfriend, "you did so well, I'm so proud of you!", you left little kisses on his neck before kissing his lips, "have you had breakfast? I can make some for you too", you pointed to the eggs on toast you were making.

"I'm good, I had some on the way here because I was starving, thank you though", he kissed your temple, "how about I just finish these and you go and pick something for us to watch on our lazy day?", he smiled.

"I have some flashcards to work on, I need to do them agai-", you tried but were quickly interrupted.

"Amour, if you don't rest, your body will start to slow down and it will be harder for you to get back to your usual rhythm", he cupped your face, kissing your nose softly, "I know you've been working hard, so let me treat you to a relaxing day today, okay?".

Despite your initial resistance, Charles was able to convince you to turn off your laptop and all of the notifications related to the university that could pop up, scooping you up after you had your breakfast and spending the rest of the morning cuddled up on the sofa.

"Thank you for doing this for me", you thanked Charles, playing with his hair, "I needed this", you admitted.

"I know you did", he smiled knowingly, "and I'm more than happy to make sure you rest".

"Can we have a bath together tonight?", you asked, looking at the clock and seeing it was the middle of the afternoon already.

"That's sound great, amour", Charles smiled, kissing your cheek, "I was also thinking we could make that lasagna - I know how much you like to cook and if you don't make it competitive, it can actually be relaxing and soothing".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[apolloscastellan]

Never quite buried | loss of my life chapter 4

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig x FemaleTennisPlayer!reader

Summary: Your life had always been divided in two: before you met Tashi and after you met Tashi. The second you had laid eyes on her for the first time you knew you had been changed. You were soulmates, meant for each other Nothing could ever tear you two apart, or so you had thought. You could've pinpointed the junior U.S. Open as the night that changed everything. Now you have to juggle your hate-love relationship with tennis with your love-love relationship with Tashi and the two guys who you can't seem to stay away from. Tennis, after all, was only one of the most fucked up relationships of your life.

Warnings: challengers spoiler, challengers content warnings, super minor character death, terrible mother figure, use of y/n, polyamory.

Word count: 6.5K

A/N: Please let me know what you think bc my motivation is severely lacking rn, i feel like i'm writing into the void

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Tashi remembers perfectly the day your retirement from singles hit the news. It was all everyone could talk about. First, it was the statement on your social media. A well thought out paragraph about your struggles with continuing to enjoy tennis the way you used to and deciding to take a new route, it ended with a promise for more and better news soon. Then it was the teasing posts from Adidas, the “she is not done just yet” and the “love conquers all”. It all came to a peak with the release of the pictures of you and Patrick. Both of you wearing matching Adidas apparel, practicing in the private court you had in your backyard. The chemistry between the two of you was obvious to everyone who saw them. There was a glint in your eyes that no one had seen since you went pro. She knew the smile you were giving Patrick all too well, it used to be reserved for her. 

Her and Art, who had just very recently reconnected, sat on his couch for hours watching the tennis channel, waiting for updates. The relief they felt when it was announced that you were not quitting because you were fatally injured, as everyone had originally thought, was short lived. Neither of them spoke as the commentators showed the images of you and Patrick. Practicing, giggling, getting closer, him giving you that teasing smirk they both knew, you throwing your head back laughing, him beaming at you when you weren’t even looking, both of you focused on the ball, kissing… They both thought about turning off the TV, hitting some balls to work out how they were feeling, but then you were introduced into the set, a vibrant smile as you walked in, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt too big to be yours. The Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy logo only confirmed the obvious. You shook hands with everyone, sitting on the sofa they had reserved for you.

“Y/n Y/l/n, thank you for being here” the older man said, over the clapping of the crowd.

“Thanks for having me!”

“What a day it’s been for all of us, tennis fans. You’ve had us on the edge of our seats! First we mourned, now we’re celebrating… Please tell us why did you do this to us?”

“I am so sorry! I am, I really am” you laughed as the man teased you, God how they missed that laugh. “I have a flair for the dramatic, I must admit, and I am, in a way, saying goodbye to my career as I know it. It’s the start of a new chapter, and it’s really exciting, but it is also a goodbye and it felt right to give it its proper moment. I didn’t realize so many people were going to be so upset about it.”

“Why the switch? Why decide to give up singles completely?”

“I wasn’t enjoying it anymore, it was painful and I had started dreading every second of it. Fortunately, I am in a position where I can decide I don’t want to keep doing something that is bringing me down, so I took advantage of it. I didn’t want my stubbornness to completely ruin my love for tennis. I thought I could step back, maybe take up teaching and try to find that passion again. I was going to quit regardless, so this playing doubles thing happened at just the right time.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about that! You’ve decided to become a full time mixed doubles player with Patrick Zweig, who is a challengers player, somewhere in the two-hundreds. You are currently ranked number one in the world, how does this happen?”

“I think rankings and numbers can be misleading sometimes. Sometimes a player is not playing their best because of external reasons, or simply because they are not meant to be where they are. I think me and Patrick are meant to play together, I really do. And if you can’t trust anything else, trust this: I am really competitive and I hate losing, I would not put myself in a situation like this if I really thought we couldn’t win.”

“From what I’ve heard Zweig and you are committed to each other both on and off the court. You’ve never been open about your private life in the media, and he is the first boyfriend you’ve ever made public, what’s different about him?”

They couldn’t take their eyes off you as you let a bashful smile spread on your face.

“I mean…  Everything. I am pretty possessive of my privacy and we still don’t plan to share everything we do, but the truth is that I have never been open about any boyfriends because I have not had any serious relationships since I went pro. Patrick and I will be playing and training together so I thought it was bound to come out, so to me, I'd rather have that happen on my terms. And I do think Patrick is very different to all relationships I’ve had before, in the best way possible”

Art swallowed, refusing to look at Tashi when she turned to watch him. He didn’t deserve to be jealous. He knew that, if he had treated you right, you would still be together. That knowledge didn’t change how he felt.

“How does that happen? How does one manage to make the Y/n Y/l/n fall in love with them?”

“Well, me and Patrick met each other a while ago, at the U.S Junior Open, actually. He won it, I got second, we hit it off instantly. But it was one of those situations where it’s never the right time, you know? We kept missing each other, we were in relationships with other people, and we ended up drifting apart when I went pro. And then, funnily enough, we bumped into each other at an Adidas party about a year ago, and the rest is history.”

Art couldn’t bring himself to be angry when the TV shut off. He turned to look at Tashi who stood there with the remote in her hand, not looking at him. 

