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writercole · 1 month

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Dangerous Distraction

Summary: A secret mission. A formal gala. Two agents that hate each other. What could go wrong?

Words: 2105

Warnings: Suggestive dancing, Jake Seresin as a secret agent.

Credits: @princessmisery666 for beta reading this, @ryebecca for being the absolute best hype woman and twin that I could ask for. My ride or dies 💕

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a bit now. I found it when I found the other Jake story and…it was finished too. I hope you enjoy.

The mission couldn’t be worse. Not only was she paired with her worst enemy, they had to make everyone believe that they were a couple on their honeymoon, madly in love with one another. She was a skilled agent, one of the best, but even she had no idea how they would be able to pull it off.

Jake Seresin, code name Hangman, had made his feelings abundantly clear from the moment they were introduced. He thought little of her, making demeaning comments about her abilities, her skills, and her training. Though, he claimed, it was never because she was a woman.

He dismissed every idea or strategy she proposed, often tearing them down publicly, causing a fight that only ended when one of their bosses intervened. He walked away smug, calm, collected while she was visibly seething. On multiple occasions her colleagues pointed out where he wormed his way under her skin, undermined her confidence, and worst of all, she let it affect her; it was then that she decided she hated Jake Seresin.

They had been at the hotel undercover for three days, playing the perfect couple in public, barely speaking behind the room’s closed door. She was grateful for the foresight of the planners to book a suite with a closed off bedroom. She took it over quickly, citing the need for privacy to dress and prepare.

Jake balked at first, whether out of true opposition or the need to be contrary she didn’t know. Regardless, his choice was removed as soon as she slid the doors shut.

Night three happened to be the night of the gala that they had been sent to infiltrate. She was getting dressed, ignoring the way Jake continued to give updates on the time through the closed door. As her lipstick glided across her bottom lip, a knock echoed through her suite.

“How long can it possibly take to get ready?” Jake sassed, “the gala started half an hour ago.”

“Beauty takes time, Hangman,” she replied.

“There isn’t enough time in the day to make you as beautiful as some of the women I’ve seen here,” he muttered under his breath, fidgeting with his watch before he called, “just…hurry up.”

“Why don’t you pull the stick out of your ass and head down to the bar. I’ll meet you there.”

“Fine. But I will handle this without you if you don’t hurry.”

She let out a sigh of relief when the door slammed shut, taking a moment to enjoy the silence before she had to go downstairs to the stuffy ballroom and pretend to be madly in love with a man she detested, one that also despised her.

Jake had been down in the ballroom for ten minutes and had already spotted their target and devised a plan to complete their mission. When another ten minutes had passed with no appearance from his partner, he felt an uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. He rested his glass of scotch on the bar and allowed his eyes to sweep over the room again before he went searching for her.

The sounds echoing off of the walls faded to nothing and Jake followed the way everyone’s heads had turned to the door. He stood up straighter while his jaw fell, his gaze raking up and down the body of his partner scanning the crowd.

A blinding smile spit her face in two and she began moving across the room, every gaze following her path.

Jake’s ears picked up the middle of a chord change and realized that the music and conversation hadn’t actually stopped; his senses blocked them out when he caught sight of his partner. Seeing her in a different environment, a formal setting, sparked a reckoning that had not previously crossed his mind.

The beauty that radiated from her stirred a warmth and giddiness in his chest, one that intensified with every step she took towards him. Her smile faded to a smirk and his heart skipped a beat. Jake became intensely aware that in the last minute or two he hadn’t needed to act like the doting newlyweds they were supposed to be.

She was stopped by a man with wavy hair and a mustache before she could make it to Jake’s corner of the bar. He felt an anger rising up as the man brushed a strand of hair back, caressing her bare shoulder as her hand covered her giggle. An unfamiliar sensation washed over him and he abandoned his drink, stalking over with his shoulders back and his chest puffed out.

His arm slipped around her waist as he made it to his date. He pressed a kiss to her temple, cooing, “there you are gorgeous.” His eyes focused on the way she looked up at him, wishing for half a second the desire he saw there was real. “I was beginning to think I’d have to come find you. Actually, I was counting on it. Finding you locked up in our room with alternative plans for the evening.”

“And just who are you?” the mustached man asked, ire and disdain lacing his tone.

“I’m her husband,” Jake answered as his grip on her waist tightened, his fingertips digging into her soft hips. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to make sure my wife knows how beautiful she looks tonight.”

Jake pulled her away to the dance floor, twirling her into his chest as he slipped his hand in hers.

“That was far from subtle, Hangman,” she mumbled quietly.

“Aren’t I supposed to be playing the doting husband?”

“The doting husband doesn’t have to be insanely jealous and try to mark his territory in front of a room full of strangers,” she countered, a smirk crossing her lips as her brows rose in challenge.

“When you look the way you do tonight, any husband would want to mark his territory, doting or not,” he replied sincerely, dipping her low as the song ended.

Her eyes searched his face for a sign, for something, for anything that might clue her in to his actual thoughts. All she found was a softness lingering in his slight smile, a hunger in the narrow eyes that flitted down from her eyes to her lips.

The tempo shifted as a new song began and he pulled her upright, stopping her when she tried to leave the dance floor.

“Jake, I can’t dance to this,” she hissed as he spun her around, pulling her back flush to his chest.

“I can,” he muttered against her neck, sending shivers up her spine. “Follow my lead.” His right foot slipped between hers and kicked them apart, a smirk dancing on his face at the gasp she tried to hide.

Jake led her in a tango, twirling and dipping her, his hands wandering over her body as they moved across the dance floor. She followed his lead fluently, her moves becoming second nature as she leaned into the trust she had for the partner who was surprising her this evening.

A heat built between them, the fire in their eyes as passionate as ever, spreading throughout their bodies with every touch, every glance, every whiff of their scent. By the end of the dance, when Jake had their chests pressed against each other, their panting breaths mingling millimeters from their faces, he could no longer hide the fact that he was attracted to her tonight. The evidence was pressed tightly into her hips.

“Seresin,” she hissed under her breath as his hands gripped her tightly. The crowd around them applauded wildly, all eyes she could see focused on them in the middle of the dance floor.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered, his eyes darting between hers anxiously.

She waited a beat before nodding slightly, feeling the tension in his shoulders release.

“Just a second, then.” His hand slid up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades, holding her tighter as his head dipped to her ear. “I have eyes on the target.”

“I’m assuming my six,” she muttered back with a grin.

“He’s at the bar. You step out onto the terrace and block that exit.”

“And let you get all the credit? I don’t -”

“Do you trust me?” he repeated. His grip loosened when she nodded and he led her off the dance floor, pressing a kiss to her temple as they reached the balcony doors. She stepped out of the door and he turned to the bar, letting out a curse as his eyes widened.

The mark had vanished.

The breeze sent shivers up her spine. The entire situation had her on edge. Hangman had a reputation for leaving his partners high and dry and taking all the credit for the mission himself. The soft click of footsteps prompted her to release a tense breath, her shoulders relaxing as she turned. “Jake, I thought -”

She stopped short when she saw their mark, his face adorned with a dark grin.

“I’m sorry to disappoint. But I must say, you look beautiful this evening,” the mark said as he buttoned his jacket.

Two additional men materialized from the shadows and advanced towards her, causing her to take steps backwards. Her heart thudded in her chest and her breathing became labored, gasping for oxygen to fill lungs that fought expansion. There had been no training for a situation where you’re being approached directly on a balcony.

A piece of tape covered her mouth and a black bag draped over her head before she could scream.

The mark disappeared. Jake swore under his breath as he scanned the room again fruitlessly. There was no sign of him anywhere. His eyes widened and he darted for the balcony door. His stomach fell to the floor as he stepped out onto an empty terrace, the lingering smell of her perfume the only sign she had ever been there.

“Shit,” he swore while he pulled out his phone. “Shit fuck fuck shit.”

Dialing a contact, he paced frantically across the small space, counting the steps he took back and forth. One, two, three, four, turn.

“Control.”

“Fucking finally,” Jake barked into the phone. “I need extraction for myself and the location on my partner.”

“I’ll need approval from your mission leader for those,” the tech on the other end of the phone explained.

“No, what you need to do is find her. I think she was taken by the mark.”

Agonizing minutes passed while he waited on hold with control. The sound of a helicopter landing on the rooftop next door drowned out the response of control and spurred Jake into motion. In one swift motion, he climbed onto the iron railing and jumped to the neighboring building, his shoulder taking the brunt of the landing and propelling him into a roll. Pulling his pistol from his holster, he approached the chopper, finding that the occupants had evacuated and left the pilot.

He raised his weapon and stepped into view. “You’re flying me now.”

The pilot looked at him and shrugged, flipping a few switches and handing over a headset as Jake settled into the front seat. “Where to?”

Jake only had an inkling of where the mark would have taken her, and barely a guess as to what they were driving but he had to do something, anything. If he didn’t…well he refused to think about the possibilities.

The duct tape over her mouth chafed as she wiggled her lips, trying to loosen the tape enough to moisten the area and get the tape off. The zip ties they placed around her wrists cut deeply as she shifted. She took deep breaths to counter the rising panic in her chest; she had been trained for this. She knew what to do.

“You really shouldn’t struggle so much. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

She couldn’t tell which of her abductors had decided to comment on her escape attempts, but he was on her left. The black cloth they had placed over her face was melting the meticulous makeup she applied before the gala and it pissed her off that she didn’t even get a picture before it was all ruined. Defeated, she slumped back against the seat, her shoulders squeezed between two of the giant men that had taken her hostage.

Her mind reeled with details from her training, what to do, when to do it. She had been in dangerous situations before but this time, something was preventing her from acting.

This time, she was the collateral. This time, she was relying on someone else to rescue her. And that was terrifying.