“I’ll see you in ten in the court. We need to work on your serve.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, grateful for the excuse to take his feelings out on the ball. To think about anything that wasn’t your smile as you talked about Patrick. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew Tashi felt the same way, the sudden urge to train had not come out of nowhere. 

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

You look down, shaking your head as Patrick crashes his racquet repeatedly against the floor. The umpire’s voice ominously announcing the score. You raise your face back up when Patrick gets given a penalty. Art walks nonchalantly back to the bench, you can feel Tashi’s smug grin beside you. You make eye contact with your husband and shake your head, he rubs his face with both hands, then nods. As much as you both don’t really care to win this tournament, he knows you’ll be angry if he just lets it go, gets angry and in his head and lets Art have it on conduct alone. So he sits back and waits, ready to be better, to prove himself to you once again, like every time he steps on the court.

Earlier that week. New Rochelle, New York. August 18, 2019:

Tashi is working, writing stats on her computer when she sees Patrick walking towards her from the corner of her eye. She rolls her eyes as he stops behind her, pointing at her screen before he speaks:

“He’s not bad, I played him at a few of these things when I did singles.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be practicing to not humiliate your wife before she carries you through the U.S. Open?”

“I just finished, thanks for caring.”

“Wonderful” she says, not a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Hey, come have a cigarette with me, I have to talk to you.”

“Yeah I don’t smoke, and I’m not talking to you.”

“Neither do I. It was just an excuse.”

She looks back at him, unimpressed, but he doesn’t let up. He stands there, staring at her until she gives in, closing her computer and standing up. Patrick is not sure what he is doing. He probably shouldn’t be doing anything at all, if he’s honest with himself. But he has dug a hole too deep to jump out of now, so he is going to follow through. He is doing this for you, he reminds himself, no matter how angry you’ll be with him at first, he is doing this for you. They find an empty alley and look back at each other, Tashi waits for him to speak, he takes his time collecting his thoughts before he does.

“I’m gonna propose something to you and it’s going to make you angry. It’s going to make you very angry,” he can’t help the smirk growing on his face, her expression doesn’t let up. “I want you to be our coach next season.”

“What?”

“Our coach is retiring, we need someone else. I want you to be our coach from next season on.”

“Does she know you’re offering me this position?”

“No, not yet. But she will, and she’ll agree with me.”

“You know that’s bullshit. Plus, why would I want to coach you guys? I already have a highly successful athlete under my wing.”

“Yeah, but even if he wins the Open and completes his career grand slam, Art’s still gonna retire as someone who was really, really good. That’s what you guys will have done together. But imagine if you could get your hands on us. Imagine if you could make us great. You’d go down in history. We have a couple more seasons. We still have a couple more good seasons and I need you to bring it out of us. What do you think?”

He doesn’t expect Tashi to slap him, turning his face completely, although he really should have. He mumbles a curse under his breath.

“How fucking dare you?” she sounds angry, too angry for his stupid proposition. “You want me to give you my best piece of advice? To coach you? Ok, quit.”

Patrick can’t even begin to think of a response, the murderous gaze Tashi gives him fixes him to the spot.

“Quit right now, right fucking now, quit.”

“What are you talking about?” he is too shocked to be offended.

“You’re dragging her down. She should’ve gone down in history as the best ever player. She would have broken records. She should have been good enough to beat the men, and she is what? Going around playing mixed doubles with you? It’s pathetic. Quit, and maybe she’ll have a chance at being an ounce of what she should’ve been.”

“You’re fucking joking”

And now Patrick is angry too. Because he is tired. He is so tired of the endless comments and judgment. He is tired of being blamed for ruining you and your career as if it hadn’t been your decision. As if it hadn’t been your idea. As if he was capable of ever doing that to you. As if he hadn’t begged for you to think it over a million times before you took a step that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. As if he hadn’t been the sole reason the world of tennis hadn’t lost you completely. As if he didn’t try harder than he had ever tried to be enough for you and make sure you never resented him or regretted being with him in any way. The thing that makes him the most angry, though, is that it’s Tashi. And how dare Tashi, the woman who had abandoned you and ruined your love for tennis in the first place, blame him for something she had pushed you to do. Something that was nobody’s fault but hers.

“You must be fucking delusional if you think for just one second that I would ever, ever, ask her to give up on her career for me. You know whose idea it was to play mixed doubles only? Y/n’s. She thought of it, she asked me to do it, she orchestrated every single little detail. And you wanna know why she did it? Because she hated tennis. She was going to quit. She couldn’t stand the thing she loved the most anymore. And you wanna know what made her start to hate tennis, even though her love for it never wavered before, not even with her borderline abusive mum who only loved her for her talent in it? You, Tashi. You did. You ruined tennis for her. So get the fuck off that high horse you continue to ride everywhere, because if there’s one person here to blame for ruining her career, it’s the one I’m looking at.”

He is out of breath when he finishes speaking, and he doesn't know what to do. He has so much shit he wants to throw at her, so much resentment for all that she had put you, and him, through. But he can’t say anything else, the second Tashi’s expression falls, even if it is only for a moment, he can feel his heart shatter inside his chest. No matter how much he hates Tashi, how much he resents her, he loves her. He loves her so much it hurts deep inside his chest, like an ache that is so present he had almost forgotten it existed. But looking at her right now, he feels it, pulsating all through him, and he knows, with a certainty he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before, that he will never not feel this way about her.

“You don’t know what you’re saying” her voice is stern, but Patrick knows her too well to believe her tone.

“You hate me” it’s not a question. “And you hate her too. Me, for having her. Her for having the career you deserved. And it’s driving you crazy, because as much as you hate us both, you also love us. And as much as you love Art, you hate him too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You hate him because he is just Art, that’s all he can ever be. He will never be me, and he will never be her. And as much as you love him, just Art will never be enough for you.”

“I don’t know what gives you the right to speak about my marriage…”

“The same thing that gives you the right to speak about mine. Does Art know about Atlanta?” he cuts her off.

The pure, unfiltered shock on her face lets him know he has caught her off guard. She did not expect him to know about it. She collects herself quickly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“You keep saying you came here because Art needed matches, but I think you came for something else.”

“You think I came here for you?”

“And for her” he says nodding. “I’ve been signed up for this tournament for months, there’s no way you didn’t see my name in the participants list.”

“You think I came here, to throw it all away for you?”

“Maybe you just wanted to see us…”

“I don’t need to see you to know that you look like shit, and she should get as far away from you as soon as possible.”

She starts to walk away, decisively.

“I’m going to beat him,” he says, it stops her in her tracks, she turns her face to look at him. “If we both make it to the final I’m going to beat him.”

“Even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“It would break him, you know it would.”

She shakes her head and starts to walk away, too exasperated to come up with another hurtful retort about his failed career. She jogs after her, catching up with her pace almost effortlessly. He grabs her arm, makes her stop walking. He pulls up a piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans.

“My number, in case you change your mind about the coaching… Or about seeing us again.”

“I won’t.”

He nods, shrugs his shoulders. Then, he watches her put the note in her pocket. He smiles.

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

Patrick hasn’t looked away from you even once. You know even though you are looking into your lap. You are hyper aware of every single person around you. Most accurately, you are hyper aware of the woman next to you and the two men playing against each other. You play with your ring as you feel Tashi tell Art to focus. When you finally meet Patrick’s eyes he doesn’t smile. He raises his left hand and kisses the ring on his finger without breaking eye contact as the umpire announces the start of the next set. He crosses paths with Art as he makes his way to the other side of the net but he doesn’t move his eyes from you until he is getting ready to serve. You know then, with absolute certainty, that he is doing this for you.

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

Even though Patrick and you both know why you are sitting in the stands during practice time instead of walking around the venue, or actually practicing, you are still shocked when you see Tashi and Art walk into the court. Your hand reaches for Patrick, holding on to his thigh as if on a rollercoaster that is suddenly going down. You both try to look composed and careless, but you don’t know if you are doing a good job. Art and Tashi do the same, pretending they can’t see you, even though you are the only other ones there and you stick out like a sore thumb. Patrick and you talk to each other, although neither of you would be able to recall anything said during your conversation, and share the fries you had bought before walking over. You pretend you just casually stumbled to sit there for a snack, that you hadn’t checked the schedule to figure out what time and what court Art Donaldson had for pre-match practice. Art hits the ball like he hasn’t been able to hit it in a while, grunting as his racket made contact with it. Tashi looks at you for a second, then back at Art. She nods, satisfied. You want to run away, want to erase that satisfied smirk from her face and your memory. But you stay glued to your seat, hand in your boyfriend’s thigh, heart pounding, and you take the way they ignore you like a punishment.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

The wind is relentless, the trees hitting against the window making repetitive thwack noises that remind Patrick of the sound of the ball hitting the racket. You have been answering emails and making calls to finish preparing things for tomorrow, the U.S. Open, and whatever lies in store for you both after that. Patrick knows that you’ve been messaging potential coaches and though the guilt pit on his stomach keeps growing, he can’t bring himself to say anything to you. He hopes you haven’t set in stone anything, because he is still delusionally confident that Tashi will accept his offer. He knows he should help, whatever you are doing affects him too, but he is too nervous to do anything productive so he just lays around, throwing a ball against the ceiling, or the wall, or whatever he can find. After the third time the ball slips from his hand too early or too late and hits you, you stand up and point to the door.

“Leave, right now” he makes no attempt to move. “Patrick, I mean it. I’m working and I know that you are nervous but you’re stressing me out so go down to the sauna, or get a drink or something that’s not going to make me ask you for a divorce or have to spend the rest of the night finding a place to hide your body.”

Patrick smiles as he stands up. He picks one of the keys from your bedside table and walks over to you, kissing your head before making his way to the door.

“I love you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, love you too. Leave now, please.”

He giggles all the way down the elevator. He doesn’t feel like drinking, which means he doesn’t feel like making a fool of himself tomorrow for getting drunk the night before a match, especially not in front of Art and Tashi. So he walks around until he finds the sauna, maybe that will help him calm down. But as he gets naked and opens the door he can’t believe his bad luck. Although there is a white towel covering his face, there is no denying the naked man sitting right in front of him is Art Donaldson. Patrick doesn’t think there’s a world where he wouldn’t recognize him, no matter how much he’s changed from that scrawny blonde boy he once knew like the back of his hand. He thinks about turning around, walking out, pretending he never saw him, and finding something else to do for the night. But there’s no way Art hasn’t heard the door opening, and Patrick has never been one to run from conflict, not really. So he steps forward, lets his mind get a little bit caught up in the past, sue him he hasn’t seen this guy in years, and opens his mouth:

“Can you do me a favor? Can you not like, demolish me tomorrow?” He says it with the inflection of a pick up line, and before he can even finish his sentence Art is pulling the towel away from his face and looking at him like he already knew that it was him standing at the door, even before he said anything.

They are both smiling as Patrick pulls the sauna door closed and walks toward Art. He is acting far more comfortably than he feels, but if he stops to think about what is actually happening he might start shaking and poop his pants, which would be a terrible thing seeing as he isn’t wearing any. He gets way too close to him, and raises one of his legs on the bench, dick fully on display. Art makes a valiant attempt pretending he doesn’t look down.

“Hey, congrats on being a Phil Tire’s Town Challenger finalist.”

“Yeah, you too” Art says, looking forward to not have to look at Patrick, who is smiling far too wide for the situation they are in and the past that they have.

“Hopefully the wind dies down by tomorrow and we can have a fair fight” Patrick lets himself pretend this is normal, like they are two competitors getting ready for the final, maybe even pals catching up after not having seen each other in a while.

Art doesn’t let him have a second of the little fantasy he’s made up in his head, though. He slides down the bench, getting as far away from him as he can without looking like he is actually running away.

“C’mon, can we talk?” Patrick says, and his voice sounds pitiful even to his own ears.

“Can you put your dick away” Art’s voice is stern, but he looks him in the eye for the first time since he walked in, so he counts it as a win.

“This is a sauna,” Patrick scoffs, putting up a fight so Art won’t notice he’d do anything he told him to. “Look, we've been here for a week and we haven’t said two words to each other. It's just… it’s silly, man. It’s dramatic. I mean, really, why are you so angry with me?”

He sits down, obeying Art and covering his dick. Art is finally looking at him, really looking at him. It has the same effect it did back when they were kids, Art looking at him makes him feel brave. He can’t stop himself from rambling on.

“Look, I don’t buy that it’s because of Tashi, I don’t think it’s because of what happened to her. And I hope it’s not about Y/n, because you have no right… So, I think, maybe, you’re just really disturbed by the fact that they could’ve been into someone like me. Both of them”

“Tashi liked you when we were teenagers.”

“Sure, but I just got married to the girl you said was the love of your life.”

“I ended things with her.”