#cole writes #writercole #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #hangman seresin #secret agent au #undercover au #top gun maverick au #tgm au

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leseggian · 2 years

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For your rate a scenario thing: We’ve been roommates for a long time, and have had this little bit of tension for a while. You catch me looking at you, I catch you looking at me, you catch me staring at you, I heard you say my name while masturbating sort of thing. And one afternoon you come home to find that I’ve holed myself up in the bathroom citing a thing, but you keep banging on the door trying to help, trying to be real sweet and kind so I go fuck it, and open the door, and there I am, bottom half deep green tentacles, my ovipositor visibly swollen and dripping something slick, my eyes firmly on you. “So. I’m not all human. It’s mating season. If you don’t leave, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t want anyone else.” Well, C? Do you run? Do I get you fill you with my eggs? What happens next? 🥀

i was coming over to the bathroom in the first place to help you, so ofc i will help you with this! i’m clearly a bit nervous and unsure, though, but thankfully your species has all sorts of ways to turn humans into incubators… my eyes naturally fixate on the slick coming out of your ovipositor, and i feel a sudden urge to suck on something… i get on my knees and grab your swollen ovipositor, feeling the eggs in it, and start to lick up the substance it’s leaking… it’s made to be addicting to humans, and it’s clearly doing it’s intended effect on me! your other tentacles are wrapping around my kneeling body, prodding me to stick my ass out, and when i do, i instantly feel slimy tentacles brushing against my cunt and ass..

i’m too focused on the ovipositor though, trying to lick up as much as i can of the substance, but your ovipositor is huuuuge, it’s bigger than my face, so i can only fit the tip of it in to suck on, warm liquid filling my mouth as i do so, my body feeling even more hazy… the tentacles around my body are stretching me out, going in and out of my cunt and ass at a steady pace, my small body buckling at each thrust from the thick tentacles… you grab my head and pet me, then start pushing me down on your ovipositor, me making a choking sound as it fills my throat, the warm liquid it’s secreting now going directly down my throat as i continue to suck…

i thought you were just doing some dirty talk when you said i wouldn’t want anyone else, but as i whine and moan around the ovipositor in my mouth as the tentacles in my cunt bury themselves through my cervix, writhing in my womb and making my stomach bulge as they coat my insides, i know i’m never going to feel as… full from anyone but you. when you remove the ovipositor from my mouth, i have a dreamy grin on my face as i drool, my eyes looking like they have nothing but pleasure behind them as i sit there wrapped around your tentacles…

your swollen ovipositor fills me even more than the tentacles did before, and it just feels so goooood! my body clenches around your ovipositor as you bury it within me, orgasms shaking me through my core, my moans filling the small bathroom… when the eggs start coming in, i gasp as each one hits my cervix before pushing through and nestling in my womb, your tentacles coiling around my growing belly… the eggs just keep on coming, and my womb is eagerly accepting each and every one of them <3

when you’re done, you look over me and are proud of your work- i’m a mess within your tentacles, my belly swollen with the outline of your eggs pushing against the skin, and i’m completely at your mercy to use for whenever you need an incubator again <3

#c’s musings #horn #asks #terato #nsft #ovi #tw oviposition #ok i kinda went off LOL #tentacles (tm)#🥀#hope you enjoy me going off

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the-busy-ghost · 1 year

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Alright uninformed rant time. It kind of bugs me that, when studying the Middle Ages, specifically in western Europe, it doesn’t seem to be a pre-requisite that you have to take some kind of “Basics of Mediaeval Catholic Doctrine in Everyday Practise” class.

Obviously you can’t cover everything- we don’t necessarily need to understand the ins and outs of obscure theological arguments (just as your average mediaeval churchgoer probably didn’t need to), or the inner workings of the Great Schism(s), nor how apparently simple theological disputes could be influenced by political and social factors, and of course the Official Line From The Vatican has changed over the centuries (which is why I’ve seen even modern Catholics getting mixed up about something that happened eight centuries ago). And naturally there are going to be misconceptions no matter how much you try to clarify things for people, and regional/class/temporal variations on how people’s actual everyday beliefs were influenced by the church’s rules.

But it would help if historians studying the Middle Ages, especially western Christendom, were all given a broadly similar training in a) what the official doctrine was at various points on certain important issues and b) how this might translate to what the average layman believed. Because it feels like you’re supposed to pick that up as you go along and even where there are books on the subject they’re not always entirely reliable either (for example, people citing books about how things worked specifically in England to apply to the whole of Europe) and you can’t ask a book a question if you’re confused about any particular point.

I mean I don’t expect to be spoonfed but somehow I don’t think that I’m supposed to accumulate a half-assed religious education from, say, a 15th century nobleman who was probably more interested in translating chivalric romances and rebelling against the Crown than religion; an angry 16th century Protestant; a 12th century nun from some forgotten valley in the Alps; some footnotes spread out over half a dozen modern political histories of Scotland; and an episode of ‘In Our Time’ from 2009.

But equally if you’re not a specialist in church history or theology, I’m not sure that it’s necessary to probe the murky depths of every minor theological point ever, and once you’ve started where does it end?

Anyway this entirely uninformed rant brought to you by my encounter with a sixteenth century bishop who was supposedly writing a completely orthodox book to re-evangelise his flock and tempt them away from Protestantism, but who described the baptismal rite in a way that sounds decidedly sketchy, if not heretical. And rather than being able to engage with the text properly and get what I needed from it, I was instead left sitting there like:

And frankly I didn’t have the time to go down the rabbit hole that would inevitably open up if I tried to find out

#This is a problem which is magnified in Britain I think as we also have to deal with the Hangover from Protestantism #As seen even in some folk who were raised Catholic but still imbibed certain ideas about the Middle Ages from culturally Protestant schools #And it isn't helped when we're hit with all these popular history tv documentaries #If I have to see one more person whose speciality is writing sensational paperbacks about Henry VIII's court #Being asked to explain for the British public What The Pope Thought I shall scream #Which is not even getting into some of England's super special common law get out clauses #Though having recently listened to some stuff in French I'm beginning to think misconceptions are not limited to Great Britain #Anyway I did take some realy interesting classes at uni on things like marriage and religious orders and so on #But it was definitely patchy and I definitely do not have a good handle on how it all basically hung together #As evidenced by the fact that I've probably made a tonne of mistakes in this post #Books aren't entirely helpful though because you can't ask them questions and sometimes the author is just plain wrong #I mean I will take book recommendations but they are not entirely helpful; and we also haven't all read the same stuff #So one person's idea of what the basics of being baptised involved are going to radically differ from another's based on what they read #Which if you are primarily a political historian interested in the Hundred Years' War doesn't seem important eonugh to quibble over #But it would help if everyone was given some kind of similar introductory training and then they could probe further if needed/wanted #So that one historian's elementary mistake about baptism doesn't affect generations of specialists in the Hundred Years' War #Because they have enough basic knowledge to know that they can just discount that tiny irrelevant bit #This is why seminars are important folks you get to ASK QUESTIONS AND FIGURE OUT BITS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND #And as I say there is a bit of a habit in this country of producing books about say religion in mediaeval England #And then you're expected to work out for yourself which bits you can extrapolate and assume were true outwith England #Or France or Scotland or wherever it may be though the English and the French are particularly bad for assuming #that whatever was true for them was obviously true for everyone else so why should they specify that they're only talking about France #Alright rant over #Beginning to come to the conclusion that nobody knows how Christianity works but would like certain historians to stop pretending they do #Edit: I sort of made up the examples of the historical people who gave me my religious education above #But I'm now enamoured with the idea of who actually did give me my weird ideas about mediaeval Catholicism #Who were my historical godparents so to speak #Do I have an idea of mediaeval religion that was jointly shaped by some professor from the 1970s and a 6th century saint?#Does Cardinal Campeggio know he's responsible for some much later human being's catechism?#Fake examples again but I'm going to be thinking about that today

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rxgirlie · 3 months

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The Girl Next Door part X

Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC

Warnings: dubious content, alcohol consumption, physical violence, mentions of affairs, morality issues, my improper use of commas. MDNI!

A/N: this is the end, my friends. As quickly as it began, so it shall end. Thanks to everyone who stuck around and read this. Y’all make my heart smile. And to @vivalafae and @runningwiththefoxes for listening to my neurotic ass.

WC: 1801

I managed to make it through dinner without a crack in the facade I had delicately manufactured for the sake of my family and friends.

They sang happy birthday with a sea of waiters piled around the table, their faces blurring along with the rest as I blew out twenty-three candles placed intricately around a pearlescent, heart-shaped cake.

I pushed the food around on my plate to make it seem like I had eaten, choosing to fill up on half a bottle of wine while everyone bantered back and forth from their respective seats, their cheerfulness making me want to scream at the top of my lungs.

One day I would realize that the world never did revolve around me. However, that day was not the day.

The entire affair had lasted five weeks and three days. My mental math gave way to a sea of memories, some pleasant, fleeting, while the others threw up a barrage of red flags, making me wonder why I had been so blind, so careless with a man I didn’t know. Even then, with the information I had, I didn’t know him. To add insult to injury, the logical part of my brain, a part long dormant where he and I were concerned, chastised any part of me that felt heartbroken and confused, citing time, or lack thereof, as a point of weakness. Five weeks is merely a blink of an eye, a flap of a butterfly’s wing. But empires have fallen in a shorter amount of time, and the thought alone made me feel somewhat better. A modicum of reprieve as my thoughts came in waves, battering down on me, sweeping me further and further from the safety of the shore.

_________________________________________

“She’s going to be looking for that note until next Fourth of July,” Heather murmured into my ear, leaning against me from her spot at the stool to my right. The Annual Star Spangled Karaoke event had kicked off and with it came the usual bards and minstrels, drunk and howling away at whatever song was chosen for them by the patrons of The Marina. To be quite frank, none of them could carry a tune in a bucket. You’d think the lightness and fun the setting provided would have made me feel better, but it didn’t. I was drunk and irritated by something as simple as the wind blowing my hair into my face.

“Why do we torture ourselves with this shit every year?”

“Oh, it’s torture, huh?” She turned completely around to look at me, her knees knocking into mine as we came face to face. “Do you have something else you should be doing besides this?”

She cocked her head at me, her eyebrow threading upward as she waited for my response.

I shook my head at her.

“It’s a tradition, Livvy Lou.” She patted my knees, turning her attention back around to the DJ.

“When do we let traditions die?” I asked her, feeling sour and dried out as I finished my second Mai Tai. “Particularly this one.”

She turned around quickly, her expression lost between anger, disappointment, and sadness.

“It’s not like you haven’t blown me off every week for the past month,” she spat, eyes narrowing at me, mouth twitching in a way that let me know she wasn’t quite done with her verbal lashing, but also wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue.

My mouth was bone dry from anxiety, the sudden rising of guilt in my chest from being a terrible friend. A terrible person.

“You know what,” I stood up, the barstool scraping unceremoniously against the tile flooring, “Fuck this.”

She turned back around, unbothered by my outburst, arms crossed snuggly across her chest as I grumbled to myself, retrieving my bag and keys before walking away from her entirely.

On my way out of The Marina, I managed to snag a fifth of Jack from the bar, my way of sticking it to Heather since her family owned the restaurant. Eventually I would replace the bottle, never telling anyone what happened to it originally, though I suspect they never even noticed it was missing.

My entire walk home I replayed the scene from Mencken’s car in my head. I rewound it, stopping and going over each word, pausing, seething, the sloshing of the whisky in its bottle in my fist becoming the background track to my dramatics.

Dodging the passerbys, the ones with enough sense to stay sober as they parted the crowds, each of them marching like worker ants towards the center of the village, ambling towards the best vantage point for the annual fireworks show.

And there I was, no regard for public drunkenness or the mess the sidewalk was making of my bare feet, stomping recklessly towards home for no reason other than not being able to stand myself, wanting nothing more than to rip my skin off piece by piece to give way to the rage boiling right under the surface.

Like he knew, like he could predict my arrival, he stood on his front porch, leaning against the railing with his hands hung over the edge, watching as I edged my way closer to the driveway.

“Happy birthday,” he said as casually as one announces the weather.

I threw my hand up, waving him off, “Fuck you.”

I kept walking, hearing his footsteps bounding down his front steps, doing my best to ignore how close on my heels he was getting.

When I fell—busting my ass with no ounce of grace—as I descended the hill that led to the dock, he grabbed hold of my shoulders.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I shook him off, clawing at the earth to get my bearings, to will myself to stand up and put some much needed distance between us.

He grabbed the bottle I had dropped, tipping it upside down, the amber liquid watering a particularly brown patch of grass that had died somewhere in the peak of June’s heat.

“Think you’ve had enough of this.” He said, chastising me with a raised eyebrow.

“Think I’ve had enough of you.”

I was able to totter successfully onto the dock, walking carefully down at the edge, linking my arms across my chest like a brooding child.

“Shouldn’t you be inside taking care of Rosemary and her fucking baby?”

That earned me a chuckle, an earnest one, as he came to stand beside me, gazing out at the water before his eyes finally landed on me.

“You can’t get mad at me over the natural order of things, Olivia.” His tone was softer than I expected, though I hadn’t expected him to follow me to the dock at all.

“The natural order of things?” A sardonic laugh slipped past my lips, “You tell me she will wise up and leave you in a few years, and then, surprise, she’s pregnant.”

He shrugged. “Is it hard to believe you can dislike someone but still fuck them?”

Once again, I chuckled, “I’ve been doing that very thing for weeks, so.”

A smirk played up behind his knowing smile. Like he was privy to information I didn’t know and most likely would never figure out. It was always like that with him; one step forward, two steps back. “You’re a hypocrite, you know.”

“Can you please just leave me alone?” I pleaded, searching his face for any cracks below the surface, any indication that he was hurting like I was, any indication of humanness underneath his steely exterior.

“What do you want from me?” I asked with a resigned sigh, “Do you want me to march into your house and tell her what’s been going on?”

He stayed silent, his smirk widening, eyes dancing cruelly across my deranged features as I continued, “or better yet, let’s just get her out here for the show. Hann-,”

Before I could finish her name, his palm slapped against my mouth, his other hand curling around my wrist to jerk me towards him.

“Shut the fuck up, Olivia.” He gritted, jerking me closer to him for further emphasis.

I was quick to wriggle out of his hold, shoving him with two hands planted on his chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” The impact of my shove sent me reeling, stammering backwards as I watched him fight with gravity.

He recovered, stalking over towards me, gripping my shoulders with a slight shake.

“There’s a streak of cruelty in you that I’ve chosen to ignore, but now that you want to play games, I suppose I should remind you that if you want to destroy me, I’ll destroy you too.” His tone was quiet, but laced with effortless venom as he lowered himself to be level with my face. His grip on my shoulders never loosened as he sloshed me back and forth. The idea of him laying our secret bare mingled with the way he gripped my shoulders, kneading into the bony flesh, bore an anger in me that I had never experienced.

When I hit him, with little to no hesitation, delivering a right hook to the crest of his left cheekbone, I immediately regretted my decision. A flitter of fireworks set off above us as if to mark the tumultuous scene, their ranging colors of royal blue and scarlet red maring with the inky blood oozing down his cheek and onto his chin.

“You hit me.” His face was blank, his phrase almost coming out as a question. For some reason, I expected him to hit me back. I had leveled the playing field with my punch, canceling out gender roles when it landed, shocked when he didn’t send me reeling with a blow of his own. He stammered forward, hands reaching out for me, and I swatted them away, eventually landing weightless hits and dull thuds against the hollow of his chest.

His bloody hand smeared against my face as he pulled me tightly into his chest, pushing my tangled hair away from the tacky sweat on my forehead. I contorted myself against him, pulling and pulling away to no avail. He held me tightly as the night sky exploded above us. My voice was a symphony of weak cries and crackled sentiments as I whispered, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” over and over again until my voice grew hoarse and any resolve I had to get away from him in that moment simply faded away as I wore myself down.

The perfect ending for a nightmarish fever dream—fireworks, a fistfight, a bloodied mess— but nothing could have made it better when he sighed, pressed a kiss to my temple, and in two simple words, he let me win.

“I know.” He said. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then he walked away.

Tag list: @aurorag98

#the girl next door #jeryd mencken x oc #jeryd mencken fic #jeryd mencken fanfiction #jeryd mencken x ofc #jeryd mencken x original female character #jeryd mencken imagine #jeryd mencken x reader #jeryd mencken #justin kirk

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deannagrey · 4 months

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Just Dare Me: Chapter 2 (2/4)

(had to split these up 'cause of the character limit)

Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4

Ari saved my ass with the rain warning. Halfway through the day, it felt like a full-on hurricane was passing through town. Everyone scrambled across campus, trying to get to their destinations without getting soaked to the bone. A few professors even canceled classes, citing some streets were too flooded for commuting.

I’d accidentally splashed through a deceivingly huge puddle after my second class of the day. The water and dirt ruined my pressed tan slacks. I almost cried in the bathroom at how my stain-removing stick wasn’t doing anything for me. It took longer than I’d like to admit for me to calm down and remind myself dry cleaning existed for a reason. Pushing away my need to look one hundred percent presentable was a feat that zapped most of my energy.

My initial spark from the morning faded to a strained ember by the end of the day. So it goes without saying that I didn’t exactly feel like showing up to David’s dare. Especially when I realized it’d be at a bar. A cowboy-themed bar.

I had a ride share drop me off in front of Ye-Haw Way a half hour before our meet-up time. The demographic of customers seemed diverse enough. Most who filtered in and out of the building wore some kind of cowboy motif. I snapped a photo of the blinking ‘giddy on in’ welcome sign to send to David. There was a slim to no chance Ye-Haw Way wasn’t his intended destination. But I still needed to try.

Yara: This the right place?

David: Congrats. You know how to use a GPS. Do you need help finding the door as well?

I blew out an annoyed breath and grabbed the wooden door handle. Once past the traditional door, I was met with a swinging one reminiscent of old-time Western bar entryways.

The inside of Ye-Haw Way was loud and packed. I raised my brow at the surprisingly colorful overhead lighting. There was a live band complete with banjo and fiddle player. The lead singer on stage was a woman with dark skin. She wore beads on the end of her braids and held onto the microphone like it was a life raft. Her voice reminded me of the older women in the choir from my church. She looked much younger but had an “old spirit” way about her in how she swayed back and forth.

It took me a second to re-focus on my main goal: finding David, finishing his dare, and getting the hell out of here. This place wasn’t as unwelcoming as I thought it’d be from the outside. I moved through the crowd easily enough. No one looked at me too weird even though I felt wildly out of place in my casual work wear.

David sat at the end of the bar. I paused for a second, taking in how his hair was a bit overgrown since the beginning of the semester. He wore his trademark jean jacket that was fraying on the shoulders. The cup sitting in front of him was empty and he stared into the glass like it held the answer to life’s greatest mysteries. He glanced up ever so often like he was looking for something he’d forgotten or something he needed.

When I finally decided to get closer, another girl beat me to the punch. She wore the cutest pair of pink cowboy boots I’ve ever seen paired with a pink mini skirt and corset. Her bubblegum hair was in waves that reached her back. I was close enough to hear she had a sweet voice to match her exterior.

Most of the guys nearby seemed to have eyes for her. But, for some reason, she didn’t seem interested in making eye contact with anyone except David. I didn’t blame her, his dark aesthetic would contrast hers brilliantly. They’d be the kind of pairing musicians wrote about. Mean guy, sweet girl, and fairytale romances. I lingered back just to see how things would play out.

Their exchange was brief. David didn’t look up once during it. His disinterest didn’t seem to deflate her ego, though. Instead, she left a piece of paper under his cup and skipped away to join some other girls on the dance floor.

“Not your type?” I teased as I settled the stool next to him. “Too good for your damaged soul? Did you not want to ruin her and bring her into your misery?”

He didn’t look up at my words either. But his brow quirked up, which was more animation than he’d given Cute Pink Girl.

“Didn’t come here looking for a type,” he said, simply and gestured to the bartender for a refill. “I’m seeing someone.”

My ears perked up a little, shocked at this tidbit of information. David and I didn’t have conversations about our lives outside of when we hung out. We were always too busy trying to wound each other’s pride.

“Really? Who’s the lucky lad or lass?” I asked, wincing at my phrasing. I was a little too hard not to sound interested in his dating life. In reality, the thought of someone being with David romantically seemed nearly impossible. Who’d lack that much self-preservation?

“Lad or lass?” David snorted. “I’m bisexual, Yara. Not a pirate.”

“There’s a difference?” I joked.

David shook his head, smiling a bit. “You really want to know?”

I scoffed. “I’m not dying for the information or anything.”

Though my breath did catch a little when he looked at me.

“Good. Can’t have your death on my hands. Covee would never forgive me.” He finished his drink with no indication he planned on answering my question. So, he planned on keeping this mystery person a secret? Fine by me.