“And you regret it every single day of your life,” Patrick knew, because it was the same way you and him felt about him and Tashi, “and you know that Tashi does too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We both know that if Tashi had been a little more brave back then, she would’ve never taken either of our numbers. If she had been a little bit more honest with herself, she would’ve swept Y/n away and neither of us would’ve had a chance with either of them.”

“That still happened when they were teenagers. When we were teenagers.”

“Huh” Patrick looks thoughtful. “When they were teenagers…”

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

You slip out of your room in a t-shirt that is definitely not yours and the first shorts you stumble across on your way to the door. You can’t sleep and Patrick’s soft snores, which you often find endearing, are getting on your nerves. He doesn’t stir, even as you close the door softly behind you. You don’t know what you are doing, or where you’re going. You take the stairs down, needing to move your body for a little bit. You walk outside, feeling like no matter how hard you breathe in there’s not enough air in your lungs. You lay your weight against the brick wall of the hotel. You get your breathing under control after a couple minutes of staring at the sky trying to look for constellations you don’t know the name of anyways. When you turn around, to go back inside the hotel, you realize that right next to where you were standing there’s a window to the hotel’s bar. There, sitting down, nursing a glass that you can only assume contains something strong, already staring at you, is Tashi Duncan. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you let your feet guide you inside. Then, instead of going up the stairs like you should, you take a right turn and walk right into the bar. Tashi finds you immediately, having been looking at the door. You don’t understand what you’re doing, but before you can think about it you are sitting right in front of her. You haven’t looked at her this up close in years. You search, but you can’t find many differences. She looks exactly like the girl you knew with her hair a little shorter. You wonder if it’s the same on the inside, if the million secrets you knew about her still hold true. If you could still tell which of her smiles were fake, or when she was about to cry but was trying to hold it down.

“I heard you gave up,” she whispers after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes.

“I quit singles, I didn’t give up,” but you can tell she doesn’t really believe you, so you scan her, trying to find something else to talk about. Your eyes lock on the ring in her finger. “That’s a gorgeous ring.”

Your fingers find your own ring instinctively. You don’t know if you’re trying to make sure it’s still there, or if you are trying to ask your dad for strength. Her gaze lowers, first to your ring, then to her own.

“It’s his grandmother’s.”

You nod, you know what that means. Art had always talked about wanting to propose to his future wife with his grandmother’s ring. Back when he fantasized with you about it, it was your hand that ring ended up on. He always talked about taking you to the residency so you could meet his grandmother, completely sure she would love you and give you her blessing immediately. You think of your own sentimental family ring, unsure you would ever be able to trust anyone enough to carry it, no matter how much you loved them.

“How is she?” you ask, more out of politeness than anything else, you never got to meet her, after all.

“She died. Stroke”

You grimace, knowing the feeling of losing the one person who truly believes in you too well.  You look around, trying desperately to find something to say, you will your brain to remember the million icebreakers and conversation starters you had been forced to memorize for the awfully boring networking parties your mum used to throw for you. You come up with nothing, so you look back at her and lean over the table and she imitates you. Your faces inches away from each other. You feel drunk even though you haven’t had a single sip of alcohol all day. You don’t question it, Tashi always made you feel like you were going crazy and a little bit drunk. It must be that what pushes you to say what comes out of your mouth next:

“I miss you.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she leans further over the table, getting impossible close to your face without touching it. Then, when you are completely sure she is going to tell you to go fuck yourself and leave her alone, her hand makes her way to the back of your neck pushing you towards her until your eyes meet. There might be a million things that have changed since the last time you did this, but kissing Tashi Duncan feels exactly the same as the first time you did it. It feels like coming home.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

“You’re right” Art says finally, leaning his back against the wall. “I do find it disturbing.”

“There’s no need, man. Lots of girls were into me, but only one of them wanted to marry me. I’ve always thought that was not what I was for, so I don’t know how I did it.”

“Yeah, neither do I.”

Patrick feels his entire skin burn with the way Art looks him up and down. He curses in his head the years they’ve spent apart and the secretive, mature person Art has become, he can’t read him like he could. He can’t tell if he is teasing, or trying to humiliate him. He can’t tell if he’s angry, or just as desperately sad as he is.

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

You don’t know how but you and Tashi have stumbled onto a hotel room that you don’t recognize. It’s much bigger and fancier than yours so you assume it’s hers. You want to ask where Art is, if he is about to walk in on the two of you making out on his bed, but the way she is kissing you makes you forget about everything. You roll onto the bed, hands on either side of her face as hers roam your body freely. It’s too much and not enough simultaneously and you moan and pant on her lips. It’s everything you’ve always dreamt of and you can’t help wanting more. More of her and her body, of her lips, more of her heart. You try to not be greedy, take what she gives you, and soon you’re seeing stars and rolling over, breathing with difficulty.

“That was…” 

“Yeah” she mumbles.

“So… What happens now?”

“What do you mean what happens now?” she seems confused as she stands from the bed, walking around until she finds your clothes.

“We just had sex,” you say, obviously.

“Look, we shouldn’t have done this. It was a mistake.” She throws your t-shirt at you, you put it on slowly.

“A mistake?” you’re getting angrier by the second, but you don’t want to yell and alert whoever is sleeping in the room next to this one.

“Yeah, we will act as if nothing happened.”

“What about Art?

“He doesn’t need to know,” you shake your head as you finish putting on your clothes.

“That’s fucked up.”

“Do not act as if I was the only one who cheated! Aren’t you and Patrick dating?”

“I never said that! You can’t just run away from everything you refuse to accept. You haven’t talked to me in years!”

“Yeah, and it should have stayed that way.”

“One day you’re going to wake up and realize that everything you’ve refused to accept all your life is catching up to you, and by then, it might be too late.”

“Get out” she says, instead of replying to what you said, you don’t need to be told twice.

You manage to hold back your tears until you are standing in front of the elevator. You’re fully sobbing when the doors open, revealing a very confused Art. You see him step towards you, but you refuse to let either of them continue breaking your heart. You step backwards, then turn around. You run until you find the stairs. By the time you make it back to your room you look like a mess. You knock on the door, you must have left your key in Tashi’s room but you are too upset to care about that or waking Patrick up. His entire face changes when he opens the door. Worry taking over his expression.

“Y/n, what happened? Where were you?

You fall onto his arms, sobbing. He leads you in, closing the door behind you. You don’t speak until you’re both seating in bed.

“I saw Tashi… And I… We���” you don’t say anything else, but you don’t need to, he understands.