“Let’s get this thing over with,” I said quickly. Suddenly, the warmth of the building wasn’t comforting anymore. I wanted to be back out in the rain because the cold felt more real than whatever was going on between us. Like David said last night, there was no word for our relationship. And not knowing where we stood felt like being surprised pricked by a needle.

“Sure you don’t want a drink first?” David stood from his stool but didn’t move from the bar.

I slipped off my seat too. Standing side-by-side, David was a few inches taller than me. I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze. Tonight his smelt of whisky and his eyes almost matched the color of it, too. The bright, overhead lights were doing wonders in smoothing out his darker features.

“I don’t drink,” I forced out in a hard tone. The softer David looked, the tougher I felt I needed to be.

“Another disappointment.” He frowned, feigning sadness. “Drunk Yara might actually be worth hanging out with.”

“If I was such a chore to hang around, you wouldn’t be blowing up my phone every other day,” I countered.

His expression changed. For a second, I thought I actually made a decent shot.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said in a voice that indicated he never once believed that possibility. “But you’re the one who started texting me.”

My jaw tightened as I remembered our first back and forth. It’d been after I’d lost the beginning dare and couldn’t sleep without seeing his irritating smirk. I’d gotten his number from Covee’s boyfriend, Weston, and texted him at 2 AM with demands of a rematch. A little neurotic, sure. But he matched my energy so weren’t both of us to blame?

#westbrookeangels #yaraxdavid

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btsydtrash · 2 years

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Euphoric Endeavours [19]

vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni student yn

Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus’ most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth.

Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger.

It’s too bad that they can’t seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

(angst / smut / yandere / fluff / gore)

Masterlist / i dont have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 4.6k

(AN: Hi, all! This story is actually already posted on AO3. But, I decided to post it on here. I have almost 50 chapters of this story up over there, so I’ll slowly be adding them onto here too)

tw: drug use (not by main characters), alcohol, vomiting, crude language, nudity, possessive language

Chapter 19 ‘Intoxication’

The rest of the week passes by quickly, and before you know it, it’s the afternoon of the mixer at the EXO frat house.

You’ve always liked going to parties, dancing the night away until sweat is damp at your temples and your legs ache the next day because of how energetic you were being. You liked dressing up nicely, getting your makeup done and feeling pampered, which is why you didn’t argue with Young-mi when she dragged you to a pedicure appointment, citing your recent class stress as a reason to get taken care of.

After getting your toenails and fingers painted the same opalescent white that shone prettily under the light, Young-mi grabs an outfit from the nearest department store, after scanning the aisles for nearly an hour. There’s a reason why you order clothes online, you can’t stand the lengthy experience of being in a store for nearly half the day.

“What do you think about this one?” It’s a black and yellow co-ord, strappy set. Wide leg pants and covered in sunflowers. It would suit her skin tone prettily, and her toned stomach peeks out, unwittingly seductive. She’s barefoot, but you assume she would wear a simple pair of heels with it to complete the whole look. She gives you a cursory spin, arms out, and her expression is somewhat shy as she asks, “Too much?”

“No, it looks lovely,” you reply. And you aren’t lying, but you’ve said the same thing about the last four outfits she has tried on in the same flat tone. She gives you a nasty look before drawing the curtain closed with a low huff and the sound of shuffling clothes tells you she’s in a bad mood. “Honestly, Young-mi, you’ll look amazing in anything.”

“I don’t want to look amazing, I need to look fuckable,” she grumbles.

“The pants do make your ass look good,” you compliment, with a giggle. “But, the dresses mean easy access.”

You had already grabbed an outfit from the sale rack (you were on a budget, damn it) but you were happy with the quality and the style of the clothes, so you couldn’t complain. It fit nicely, and you know with your hair done and after shaving your legs (finally) you would feel much more confident in it. A small part of you wonders if the boys might find you pretty in it, and you feel your cheeks heat up at the thought so you quickly stamp on.

“Fine, fine. I think I’ll get the first and last one,” she says, rolling the clothes over her arm and handing the discarded outfit to the attendee by the door. The two of you join the queue when she asks, “Are you going to let me do your makeup tonight?”

“You know I’m hopeless at that,” you laugh. “I can just about do my eyebrows, and that’s only after you taught me.”

“I promise I won’t do too much,” she tells you, with a secret smile. “You’ll look amazing.”

Famous last words, you suppose.

———

“You said you wouldn’t do too much,” you groan, staring at your reflection in surprise. You look stunning, you know that. Your eyes are smoked out with a brown and gold, lined with dark liner, and there are some wispy lashes glued to your lids that make your whole face light up. You admit, she’s talented with a brush and some pretty colors, but you worry that looking so… appealing with all this on your face might make you feel self-conscious without it. You gesture to your face with a wave of your fingers, and you mutter, “This is the definition of ‘too much’.”

“Oh, hush,” she says, spinning you back around to face her in the office chair. “Close your mouth.”

You do as you are told. “Good girl.”

She gives you a cute smile and slides some gloss onto your lips before opening and closing her own, looking decidedly like a fish out of water. A gorgeous fish in a white, lace strappy dress but a fish nonetheless. “Do this.”

You copy her gesture, feeling the slick, thick, vanilla-scented gloss stick to your lips. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” she tells you. “Go and get dressed.”

You had been a towel for the last hour, letting her do your makeup and hair to compliment your outfit. Young-mi’s face and hair is done already – a classic makeup look on her face, pinks and nudes and beiges on her eyes and peach gloss on her lips making her appear like the main character out of a romance novel from the 20th century, with pin-straight dark hair trailing down her spine.

“We can leave in, like, ten minutes,” she calls from the bathroom, where she’s touching up.

“I’ll call the Uber,” you tell her, stepping into your heels, stumbling slightly. Thankfully, you are wearing booted heels rather than the peep-toes that Young-mi chose to wear. You couldn’t afford to break your ankle tonight. “Fifteen minutes.”

You sit down in the living room after tugging on your clothes and scan your social media. A few messages from the boys greet you and you smile at their tone.

Jimin apparently was volunteering at the local homeless woman’s shelter tonight until the early hours of the morning, something he does quite often apparently, serving food, buying clothes and distributing hygiene products at the local WalMart. Yoongi was deejaying for the night and had already set out, sending a picture of himself in his black mask and bucket hat combination that sent your heart into a mini-frenzy.

Jin had a Skype call with his Dad about business, and you sent him a few gentle words of encouragement, knowing for some reason he didn’t like talking to his Dad for too long. You haven’t pried, and he hasn’t told you yet, so you are waiting patiently for him to do so at his own pace. Taehyung had spent the last 48 hours in the art studio, working on his mid-term illustration project and had been unbelievably stressed out, so he didn’t even reply to any messages, making you think he had long since fallen asleep.

The others had been actively pestering you for the last two hours, peppering you with cute questions that went unanswered while you had spent quality time with your bestie.

You send them a picture of your face, requested by Hobi once you had told them you were going out. The ones who replied don’t seem all too concerned about you going out, thankfully. The idea of them trying to control your movement, regardless of how much you appreciate and care about their opinion, makes you feel stifled, so when you receive nothing but compliments upon compliments, you feel warm spread inside your tummy.

“Are you done?”

Young-mi’s voice takes you by surprise.

Nodding at her, you let her know that the cab it outside and the two of you leave, giggling the entire way.

“The boys like your work,” you tell Young-mi as you both slide into the cab. To the driver, you tell him the address, ignoring his lascivious glance at your chest and exposed skin. Even though you are wearing a jacket, you feel like his stare is burning through the material of your camel coat, and you tighten it closer to you as if to protect your privacy. Asshole.

“Of course, they do,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a smug wink. “I know what I’m doing, and my canvas was lovely already. It didn’t take much.”

Your phone buzzes and you glance down to see a message from your baby bun.

Joonie-hyung, Hobi-hyung and I decided to go to the party, so look out for us, noona! Your eyes are so beautiful tonight, I can’t wait to see them in person!

Feeling something akin to excitement bubble in your gut as you realize you will get to see the handsome gamer for the first time what feels like ages (you had seen him literally less than 24 hours ago, and yet it still feels like you are going out of your mind with missing his face).

Pulling up at the party, you already feel yourself getting into the mood. You had heard the music pumping from all the way down the street. The walk is quick, hurrying down the road, passing by the oddly parked cars that lined the campus street.

Instantly, you are enveloped by big, long hugs and have drinks thrust into your waiting palms. Young-mi’s classmate and close friend, Seoyeon, kisses your cheek, and you notice that her pupils are blown wide with something that can’t just be alcohol. Drugs haven’t ever been your thing, having dabbled with the odd joint or two in high school but never really pushing past that. She trips up a little in her excitement, and you find her behavior endearing, but you hope she has someone with her that will keep her safe during her come down. Worst-comes-to-worst, it will have to be the two of you.

“YN! You look so pretty!” She compliments, happily, slumping against you with trembling legs. “Have you lost some weight?”

No, you had actually gained some around your hips, but you were happy with the gain of meat on your thighs. Your mom had complained about you losing weight because you weren’t getting regular, home-cooked meals. You shift the blame to Yoongi and Jin for continually filling your tummy with their splendid kitchen concoctions, Hoseok’s consistent late-night treats of pizza and Jimin sneaking bags of spicy tteok into the library for you to snack on after a long day of studying.

Jungkook offered to help you out in the gym if you wanted to lose the weight (“You look perfect the way you are, noona. But if you want to, I’ll help you. I promise I’ll go easy on you. What’s that look for? You don’t believe me?”) but you had never taken him up on it, secretly happy with the wobble and soft skin at your hips.

You drain the mix of red wine and lemonade, humming contentedly at the taste, before going back for a second cup, handing one to Young-mi and another to Seoyeon, who had begun chatting animatedly with some strangers.

Mid-sip, Young-mi jabs you sharply in your ribs, forcing some wine to spurt from your lips in shock. She babbles, gripping your arm excitedly, “Oh! YN! She’s over there. Doesn’t she just look so sexy?”

You look over at the roguish-looking, short-haired, heavily tatted chemistry major who keeps scanning your friend’s with barely-concealed lust in her eyes.

Oh, yes.

She was very sexy, and if Young-mi hadn’t snagged her, you might have given her some attention.

You nudge Young-mi playfully. “She’s totally into you!”

The music is so loud that you need to shout into her ear, so she can hear you.

She looks at you, nervously before she replies, shooting the girl a quick peek, “Are you sure?”

You nod, emphatically, and she takes a deep breath, gathering courage. You nudge her slightly in her direction and say, giddily, the alcohol already getting to your head, “Go for it! Get your pussy wet! One of us has to!”

A heavy hand on your hip makes your back stiffen instantly. It’s only when you realize that the touch is more familiar than you had thought that you relax slightly.

“Who’s getting wet?”

You look over your shoulder to see Jungkook, flushed cheeks and eyes wide, glittering even in the low light of the room, looming over you. (He’s wearing a grey tight shirt underneath an oversized tartan black, grey and white shirt with a matching bucket hat and some simple silver hoops in both of his ears. His hair is a mess of curls, the cherry-red having been touched up and brighter than ever before. He looks edible, if that even makes sense.)

Snorting, you gesture to Young-mi, who is practically stomping across the room to her target. The two of you watch as she taps the girl on the shoulder and leans in, whispering something in her ear, before trailing her hand down her back and pulling her onto the dance-floor.

“I guess Young-mi isn’t coming home with me tonight,” you muse, absently. “Or, maybe she’ll bring her home.”

“She seems really into it,” Jungkook replies, his hand hasn’t moved from where it was resting on the swell of your hip. It feels like it burns through your coat and brands your skin. “Aren’t you hot in that coat, noona?”

He seems concerned and so, even though you weren’t particularly warm now, you nod, and he takes your hand, pulling you through the crowd and leading you into the room off to the left of the door.

“This is where everyone leaves their clothes,” he says, helping you out of your jacket carefully. He hangs the camel coat over the crook of his arm and goes quiet, eyes trailing down the lines of your body, in wonderment. “You look… so beautiful tonight.”

“Young-mi did her job well, I suppose,” you reply, giving him a little spin.

He feels the breath catch in his throat at the sight. The figure-hugging burgundy two-piece clings to every curve of your body, showing off a little bit of your pudgy centre. Jungkook wants to lathe his tongue along your ribs and take your skin into his mouth until bruises the same color as your wretched dress paint your flesh. He licks his lips, unconsciously, feeling the heat he carries for you roar to life, momentarily rendering him stupid.

And, clearly, not in control of his tongue.

“You always look this good, noona,” he asserts, gently. The music is still loud in the background, the bass pounding through the floor, sending vibrations through the soles of your heeled boots, but it’s as if he’s whispered the words directly into your ear canal – they are so clear. “You’re always so pretty to us.”

Shyly, you tuck some hair out of the way, not sure how to feel about the compliment. “T-Thank you.”

He shakes off his lust and he moves to hide your coat amongst the others. You don’t have anything of value in the pockets, so you don’t worry about anyone stealing your things. He turns to you and asks, “How about I get you a drink?”

“I’ve already had two,” you admit, blush creeping along your cheeks. He thinks he’s never seen anything lovelier. “But, I could do with another.”

“You’ve had a rough week,” he comments, nudging open the door and knitting his fingers with yours. “Don’t let go of my hand, okay, noona? I’ll keep you safe.”

The feeling of his large, cool palm caressing your warmer, smaller one makes your stomach flutter wildly. You get bumped by people who pass you by, but he keeps tossing you concerned glances as he storms through the hordes of bodies. When he notices that you are being nudged, he practically pulls you flush to him and uses his larger form to keep you protected. When you spot the other two vampires, they both freeze at the sight of you, and just like with the maknae, their brains seem to instantly turn to mush.

“Joonie! Hobi!” You cry. “You look so good!”

And you mean it.

Joon has on a paisley bandana, a large lavender puffer jacket draped over his broad shoulders, a plain white shirt underneath that, despite the warm temperature inside of the frat due to the gyrating, sweating bodies, and some ripped jeans with some expensive looking sneakers on his feet.

When his wits come back to him, Namjoon hooks his arm around your waist and tugs you off the floor, pressing a kiss to your temple lightly. You hook your arm around his neck tightly and inhale in his heady cologne. He smells just as divine as he looks.

“You look stunning, YN,” he mumbles against your skin, careful to not hold you too tight, despite his raging desire to ravage you right here and now – fuck everyone else. He feels heat lick at his gut and he had to let you go before you feel the press of his need against your stomach, taking a marked step back.

Your eyes shift to the sunshine of the group and you appraise him with wide eyes. Hobi looks like a whole meal in a red and white ‘Rolling Stone’ tartan shirt with a thin white vest damp with sweat from his own gyration and ardent dancing beneath it. Black jeans shredded at the knee and a chain leading from a belt-loop to his pocket. His inky black hair is plastered to his forehead and atop his head is a black cap.

“You’ve been hiding these legs from us,” Hoseok comments, with a lewd wink, practically sweeping you off your feet with how he hugs you. He spins you in his arms and squeezes your middle tightly. “You look gorgeous.”

Shoving his head away from your face, you snort, ears burning, “You’re a pig.”

“But, I’m your pig,” he teases, bumping you before squeezing your waist lightly once. He oinks once, playfully, before hooking his arm around your shoulder, holding you close and tossing a dirty look over your head at a final-year student who had been eyeing your ass too much for his liking.

The possessive part of him wants to reach out and grab it in his hands, just so the little fucker can see you aren’t free to be gawped at, but his good common sense tells him that you would probably gut punch him for even thinking about it, and he is aware that his thoughts alone are stepping over a thick, thick line.

“How about we get some drinks for our YN? She’s lagging behind,” Jungkook taunts, reaching for the shots behind Namjoon’s body. “Here’s one.”

“Give me two, please,” you reply, holding the small plastic coloured glass filled with clear liquid. They stare at you, awkwardly. “You said I’m lagging behind. I need to catch up, don’t I? I don’t plan on remembering tonight, honestly.”

Hoseok gives you a crude look before he clinks his drink with yours, making some spill out and stain the floor. He promises, with a crooked grin, “I’ll make this a night you won’t be able to forget.”

———

“I’m never drinking again,” you groan, wetly, from the toilet bowl, hours later. Hoseok regards you, impassively, rubbing your back in soothing circles, and he winces, slightly, as another wave of vomit spills from your lips and fills the bowl. He presses the cold compress a little harder against the back of your neck, worriedly.

You had been puking now for nearly twenty minutes.

Jungkook isn’t fairing much better, having passed out cold in the car after having thrown up on himself in the backyard of the EXO frat house. He’d gotten into a fight with a partygoer who grabbed you roughly and went full caveman, bumping chests and shedding his shirt as if he were about to wrestle the man into submission. After breaking a bench in their backyard, the boys and a still-babbling you had slid into a cab and arrived at their apartment – not that you remember much of the trip from where you were sat, straddling Hobi’s lap, snoring into his neck while he stroked your back.

Joon had to carry Jungkook, with a sleepy, moody Taehyung’s help (they had called him to come help, considering the younger body was the heaviest in terms of weight and muscle mass), while Hoseok had carried you bridal-style, considering you were no longer able to hold yourself up, holding your heels, that you had tossed off in a huff, in one of his hands.

“I did tell you to stop after the second shot of Ciroc,” Hoseok replies from the edge of the bathtub. He’s holding back your hair and your phone (having dropped and smashed into pieces when you and Kookie thought it would be a good idea to turn the photographer into a walking rollercoaster) in his back pocket. “But you didn’t listen to me.”

You groan and spit up a little more into the toilet bowl. He tuts, sympathetically, and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. “It’ll be okay, baby. Let it all out.”

Once he thinks you’re done, he gets you to sloppily wash your mouth out and even brushes your teeth and tongue, admiring your tiny molars in amusement, before getting your makeup off and in some pyjamas (one of Yoongi’s clean jerseys) and into his bed. You wrap yourself around Namjoon’s largest Ryan toy that Hoseok had ‘left’ on his bed the other night when he was having trouble sleeping.

Unexpectedly, you reach out, eyes still closed and cling to the chain around his neck, forcing him to jerk forward, before he disentangles himself, reluctantly pulling away.

“Stob being mean, ‘seokkie,” you whine, eyes rolling open before fluttering closed, as if merely keeping your orbs open was too much work for your alcohol-addled brain. “I- hic- I wanna cuddle.”

He stares down at you, contemplatively, but doesn’t make any move to get into Joon’s bed (the literature major is begrudgingly spending the night in Jungkook’s room, so the younger doesn’t puke in his sleep). You seem to notice that you aren’t being cuddled, so you start frowning (eyes still closed, like the adorable fucking thing you are).

“Why aren’t you- Come cuddle, Hoseok,” you repeat, holding your hands out to him, making grabby hands at him. Steeling yourself, you blink, wetly, up at the dancer, you tug yourself up, head lolling slightly to the side, and slur, softly, “Hobi, don’cha wanna cuddle?”

He lets out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face and takes in your vulnerable appearance. “You’re going to hit me in the morning.”

Shaking your head animatedly, only to stop when you make yourself dizzier, you exclaim, “Won’t!”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” he grumbles, sardonically, moving to stand.

He sheds his clothes quickly, facing away from you, but you are paying attention. The lines of his back are sharp and well-built from years of intense dance training. He always had enticing lines of his body, whenever he wore form-fitting clothes or a belt around his waist, but it’s only when he’s partially nude that you realize just how cinched his waist is.

You burn slightly with envy and, not for the first time, wish your Mom had kept you up with ice skating from a young age. Alas, you had turned to books instead of bladed boots and here you are. His biceps flexing lightly as he kicks into some sweats catches your attention once more and you watch, fascinated, as he throws on a clean sleep shirt. When he’s turning to you, you catch, with wide eyes, the tail end of his abdominal area and- whew.

He’s built.

He quirks his brow at you and asks, smugly, “Like what you see, sunshine?”

He’s grinning at you, bright and warm, despite the early morning hour, and you can’t help but sigh, contentedly, as he slides between the sheets with you.

“Yeah, I do,” you admit, eyes brazenly taking in his form. He smells good, like aftershave and Hoseok, calm and a little citrusy. You lean forward and take another sniff, the warmth from his skin making your head swim. “I like it so much that I d’nt know what to do sometimes.”