He holds you through the night. The next morning, you forfeit the tournament and go home.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

“Honestly, I thought you’d be happy I was in the draw” Patrick is not ready to let it go, to shut up and walk away from Art, he doesn’t know when’s the next time he’ll be able to talk to him again, so he runs his mouth. “I mean, you’ve always wanted to beat me in a tournament, and two weeks before the open… It’s the perfect confidence booster.

He settles on cocky because he doesn’t know what else to do. He has never been very good at being vulnerable, not with Art, and no amount of therapy is going to make him start now, when he can see how done he is with him from a mile away.

“I know what you’re trying to do right now,” Art smiles.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Art,” but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth. “This is a challenger, I don’t need to play mind games with you.”

“Right, you don’t give a shit.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that…”

“We both know that you have a considerably higher stake here than I do.”

“Do I?”

Art laughs, but there’s no real humor to it. Patrick does too, trying to conceal the way he is sure his entire body is shaking.

“Oh, fuck… Where do you get your swagger from, man?” Patrick can tell, from the way Art is looking at him, that this is the part that’s going to hurt, he doesn’t try to stop it. “I mean you come in here swinging your dick around like I’m supposed to be afraid of it but do you realize how embarrassing it is that you are here right now?”

“Not quite as embarrassing as you being here,” Patrick has never known a way to back down, so he stirs the pot.

He’d rather have Art yelling at him or humiliating him than not talking to him at all. His therapist would not be very proud.

“I’m just stopping by, man. You would live here if it wasn’t for her” there’s a pause, suddenly Patrick wants to take everything back, run away with his tail between his legs, but it’s too late. “You know, I’ve always tried to figure out what happened to you, but the more I thought about it the more I realized… It’s what didn’t happen. You never grew up. You still think you can talk to me like you’re my peer because we came from the same place, because you’ve managed to stumble into some of the same competitions. But it’s not about where you came from in tennis, Patrick, it’s about winning. And I do, a lot. And you only do because you tricked Y/n into playing with you. But one day, she’s going to wake up and realize she wasted her entire fucking life in a pathetic man who thinks he’s the shit because he won the junior U.S Open a trillion years ago. And then, you’ll be left with what you deserve: nothing.”

“You’ve never beaten me,” he says, as if it’s what matters out of everything he said.

He says it because if he focuses on what Art said about you, he might cry. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of Art, not right now. He doesn’t have enough willpower to fight him, like he knows he should, like he did with Tashi.

“So what? I haven’t beaten most of the guys who play in these things, or the ones who only make it into the big tournaments playing doubles. This is a game about winning the points that matter.”

“I don’t matter?” he doesn’t know why he says it, or what he is expecting to get in return.

“Not even to the most obsessive tennis fan in the entire world,” his voice is monotone, tired, Patrick wants to crawl out of his skin.

“We’re not talking about tennis.”

“What the fuck else do I have to talk to you about?”

“I wanted to come in here to wish you good luck, Art,” he says, and he means it.

“That makes no sense,” Art scoffs, looking away, he’s talking to himself more than Patrick.

“I wanted to say that I’m looking forward to it, I miss playing with you,” he is being vulnerable, but he knows Art won’t believe him, which is probably why he says it in the first place.

“Yeah,” he nods his head and he looks amused, but Patrick can see right through him, he’s about to finish him off. “Well, I don’t miss playing with you, man. I’m too old for it.”

As soon as the door is closed behind Art, Patrick lets himself drop onto the bench. He tells himself he is not going to cry. There’s tears running down his face by the time you open the door of your room to him. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to, you understand.

[wherevenusholdssomeofficespace]

Why the Llama Incident works

The noodle incident is a trope done in A LOT of shows (PNF has a whole TV tropes page dedicated to its noodle incidents). Technically getting disowned and raised by ocelots is a noodle incident in pnf... we never do know what gets him officially disowned and how he ends up in the care of the ocelots). The noodle incident is meant to just showcase that this character has a history of some sort.

Generally speaking, explaining a noodle incident is a bad idea because the unknown has infinite potential. The intrigue is part of what makes it interesting. People can come up with ideas that are absolutely out there themselves. Usually, coming up with something that will live up to the hype is impossible because the hype of the event has built it up to impossible levels.

Emphasis on the usually.

They literally called it a llama incident. They knew what a noodle incident was, and were purposefully playing with our expectations that it would be an unrevealed event. And, as I said before, PnF has already dealt with its fair share of noodle incidents that go unexplained.

And as a noodle incident it served its purpose. Generally a noodle incident will provide context on what the status quo is without spelling out the details. In Rollercoaster the Juggling Monkey's noodle incident tells us that this is not the first time Phineas and Ferb have had a Big Idea (in fact we never do get what Phineas and Ferb's first Big Idea was). In Milo Murphy's Law the Llama incident tells us that Milo and Melissa were getting into Murphy's Law shenanigans long before Zack came into the picture. Showing us that they're so familiar with each other that situations that might require more context to another person doesn't.

Now bear with me as I go on a bit of a tangent that I promise is related.

The main cast of Milo Murphy's Law is a trio, and one of its members is defined by being the new guy. Zack is kind of an audience surrogate. Melissa is Milo's childhood friend and Milo has lived with this all his life. Generally, they don't need to explain anything to each other, nor do they need to explain anything to their class who is already at least passingly familiar with Milo. But they do to Zack.

I don't necessarily think MML NEEDED the audience surrogate character per se. Quite frankly I think audience surrogate characters are rarely necessary. You can always just start with a group of friends and fill in context via implication. I think it's just significantly harder, because you run the risk of alienating your audience by not allowing them to get settled in what is going on or having your characters talk about things like they don't already know what is going on.

But I don't think its at all an inherently bad storytelling method. I personally find outsider POVs delightful, and a good audience surrogate character is an outsider POV, at least at the start. Zack being new to the whole Murphy's Law allowed him a story about choosing to engage with the hazardous kid, winning him loyal friends and a set of skills he never would have dreamed of before. We get to see him grow, and we wouldn't have seen that if he was Milo's friend the whole time.

On the other hand he also has a bit of a wild background, as the former lead singer of a locally famous lumberjack themed boy band. Which gives Milo and Melissa the chance to join a band. Or for Milo to have a real birthday party. A change in status quo provides opportunities for growth and change, for the whole cast, which is useful in more overarching stories... like MML. It's not NECESSARY of course. Zack could have been a classmate that had always kept his distance before he accidentally got tangled up with Milo and decided he was cool. But there's nothing wrong with him being straight up new either.

And at the most basic level, Zack's complete unfamiliarity provides a nice contrast to Melissa's familiarity and Milo's day to day life. Zack is starting from 0 while Milo has been dealing with this every single day of his life.

So Zack isn't going to know what the Llama Incident is. And while noodle incidents being unexplained is fun for the audience, it isn't going to be so fun for someone who is constantly living with people who know what this Llama Incident is. Of course they could have told Zack the noodle incident off screen, it would have made for a good gag to cut into the story with Melissa and Milo finishing telling Zack the story. But instead, we are treated to an episode that has Zack really beginning to slot into his life as Milo's friend.

Back to the main point.

MML is one of the only shows with enough sheer chaotic energy that it could actually pull off making a group of seemingly unrelated references into a cohesive genuinely interesting story. The whole show is things that could feasibly be noodle incidents, which makes it easy to get a baseline for what could have happened. Milo uses stuff in strange ways all the time, getting tangled up with weird animals and ending up in strange situations. There's no REAL reason to feel like we're missing out on too much. It sounds like a normal Milo situation, just with only him and Melissa... and the fact they keep bringing it up.

And really, if you think about it, its just Planned in Advance Meapless in Seattle. Meapless in Seattle was meant to be a bunch of unrelated clips meant to be a noodle incident of sorts. We wouldn't know what exactly would go down in that fake episode. But they managed to bring everything together into a really fun episode that made sense and honestly lived up to the hype. (At least for me). I mean. They somehow made it work. That's a feat in of itself.

The episode "Llama Incident" starts out implying a completely different noodle incident. We never learn how the kids end up on that branch. That's not important. That stuff happens all the time. Is the Llama Incident more interesting than the other stuff Milo gets into? Not particularly, but it DID involve him using more stuff he didn't normally use.

And the Llama Incident is told in the format of a story. Changing up the format of the episode is always a good way to make an episode feel fresh. I mean, look at The Remains of the Platypus. It's just an episode told backwards but its delightful chaotic fun. Or Delivery of Destiny. Really the only difference is the day follows the perspective of a delivery guy, but we get all our normal plot beats. But both are some of my favorite Phineas and Ferb episodes. If you remove their gimmicks they're pretty basic. Phineas and Ferb build a cheese themed amusement park, and Doofensmirtz's plan is only slightly more novel with brainwashing Perry. Phineas and Ferb building a ride and Doof juicing city hall are pretty typical of them, but Paul's semi-outsider POV (and being one of the closest characters we get to having the full picture of the story we the audience see), makes it feel fun and fresh. It makes the Llama Incident feel special. Even if it isn't my favorite unique episode format, it's still something fresh and fun.

So Milo and Melissa sort of tell the story a bit out of order, because they forget what pieces Zack would and wouldn't have context for or would or wouldn't find interesting. And, again, it's told as a story to Zack, so he asks questions. It's told while they are hanging from a branch, where they cut back to every once and a while to remind us that hey, the group is in the middle of a whole other Murphy's Law incident. We're getting two for one today.

But through the episode we get a bit of a Zack character arc. We've already established that Melissa and Milo are used to this, even if you weren't aware the way they were casually rating it at the beginning of the episode should tell you all you need to know. But Zack isn't completely used to this yet, so he's just nervous. He spends the episode using the story as a distraction, but being genuinely invested. In the end, the story acts as an inspiration to Zack, and he's able to help the group get out of the situation. AND for his trouble, he gets his own mysterious incident to reference. After half a season, he's truly part of the group now. He will continue to grow of course, trying to become braver and cleverer, and he's already made strides since the first episode. But even if Zack isn't really any less part of the group before or after its still a significant moment in Zack's character arc.

And then the Llama Incident comes back the next episode. The date was memorable to Milo, even throughout all of the other chaos in his life. And sometimes that's just how life is. And he uses his knowledge of the event, the way it stuck in his mind, to save him, Dakota and Cavendish from Pistachion's in Missing Milo. What we thought was going to just be a noodle incident, a running gag that functioned to establish just how used to this stuff Milo and Melissa were, turned out to be a plot point. To be fair we didn't NEED to know what the Llama incident was for Milo to choose to go there. We didn't need to know about the Llama Incident to know it was typical Murphy's Law shenanigans. It could have just been more out of context llama stuff. But now we the audience are in on the joke, so when Cavendish and Dakota express confusion, we can revel in the fact we know something they don't. Especially about two characters who themselves were slow revealing information about themselves to us... sure by that point we know their deal but at one point they were as mysterious and out of context to us as the Llama incident. And now we know what the Llama Incident is, and what their deal is.

The Woodpecker incident also is vaguely referred to later with the woodpecker whistle. We may not know the full story there, but it is still satisfying to see Milo's adventures giving him the skills and tools to deal with bigger, actually hostile, threats.

And at the end of the day, even if the Noodle Incidentness of the Llama Incident is ruined, it was immediately replaced with the Woodpecker incident. Which admittedly is never mentioned, but it doesn't need to be. The point of the Llama Incident was to draw attention to a specific incident to make a gag out of it. But they have incidents all the time. And we're privy to most of them. We sometimes get references to other incidents that we never fully get the context for. But we don't need context. We know how it'll go anyway because we have a whole show of effective noodle incidents.

[cherrysurf]