He freezes all over, staring down at you in shock. “You don’t mean that, sunshine. You’re drunk.”

“Just ‘cause ‘m drunk doesn’t mean I d’nt know what I want,” you slur, burrowing into his chest.

He sighs but says nothing else, silently observing you, listening, waiting, for a lie.

“I really like you,” you mumble, curling your arm around his mid-section and pulling yourself closer to him, strangely desperate. Slowly, he relaxes under the gentle ministrations of your thumb swirling in light circles on his back. “I really like all of you.”

He lets out a light chuckle at your drunken rambling, pushing some hair from your face to just- look at you. He lays down, resting on his fist, and observes the slope of your nose, the puffiness of your lip, the freckles and beauty marks dotted all over the expanse of your face. Once he realizes you are fully asleep, your pulse (his favorite sound in the world) calm, he begins to trace the marks with his fingers, too enamored with the glow beneath your skin to stop.

“Is she asleep?” Yoongi asks, brow puckered as he steps into the room. One step into the apartment told him all he needed to know about how the night had gone. The smell of vomit, alcohol and tears lingered in the air, like poison, even though Hoseok had long opened the window. “Is she doing okay?”

“She was pretty bad,” Hoseok replies, quietly. “We didn’t realize how much she had drank while we weren’t looking. It’s our fault, hyung.”

He had no problem with her drinking to excess, when she was in a safe space and they could protect her, but in the outside world, she was their responsibility and anything bad that happened to her was at their feet.

“Joon is with Kookie,” he tells the blond. He tries to sit up, but you whine in your sleep and hold him tighter, brow furrowing. In fear of waking you up, he settles back down, gently patting your back to pacify you. He addresses Yoongi with a soft look in his eyes, “You can sleep here tonight, if you don’t feel comfortable leaving her with me.”

“I trust you, Hobi,” Yoongi replies blandly, when he sees Hobi’s tight grimace, but he does shed his clothes and slide into Namjoon’s bed. “I just- I feel like I have to be in here.”

“Better you than Taehyung,” Hoseok teases, an impish grin on his face. “He almost bit my head off for letting her get like this. You should have seen how he was cursing up a storm, knowing she was going to be at a party without any of us. He convinced Kookie, Joonie and I to go, last minute, because he was so exhausted.”

“He’s overprotective,” Yoongi admits. “For good reason. You know how he is.”

Hoseok exhales, turning on his side, moving his knee between your thighs and resting his hand on your back. You relax even further, tucking your nose into the crook of his neck, snuffling slightly. The puffs of warm air against his skin tethers Hobi in the moment, and he brushes some of your hair out of your face to stare down at you, love shining in his orbs. “She told me she likes us.”

Yoongi perks up at that, before his eyes take on a guarded note. “She’s drunk.”

“But still,” Hoseok says, eyes glued to the panes of your face, in reverence. “Drunk words are sober thoughts, hyung. She said it, and she meant it. She wasn’t lying.”

Yoongi pauses. “Hobi…”

“Come over, hyung,” he says, pulling back the sheet and patting the space by your other side. “She won’t mind.”

The blond eagerly gets into bed with the two, careful to not overstep boundaries. He rests on his back, one arm crooked beneath his head and the other resting on his chest above his heart. The two boys fall into a comfortable silence, listening to the sound of your heartbeat, lulled into the throes of sleep, sharing warmth and a sense of comfort that only their bond can create.

- end -

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18), (19)

#euphoric endeavours #vampire bts #supernatural bts #non idol au #vampire bts fic #supernatural bts fic #kim namjoon x reader #kim taehyung x reader #park jimin x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jeon jungkook x reader

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bookshelfdreams · 8 months

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📒

I say this flattered and with nothing but affection but I have never had that many ideas in my life 😅🙈

But okay. You'll get the one that is more than just a vague concept, in that I have actually written some words for it (even though it'll never be finished). Contains: Ghosts and blackbonnet. Also cw for mention of suicide.

So imagine this: Ed is a world-famous author of horror novels. He's a gothic icon, got famous as more of a storyteller (he used to do live events that were half readings, half theatre performances; used to pull all sorts of tricks to make it seem like the venue was actually haunted. To this day, people who are into parascience cite his shows as evidence that ghosts are real). But lately - well, he's not been feeling it. His readings are boring now; he still does them sometimes, big live events, but he's no longer allowed to genuinely scare the shit out of his audiences. And he hasn't done one in years anyway. He sold movie rights a couple of times, and what Hollywood produced made his skin crawl but not in the fun way.

His manager is always on his ass about doing shows, doing more pr (Izzy keeps scheduling interviews for him where he just knows he'll be asked idiotic questions about his "heritage", and "There sure are a lot of queer characters in you novels, Mr Teach", and honestly just thinking about those makes him want to hang himself in front of Izzy. A little.), about how his writing needs to be "more mass compatible". All Ed wants to do is write weird, avantgarde, creepy bullshit. But he can't even do that because he's been having writer's block for months.

Sometimes it feels like he never knew how to write at all.

And then there's footsteps in his attic.

Ed spent the last few hours laying on his couch, staring at the TV; he'd turned the sound off at a commercial block and didn't bother to turn it back on.

Which is how he's able to hear the steps, slow, deliberate, heavy, like the world's most inconsiderate upstairs neighbours is testing their new wooden clogs at 11:30 at night.

Problem: Ed lives alone in his house, the attic is his workspace and there's no one in there.

This one incident could have been chalked up to Ed being mostly asleep, but things keep happening. His half-full glass of really nice brandy spilled with no one in the room. The laces of his boots tied together for some reason. Cabinets left open when he knows he closed them. Etc. Honestly not the most imaginative stuff.

And then there's the dreams.

Ed keeps having vivid, detailed dreams. In them he's in a body that's not his and that he has never seen, and keeps living out scenarios from a life entirely foreign to him, but everything feels so real. It gets to a point where his waking hours sometimes feel like they're the dreams.

In short: Ed is definitely being haunted. By ghost!Stede, of course.

Now Stede, in this scenario, owns a used bookstore. Or well, it's more of an antiquity store that has some books too. Or, if we're being completely honest: Mary threatened divorce if Stede kept cluttering up their house with his "collections", and this is becoming a serious problem, Stede, and where do you even find all this stuff? What on earth makes you think a fucking - chicken skeleton is appropriate kitchen decor?? (It's a pheasant, actually, and it's from 1875!)

Long story short, it got a bit heated (Mary did most of the shouting, and also the word hoarder was used which Stede thinks, is entirely unfair), and Stede agreed to put things into storage.

Mary divorced him anyway.

Which, all things considered, was probably for the best.

And now that he had all his books and little oddities inventoried and neatly packed away, it occurred to him that it really was a shame to keep all this fascinating stuff in a storage unit to collect dust. Wouldn't it be fun to be a shop owner? That way there'd be some turnover and he could keep collecting stuff without it ever running out of space!

He ended up renting out a little store in the old town, called it "Revenge: Books and Antiquities" even though it's more his own personal Wunderkammer. And also, he doesn't know the forst thing about running a store, but that's what employees are for, right? Haha.

(a/n: if I were the kind of person who makes pinterest boards there would be so many for Stede's shop. I see it before me and it's the coolest.)

But the Something Happens. I'm not sure what - a robbery gone wrong. An accident. The horrible part of me says, botched suicide. And Stede ends up in a coma.

So that's the setup. Half is Ed trying to answer questions like: a) Are ghosts real? b) If yes, how do I get him to stop haunting my ass c) Or maybe, I should find out who the ghost is. The ghost never leaves me, always has my back. I can rely on the ghost. This relationship is getting intimate. The ghost has seen me cry. I can tell the ghost things I have never told to anyone, and trust that I won't be judged or that my secrets will be held against me. Maybe the ghost is the best friend I ever had. d) Is the ghost single?

While Stede is trapped in an inbetween-state, not quite alive, not yet dead, slowly forgetting everything: his parents voices, his children's faces. Forgetting what it was like to be alive, to have a body, to move through the world a physical entity. The longer he stays like this, the less he becomes, and maybe that's better, maybe if he waits long enough he can just disappear.

Maybe if he forgets he ever was a person at all, that won't be so bad.

But there's Ed, who speaks to him like he is real, and Stede isn't sure anyone ever has, not even when he was fully alive.

So. It's all very aesthetic, very vibes-based, with little actual substance and I'm probably never gonna write it but I like thinking about it :)

#sorry for just giving you one #and also sorry for it being so long you obviously don't have to read all that <3 #rotating ghost!stede in my mind like a rotisserie chicken #comfortabletextiles #message #(oh of course there'd be an eventual happy end)

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rayclubs · 10 months

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how did the boulder and dk meet? did it take long for them to become best friends?

Oh, it's a long story! I'll put it under the cut.

It was a contract, one The Boulder didn't particularly want to take because it involved working with other people and setting up a stakeout rather than traveling freely, but also one that paid reasonably well and seemed like a fair cause. A careles fiend was hunting deer in the woods near the Starstride village - in late spring! Fawns are born at that time, and are too small and weak to be independent from their mothers. The untimely hunting would rob the local archers of work later that year's fall, or worse - harm the herd so severely that it would leave the woods completely. The contract was to find the fiend and drive them away by any means necessary.

The Boulder worked with two local hunters, a farmer who claimed to have spotted the fiend once, and a soldier stationed in Starstride to supervise the whole ordeal. They ventured into the woods and set up camp, expecting a good few days of scouting and trap-making, but an otherwise simple resolution to their task.

Hell rained upon them from day one.

The food they brought began to turn foul out of nowhere - meat rotting, cheese and fruit growing mold, even salt got ants and bugs in it. They tried to catch fish, but it turned up green and sickly, with a rancid smell and a layer of slime on its back. At night, when trying to keep a campfire, they would find the wood turning to dust unfathomably quickly, and soon solid logs would crumble in their hands like rotten old twigs.

The strangest of all were the injuries. On the second day, the farmer cut his foot on a thorny tree root sticking out of the ground. The next day, one of the hunters ate some berries of a familiar bush and got so sick to his stomach the soldier had to take him back to the village to get treated.

When a bird swooped down and tried to poke out his last eye, The Boulder has finally had enough. The fiend left no tracks, and so he had the bright idea to stand in the middle of his camp and yell at the trees. He was itching for a duel but asked for a truce instead - he was no coward, but the magic frightened him awfully.

He had to shout for a stubbornly long time, but the answer finally came in the form of an acorn dropped on his head. The fiend kept out of sight but beckoned him with whispers and hints, inviting him for a private meeting away from his camp.

She met him in her best manner, thorny vines weaving around her shoulders like snakes, black flames of ancient forest magic dancing on the tips of her fingers, and an aura so bitter and vile it turned the trees gray.

He fell flat on his ass, paralyzed with fear.

"Keep away from the woods," she said furiously, "and leave our deer alone."

He wanted to explain himself, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. A copy of his contract burned a hole in his side, where it was tucked under the belt, but his hands were clutching his swords, forcefully stiff so as to conceal shaking.

As a final warning, her eyes sparkled yellow, and a strange mark appeared in the middle of his chest - then she vanished in a puff of black smoke.

He barely got back to camp, too sick to stand on his feet, but his mind was made up: whatever sneaky bandit was killing the deer and turning the forest witch against him, he was going to catch him by the scruff of his neck and throw him to her feet.

The next day, his remaining companions headed back to the village. He stayed, citing the terms of his contract. Made two more traps. Slept through half the day to combat his magically induced sickness.

He abandoned the farmer's sightings and went instead to where he'd go if he were a frivolous hunter - and indeed, there was soon the whistle of an arrow slicing the cold evening air.

Only the fiend was not one, but many - a small group of large, armed men have made themselves home in the woods. The air around them smelled of magic - it wasn't too rare for a traveler to know way-finding, fire-keeping, or, in their case, masterful concealing of their intruding presence.

Outnumbered but not outclassed, The Boulder jumped them that night.

The fight lasted longer than he would like, and with the mark of the witch eating through his chest, strength drained from his body faster than he could compensate for with reserved movements, careful parries and precise, perfectly timed strikes. One of his opponents sliced across his stomach, and the last thing he remembered was a blanket of sickly yellow leaves covering the ground.

Then the hunters were gone, and so was the mark on The Boulder's chest.

He turned the contract in and immediately ventured back into the forest. He shouted at the trees for a whole day, and a whole night, and another day - until his voice wouldn't raise above a whisper, and even then he kept straining it, calling for the witch, insisting that he only wanted to talk. Finally, the answer came, and this time she appeared before him calmly, stepping out of the woods in a person-like manner, with no thorns and no magic, only her arms crossed over her chest, pragmatic and moderately bored.

"Don't curse me again," he told her pointlessly, "I've come to return your share." With that, he handed her a purse with half the pay for the contract.

"Why would I curse you?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged.

"What's this?" she weighed the purse in her hand.

"Copper. I got the quartermaster to help me count it. It's all fair."

She sat on the grass with her legs crossed, pulled out a coin, put it in her mouth and started chewing. He sat opposite of her and watched with anticipation. She chewed slowly, deliberately, for a very long time before she finally declared: "I can't eat this."

He smiled but, for the fear of being turned into a frog, said nothing.

"Why did you come?" she asked.

"To make peace," he replied truthfully. "You are powerful, and I have no fight with you. I did not harm your deer. They will though. Come fall, the hunters will."

She fished another coin out of the purse and tried to bite on it. "They may come, in due time. Such is their nature. The deer will be strong by then. Hard to catch."

He couldn't help a relieved sigh, and stood up to leave.

"Will you come again?" she asked in the same mildly interested tone.

And, well, that you don't refuse a mage and get away with it is one thing, but then The Boulder has always been a curious man in nature. "Will I have to shout again?" he asked in return, in the way of confirmation.

"Just come here," she said, a little irritated. "Bring something we can eat."

And so he did. This is the story of how they met. How they became friends is a different, longer story - or many stories packed in one - and I don't write them here because this is already very long.

#thank you for asking!!!!!! I kiss you (if permitted)#raynswers #ray's oc #the boulder #dk #its 4am so forgive me if the writing isnt very good

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verystressedcollegestudent · 1 month

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sitting here in various stages of rage after reading my peer review from ied lol

so we had a report due the wednesday after spring break and NONE of these fuckers did anything until the monday we got back and i asked for help twice, once someone was willing to help but i had to give them a goddamn PLAY-BY-FUCKIN-PLAY on what was needed in the section (they didn't even think they needed sources for fucks sake) and the other time i asked someone to add sources for the section THEY WROTE as we're finishing the report an HOUR BEFORE THE FUCKIN THING IS DUE and they were too busy studying for another exam to do anything

like do...do they expect me to hold their hand through following a damn rubric? the project is explicitly divided into sections so we had decided everyone would take two sections and some people just didn't like what the fuck do you mean i need to "ask for help" this is a group fuckin project and the only reason i did more (other than picking bigger sections) was because you fuckers couldn't hold up your end of the bargain

like i had to bullshit entire paragraphs 30 GODDAMN MINUTES BEFORE THE FUCKIN THING WAS DUE because for one section, i kid you not, the idiot put in two tables with a single sentence before them saying "x is a table with y" how the fuck am i supposed to trust you idiots to do ANYTHING when the things you do contribute are half-assed, short and leave out half the damn rubric

and ofc we didn't even have a finished report by 8pm the night it was due which would have been not ideal but okay if everyone in the group was working on it but NO. fuckin no. it was just me and one person (the two who already wrote over half the damn thing) desperately trying to finish it and make their portions halfway presentable all while getting "i can't do this because i have an exam to study for can someone else do it" texts as well as reminders from them to "submit it because we have x minute left." and then i ask how their exam went and they say that it was HORRIBLE because they were up till 1 AM studying like bitch? i pulled a fuckin all nighter trying to flesh out your mediocre tiny paragraphs and here you are complaining to me that you had to stay up a little late to study while blowing alex and i off completely? EXCUSE ME?

so it just genuinely boggles me that they pull all this shit, contribute half assed mini paragraphs and then have the gall to ask why i don't trust them to help more or why i don't ask them to help more like why should i trust you to help when i have to explain that you need to CITE where you got your price range???? like either i do it myself or i have to sit there for twenty minutes talking you through what's on the rubric and what needs to be cited like you're a fucking middle schooler

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captainrazzzledazzle · 1 month

Text

@mr-kench

Wow you uh… you ok there ? Not sure what you were trying to do here but I’ll give you points for creativity, and hey at least you portrayed the conversation accurately, I asked questions and you kept telling me you gave me proof when all you did was continue to make vague claims..

I did say I was done but now I’m perplexed, you genuinely don’t seem to understand why I have no reason to believe what you say because you haven’t provided anything concrete, like you just don’t understand the concept of evidence. I’ll try to explainone last time myself as best as I can and why your arguments don't stand as is.

You said that in the leaks an unnamed consultant company was mentioned, however by your own accord the leaks are nowhere to be found now, so you can’t even see them yourself. You didn’t quote anything from the leaks or told me where to find archives or screenshots and you didn’t offer any precision on what exactly was said about the consultant company. You just implied that it was named as a reason why Spiderman 2 had to make rewrites in the leaks. That is not proof, your source here is literally just “trust me bro” tell me why I should take what you said at face value here ?

You said you “noticed patterns” and that you had a list of games that were negatively affected by SBI implying that SBI was the cause for games having to scrap content and make rewrites, yet you only listed spiderman 2 (you can’t make a list with only one thing ?!) and even then as I said above, there is no real evidence that spiderman 2’s cut content was because of SBI, and even how exactly it affected the game. So far you had only provided speculations. If you were to make a constructed argument here, you’d give me some of the names of games in that list and links to articles saying they had to make rewrites or to cut content. GIVE ME THAT DAMN LIST DINGUS >:(

Also most games have to cut content or make rewrites for a plethora of reasons, Elden Ring had to cut huge chunks of content for example because it was too ambitious, Overwatch 2 cut the whole PVE campaign and only released what are really just half-assed archive missions. Half-life 2 had to scrap 2 years of work because it wasn’t up to par with the rest of the game and SBI didn’t have anything to do with any of these games. The quality of the games I cited above vary a lot despite making cuts. Cut contents and rewrites aren't an indicator of quality just of setbacks in the developpment.

When I asked what you meant by corrupt, you said that the people working at SBI’s main goal was social justice, how is that being corrupt ? You then said that “they also make it clear in that same space the ultimate goal is to control how people think”, again, how do they make it clear, do you have any quote or link ?

Your main "proof" of SBI being bad and biggoted was you vaguely gesturing at twitter and telling me to go look at SBI’s employees posts, if you truly had something you could’ve given me ANYTHING, a twitter handle, a screenshot, an article. I am not going to scour twitter looking for proof for your argument. And from what I did see there was only one employee who asked people to report a steam group because they were getting harassed in mass because of said group.

You seem convinced that Miles being the "ambassador of his culture" as you put it is the fault of SBI, and not the original decision of the studio. Changing characters, and any big creative decisions are not what SBI do when they work with studios, they don't go around telling devs to completely change their characters. That wouldn't be feasible anyway because the edevs would have to redo pretty much everything if the main character was fundamentally changed. Go look at the links at the bottom of this post to find articles talking about what SBI really do.

Tl;dr : At any point in the conversation instead of getting increasingly angrier you could have just shut me up with solid proof If you had any. You weren’t even able to point to one of those videos peddling misinformation and ragebaiting. You gave no screenshot, no article, no link, no name or twitter handle, not even a quote. Nothing concrete, simply nothing at all. When you make wild claims like you did, the burden falls on YOU to substantiate it with evidence and proof. Claims alone aren’t arguments and they aren’t proof. People don’t live in your head; you need to actually build up an argument to convince others. I can't just take you at your words when you make insane claims.

But I know why you provided nothing. You didn’t notice patterns. You didn’t make lists. You didn’t do any research. All these ideas in your head aren’t yours, you watched a video, or read an inflammatory post that told you what to think, and what to be mad about. And you didn’t need convincing, you were already mad and wanted a target so you just went along with it because it was so easy to swallow. Do you even know why your claims are so vague ? It’s because the guy you got them from who made the steam group “SBI detected”, also had opinions based solely on vague feelings. He never even fucking played the games he claims are “different” and that "show a pattern" ! And here, some real fucking juicy PROOF (start at 2:19, he states he didn't play the game at 2:28).