Coffee cake after dark | k. tsukishima x reader

chapter 3; at the cafe everynight

It’s been about five consecutive days that tsukishima has came into your cafe, you’ve had small conversations here and there about simple things or how your day at the cafe is going, he always comes at night or before practice to get “something light” as he calls it, he’s learned your name now as well you’d consider yourself acquainted which is nice. Even though sometimes he looks like he has an attitude which he does he’s really good at keeping small talk and overall is a super interesting person, like just the other day you found out he also works at dinosaur museum which you found interesting. Learning new things about tsukishima was nice, learning stuff about anyone was nice to you but when it came to him you found yourself listening even more closely than normal and taking small mental notes as if you’d need them in the future, so just like any other night you sit there waiting for him, it’s become apart of your routine now too. The cafe was empty tonight which you didn’t mind since it was super busy throughout the morning and evening, Then you hear the bell ring as you look up you see him almost instantly a smile grows on your face as you get off the chair to walk to the cash register, “hey tsukishima what would you like tonight?” You say looking up at him “I’ll have my usual non-sweet yn” he says tsukishima’s usual had become second hand nature to you now, if he was feeling like having something sweet it would be some sort of beverage and strawberry shortcake and if it was a non-sweet day he’d have tea and your new York sandwich. “Okay coming right up…..also don’t worry about it, you come here a lot I don’t mind not charging you sometimes” you say as he tries to pull out his card to pay “are you sure I don’t mind” he says looking confused “im positive tsukishima go sit” you giggle at his furrowed brows “okay, well come sit with me after your done so I can show you the pictures of stuff I did at the museum” he says, that makes your heart jump up and down and a pink tint grow across your cheeks, thankfully you already had blush on so you can’t notice it, “ooo okay can’t wait” you say and then start preparing his things, you liked little moments you had with tsukishima, as you go and hand him his food and take a seat he hands you his phone “here take a look like as i eat, if you have any questions I’ll answer them” he says and then taking a bite of his sandwich. To be honest you could’ve sore you saw a smile grow on him after he took a bite, as you look through the pictures your absolutely mesmerized by the stuff and how cool it all looks “wow tsukishima you have such a cool job and you play volleyball that must be kinda hard to juggle but it all seems really cool” you say excitingly “uh thanks yn, I think it's pretty cool too it’s all the things i love” he says looking down at his tea, you hand him back his phone “maybe one day if were more acquainted I’d love to see you play” you say staring at him, he’s cheeks flushed a pink tint after that comment, he coughs to cover it up, while your still oblivious to the situation “yeah I suppose so, you’d probably have to meet my other friends like yamaguchi and his fiancé yachi. We were all high school friends” he says slightly reminiscent of those times “that would be cool! I don’t really have friends here since I’m not from the city and all of my high school friends disappeared and live their own life’s But that’s cool your still good friends with all yours” you say looking down at the table, “yeah me and yamaguchi were on the volleyball team with a few of my other friends who went pro, and yachi was our manager” he says wondering why he feels so comfortable telling you this stuff maybe it was the intimate setting between you too, “wow you’ve been playing since highschool?” You say, “I guess you learn something new every day” you say giggling at the fact “I guess so…” he says with a small smile, the rest of the night was filled with more tiny conversations like that just you and him in that tiny cafe getting to know each other.

taglist; @kawoala @toorusfangirl @gumims @kokokoula @anonymity-222 @thechaosoflonging @abzyissupersleepy @hwanghyunjinismybae @chilichopsticks @heartmaddie @snowthatareblack

if you want to be added or removed lmk!

[authorsharonforester]

Organization of Multiple Story Projects Helps You Finish Your Writing 

There are countless times where the brain cannot handle juggling multiple writing/editing projects at the same time, but there are also days where switching between projects does the trick to keep you disciplined and not burn out with a single project that you end up rejecting for weeks to months at a time. At the end of the day, you have to do what works for you on most days so that you can keep the creative flow of your writing going. 

I have reached a point in my hobby where I needed to stop the messy editing routine I’ve been engaging in and organize all the stories I decided to prioritize for the editing process. This is what I did to make me feel good about the progress in my writing goal: I grabbed a blue binder and several sheet protectors, printed out all the projects I wanted to edit off my computer, then stuffed them inside the sheet protectors, and placed them into the binder. As I did this, I didn’t limit the number of writing projects I was going to edit. Instead, I pushed my brain aside and let my heart decide, and rolled with that. I have a list of unpublished stories, but nothing too crazy.

I have written a novella that has undergone two rounds of edits and is currently pending a third one. I have a copy of chapters 21, 22 and 23 for the novel I am writing based on my cartoon characters. The book has undergone two edits and is now pending a third one. I have a deleted chapter from this story that I need to add to the deleted scenes computer file. (I am setting these scenes aside so that I could one day publish this after people have read my book and I can show off my writing process with the world. This will be the most fun thing I do for myself and for others who feel they are alone or falling behind.) Lastly, I have written two separate episodes for the aforementioned cartoon characters that have already undergone one round of edits and are pending a second one. (I am planning to publish a show with them). On the first page of the binger (as you can see in the picture), I have a list of pending writing projects. That little list is there to keep me on track with the chosen writing material I need to finish before publication.

This blue binder isn’t the only thing I have. I also have other binders that hold other printed stories awaiting my attention, like the very first book I have written when I was ready to start 7th grade. I have journals that hold handwritten stories I produced when I was a little girl and a teenager. They are pending computer typing meanwhile I edit the rest of these stories.

This is a random strategy I am engaging in so that I can observe my thought process and determine which of my stories my emotions are taking me to. I think the reason I do this is because my brain gets bored and needs to zhuzh up my writing and editing routine before it can allow me to keep moving forward. This might sound like extra steps to some people, but others understand why I need to work with myself this way. I am sure there are others out there doing this exact thing.

It is a fact that we have different obstacles that stump us according to how our brains function individually as people. We see a lot of resources online that claim they have the ultimate method that works to get your writing done and published faster than expected. However, if I were to write a famous article, I’d tell you that there is no singular method that will work well for everyone to finish a project quickly. What works for you personally that you consider to be normal might be considered unorthodox to society.

Part of keeping yourselves grounded is knowing who you guys are as writers. I keep myself grounded on my writing and editing routines by making these blog posts. They make me happy. They allow me to connect with you guys out there in the world. They remind me that I am not alone as a struggler. I make the habit of occasionally reading about other people’s writing, editing and publishing struggles. Mentally, blogging helps me process my thoughts and feelings and helps figure out why I am or am not doing what I do or don’t do while I take the journey to make this writing dream come true. 

[male-fictioner]

Nerdo! Miguel O'Hara x Gender Neutral Reader Headcanons

Thank You so much @teletwobees for this images. You have greatly inspired me.

Pairing: Nerd!bf!Miguel x gn!reader (no use of any anatomy)

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None (ig)

Word Count: 983

A/n: I reallllly had an inspiration to write this post ever since I saw the drawing, but me being lazy, I didn't. Finally I wrote this!! This is a sfw post. Also I was trying for headcannons but ig i just ended up with a whole ass story

Nerd!Miguel who shared a common class with you where he always noticed you but never had the guts to talk to you.

He liked your personality, how you would always talk to people and joke around but you were not like those people who don't focus on their studies either. You really knew how to do it all.

Nerd!Miguel who was juggling a lot of books in his hands reaching his favorite spot in the library to start studying.

That was when he had his first interaction with you; when you tapped him on his back to hand him a pen he dropped (this made the place even more special) . He had not even realized when he dropped this pen.

All he knew was he liked how your hand felt even on the slightest touch. This is when Nerd!Miguel realized that he had developed a crush on the man who just delivered it back.

The next time, while Nerd!Miguel was going on his favorite seat, it was already occupied by none other than YOU!

Normally he would not have had the courage to ask you move, but he did ask you very politely.

"Miguel, it's just a seat, can't you sit somewhere else?"

"It's just that I can focus there better.' he felt foolish admitting that to someone else.

"Oh of course, I wouldn't want to bother Ace in his studies."

You moved seats saying that and Miguel was a little disappointed that you did not sit next to him.

This disappointment did not last for long as the very next day, you sat right across him.

You were there struggling with the subject that you both had in common and you knew Miguel was literally good in every subject, so after the frustration of not being able to understand it, you asked for his help.

"Um hey Miguel. Can you help me with this topic from economics? I'm really finding it difficult to understand." You said sliding into the seat next to him.

Miguel was so eager to help and he was a really good teacher too which made you understand it very quickly.

After this, you and Miguel became good friends. You would talk to each other in the class. You often times sat besides him and joked around.

One time you guys were joking so much that the professor kicked you out of the class. "You know you are a bad influence for me Y/n" Miguel said after being kicked out.

"Oh live a little Mr. Brainiac. Have you every been kicked out of class before? You gotta experience that once in your life too." you quipped back.

Miguel had to admit that it was a new experience.

Right before your exams, you had convinced Miguel to let you study with him at his dorm. To which he reluctantly agreed to because he couldn't let you know that he in fact enjoyed your company.

That afternoon, you went along to his dorm and studied till the evening, when you asked him if he planned on taking a break, he just grumbled his dissent.

You ended up deciding to get dinner for you both. Miguel was so busy studying, he hardly noticed your absence.

Although when you came back, you made it your business to make sure he notices you with dinner for both of you. Miguel felt so touched because no one had done such a thing for him, except his mother who he was reminded by your act.

"You brought dinner for me?" Miguel asked still a little shocked.

"Of course, you need to eat and also give that big brain of your a rest." you said setting the table for both of you.

Miguel did not believe that he could be more in love with you before, but you just loved proving him wrong about it. He had decided, he will ask you out soon.

After dinner you both went back to your studies. You on the bed and him on his table.

Some time passed and Miguel could not keep his love for you a secret anymore. He turned around to profess his feelings, but all he was met with was your sleeping frame.

You were curled up on the bed sleeping like a baby. He decided his feelings could wait and put a blanket over you so you don't catch a cold and went back to studying.

Next morning, when you woke up, you were well rested but you did not recognize the room you were in. You jolted up when you realized you were in Miguel's room. You were covered in a blanket that smelled like Miguel O'Hara, which you don't remember wrapping when you fell asleep. You look around and find Miguel sleeping on his desk on top all his books. He looked cute.

Right when you were about to keep a note on his desk telling him about how you had to leave, his alarm rang and he jostled from his sleep and looked you right in the eye.

"Good Morning. I was just about to leave." you clarified like a child who was caught stealing cookies.

"Oh, ok." was all he replied rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Before you went out the door, he spoke up again, "Um, Y/n. I was wondering if you would maybe want to go out on a date with me after the exams were over." He said this slowly, not looking directly in your eyes, trying to test the waters.

You stood there by the door astonished by his proposal for a date. After realizing that you had been quite for some time, you replied, "Yea I would really like that actually Miguel." You said this and left his dorm.

Both Y/n and Miguel had a date with their crush and luckily they both liked each other very much.

Also nerdo is nerd in Spanish (according to google)

Well that is it for this part. I might write a Part 2 depending on the response I get from you guys. So hopefully it's positive lol

[tinytalkingtina]

WIP Weekend

It's been a few months since I've done one of these. With the couple spicy events I was participating in concluding, time to come back to WIPs that have been giving me some trouble. Would love a distraction right now, so let's go! Updates

So about that sixth and final chapter of Soaring Symphony...yeah I haven't touched it in a hot minute whoops. I have a general idea of how I want it to go but haven't been able to motivate myself to do it. Hoping to finally get over the hump and start writing it again this weekend

Juggling two different fics set in the Running with the Devil role reversal track star!Eddie and metalhead!Steve universe: -The first is a 4+1 showing how Eddie rose in popularity over time, from the summer before high school to another party his senior year (and is kind of turning into a study on his friendship with Tommy and Carol, having fun with little-annie figuring out where everyone's heads are at during this timeline). -The second picks up right where the first one left off, with Eddie at his wit's end knocking on Steve's door after failing to outrun his gay thoughts.

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll send you 3-5 sentences and/or paragraphs from that WIP!

🐲 Witch and Dragon Steddie Chapter 6

🏃Role reversal 4+1 aka track star eddie character study

👟Role reversal fic "Can We Talk"

Enjoy a snippet from "Can We Talk" below:

“Hey, can we talk?” Eddie asked, unsure of what exactly he was doing on Steve's doorstep. With a nod, Steve let him in. Driving over, Eddie had half-convinced himself the person opening the door would be the towering mocking figure from his dreams. But the Steve who answered his knocks wasn’t wearing his boots; he stared sleepily at Eddie without the need to look down. Stripped of his usual layered outfit and accessories, he looked…vulnerable. Softer maybe, younger too. “I don’t usually deal at home, but I don’t need any neighbors sticking their fucking nose in my business and calling the cops this time of night,” he said, running a hand through his mussed-up hair. Eddie fought the urge to push down the cowlicks as Steve continued to mutter about rude neighbors.

“I’m…not here 'cause of weed.” His nerves finally gave out and he glanced downwards. That was a mistake, because his eyes landed on Steve’s completely bare hands. Oh G-d, he had tan lines on his fingers. Lines that had Eddie swooning like some heroine in those paperback romances Carol was always reading. He needed to stop staring it had been too long, Steve would notice. Maybe if he’d gotten something remotely close to a good night’s sleep anytime in the past month, Eddie might have stopped himself. But as he stared at those fingers, he felt the last threads of his self-control fray and finally snap. He grabbed onto Steve’s wrist and held on for dear life. “Woah, uh Munson, you okay there?” Steve didn’t pull away. “I—just…” He wasn’t letting go. Why wasn’t he letting go? “Eddie?” Steve knelt down, staring up at Eddie with sincere concern. Not a sneer anywhere to be found. Oh G-d, he looked— “Don’t punch me, please.” Eddie whispered. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed Steve’s face and smashed their lips together. The taste of cigarettes and mint flooded his mouth. And for one blissful moment, his mind went completely silent.

No pressure tagging a few people to play too! (And if you see this and didn't get tagged by all means feel free to play too, happy to tag folks in the future :D) @little-annie @runninriot @augustjustice @solarmorrigan @dreamwatch @hairstevington @vthx