Is there tokenization in media and video games ? Yes of course, and it sucks ! Is Sweet Baby Inc. the big bad that is surgically taking out all the fun from your favorite games ? Absolutely the fuck not ! There is no easy answer, no single target to remove that will magically solve everything. So launching a whole harassment campaign against them won’t make your games better, you’re just punishing people for nothing. Executives that want minorities’ money and who don’t care about art or storytelling are the ones making horrible decisions that make games worse as a result.

If after all of this you still don't want to buy games that SBI worked on at some point, great that's your choice, as long as you're not spreading lies and participating in harassment.

Here are three articles that provide proof of research on the subject and infos on what Sweet Baby Inc. actually does, and one explaining that the cut content and the rewrites in Spiderman 2 was because of Sony.

Kotaku Game Developer Wired Tech 4 Gamers

Bisous je m’envole.

#SBI #sweet baby inc #I’m done for real this time go read the articles #seriously do you listen to yourself ?#I care a lot about games and i’m angry too because games are exploitative and have predatory monetization #and more and more AAA games suck ass but SBI isn’t the culprit #and nobody should get harassed #like I shouldn’t have to say this also harassment isn’t how to instill change #where’s all your fucking outrage and organised groups when the people that make the games YOU love get treated like used tissues and layed #also namecalling won’t make me believe you more #a true <_> moment #So grow the fuck up turn on your brain for once and stop huffing other people’s farts.

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dearsomeonesomething · 1 year

Text

Dear {former friend},

I’d be lying to say that I didn’t create this blog just to write to you, although there are also many other people that I wish to speak to.

‘Former friend’. How icy and bitter it tastes on the tongue, though these two words are nothing but the truth. Forgive me for using these emotionless words to address you though our fallout was probably laden with negative emotions, for you were the one who posted about me addressing me as such first.

You’ve always struck me as a very stubborn person who held what she believes closely to her heart and protects those she loves fiercely. I used to admire and adore those qualities. I guess they’re still good qualities, but once someone is on your bad side and has fallen off your carefully crafted and fragile moral pedestal, you completely turn your back against them and turn into a different person.

I wonder why it is called “slander” when I talk about you, or other people for that matter, on social media; but you can pour your heart out about me, 5 pages long, in your 2022 review. For your record, not everything you said was the truth as well, but I’ve decided to let that go, as I might have uttered some half-truths too in my anger. We all remember things in the version we’re the most comfortable with, after all.

But with your reputation of accusing me of slander, I’ll have to clarify before I go any further:-

Anything I say in this letter/blog post is based on how I remember things played out and the evidences I have, and might be biased in some ways and not fully reflect a neutral truth.

It has hurt me greatly that you’ve even gotten the timeline itself wrong, citing that you started ignoring me in the beginning of 2022. I’ll never forget that night, New Year’s Eve of 2021, lying in the emergency room after a suicidal episode and seeing you talk about cutting me off in your 2021 review (you were not naming names, but I confirmed it was about me with a mutual friend who told me that you would send me a letter explaining why you were unfriending me). The beginning of 2022 was the loneliest period of my life, but I came out of it stronger and a lot more self-reliant, and I guess you’re one of the people I have to thank for it.

The only thing I remember telling you after receiving your letter was

- Me explaining why the trigger was so traumatising to me and why I needed to talk about it on social media.

- Warning you against the other person.

- Telling you that I have felt disconnected to the friend group to begin with before they decided to abandon me.

But you went on your blog and told everyone that I “said mean things” and that you “took everything like a punching bag” because you knew you were in the wrong first.

There is no right or wrong in the matter of friendship. When a friendship reaches its expiry date, the least we could do is let it go gently- without malice. To me, your act of sending a letter to unfriend me is not a gentle one. I have ended a great number of friendships myself, characterised with increasingly delayed replies, meetings that are further and further off in between… it could be a “let it go slowly” thing. It doesn’t have to be abrupt. It doesn’t have to be drama. And I think that you’re a drama queen. But to each their own, we all have our own way of handling stuff. I’m not blaming you for anything. Just letting you know though- if you just stopped replying me forever, I would have wondered, but I would have then gotten on with life. It would have hurt less than the letter.

You ended the part of your blog about me saying that all your friends agreed that you were an ass. Well, I wouldn’t consider you an ass. Just a morally self-righteous person who would turn malicious once someone is no longer able to coddle your wounded inner child like a baby and tick off every checkbox in your morale list. Which is fine when it’s a sunny day. I guess we ventured into stormy territory, and I wouldn’t blame you or myself for that.

My partner read your blog. He said that you sounded empathetic. He might have even believed you when you said that I said mean things if I didn’t show him the chat history itself. You’re such a good storyteller, and I’m not a bad one myself, so here I am, telling my version of the story, risking the accusation of slander because like you, I need closure too.

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642stories · 1 year

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Story #31, X-files Winter Ficlets 2/28

"Choosing a present."

Read it on AO3

At first, it doesn’t seem like a big deal. Definitely not a thing to fuss about. For five years they’ve been working together, he’s never given her a Christmas present. Half the time he doesn’t even remember her birthday, until a few days later he notices a bunch of cards carefully tucked away behind her medicine magazines. There are dozens of them, signed with simple “Love!”, or funky and even a tad voguish “Stay young and fabulous!”, or more practical and somewhat romantic “Next time I’ll be there for you.”

Five years feels like a milestone. Nobody’s ever stuck to his side for so long before. Neither at work nor in a relationship. Five years feels like something he’d like to mark to show her how much he appreciates her presence in his life. How much of an essential component she has become. She flies around with him at the drop of a dime to investigate the most gruesome of cases, lends him a hand even when he ditches her, and always stands by his side when AD Skinner chews his ass. He wants to tell her that he’ll always be at her side.

He wants to spend all his time with her. He wonders if she wants to spend all her time with him too. They have meals together almost daily, and he can’t help thinking about what it’d be like to date her. Not just to take her to the nearest diner across the street but ask her out for real. Is she a ‘show-with-the-roses-at-my-porch’ type of girl? Will she let him have a forkful of her Lady Godiva chocolate dessert? Will she let him kiss away the smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth? Will she giggle at his jokes? He only heard her giggling once or twice, and he already misses that clear sing-song sound of her voice. Like the crystalline chimes at the door of a gift shop. Mulder doesn’t really dare to go any further with this fantasy, realizing that it’s pointless unless he’s ready to suffer a potential loss of her friendship and loyalty over the elusive perspective of being her Mister Big. He’s not that brave when it comes to Scully. His affection for her is all-consuming and eats away at him, but he better remains her friend and partner for good rather than pursue his feelings and lose her completely. She’ll always be his Scully.

There’s only so much he can give her not to overstep the boundaries they established for one another. The line he drew between the two of them at the very beginning of their partnership is unbearably thin five years later, but it’s there nonetheless. So, when he spots what looks like the first edition of “The Little Women” in a vintage bookstore, he immediately knows she’ll love it. He saw it once on the nightstand in her hotel room and even tried to mock her about it. She admitted that it was one of her favorite books ever, and she tended to reread it every once in a while.

He grabs the book and takes it to the checkout, pays in cash, and places it carefully in the inner pocket of his parka, protecting it from wet snow. At home, he opens the first page and writes carefully, citing one of the lines from the book “Some people seemed to get all sunshine, and some all shadow...” You got all sunshine in the world, Scully. Keep shining, and I’ll clear the sky. M.’

Soundtrack "Epic Emotional" by Ashamaluev Music

#creative writing #x files fanfic #fanfiction #x files #christmas #love is in the air #writing for the sake of writing #englishisnotmyfirstlanguage #winter ficlets

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the-firebird69 · 1 year

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They're a massive forces building up against the wall I mean this time they're huge and you're going to need more than a Giants so we're pulling them back a little. They were prepping to attack. You're prepping all of the missiles we're firing now we have stuff up too they're trying to fire about 3/4 of them got up no half nope one quarter now it's about 1/8 the rest are destroyed they were targeted we're taking out the 8th it's all gone they're saying and they're firing from ships. You're pretty large beams a couple of glancing blows and a few Galactus about 20,000 none of them are seriously damaged they're firing back and taking out the ships 20 million chips are down of s and it's Tommy F and Tommy Allen and Mac Daddy has some. A huge number of ships launched from the south gigantic. My son is reminding people that the empire was really the only ones in the position to possibly cite to relocation process if they did it all.

There's a giant hubbub in the crowd. Some shift attention and demand responses the answer is no they're fighting each other.

Corners are fighting too they were just told off by Cork. Huge huge fights are breaking out between warlock and Tommy F and foreigners huge fights okay. They're trying to take territory the phone is repelling them and Tommy f is repelling them the Mohawk are dying they're getting their asses handed to them this is a decisive battle all this is a turning point with a molar checking out he's a real numbers millions of octillions of them are dying.

It's almost to the point where I can't stand it anymore no I have to get rid of them I need more people here and punta Gorda now I don't want to put up with strange looks from everybody and insults and all sorts of things and his tortured to hell I need them in now and going in and need volunteers for this duty I need you people to stand up of hours to get in there to stand up for our leader right now report in I'll tell you when we have enough and it really is not

There's a huge contingent of cork that's heading towards punta Gorda Charlotte and Florida Max are up and they're attacking them and everybody's ganging up on them and they're doing it now I mean right now.

Cork is bringing a huge force and against everybody and they're massing all over and they're getting hit giant numbers are massing out in the deserts huge numbers and awards erupting out there his gigantic millions of octillions all over the world in each spot are popping up out of nowhere it's cloning yes but they live in there and really their mootches and it's going to be over this stupid freaking yapping. Tons of them are dead tons it's a huge day and a huge night everybody's fighting these idiots and they're getting killed all over the world in every city on earth and they're raising theirs completely

More in moments

Thor Freya

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screamsinsilver · 2 years

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a summary of nortrell/mandinha over the first two months of 2022

(a followup from this)

they go to dubai and spend a month there, with friends (oliver, connor, tom, jakob, savannah, jennie, andrea, etc.)

they celebrate new years together (i am not linking everyone's celebration tiktoks)

lando goes public with luisa, max is one of the first to like the post

they do a lot of golfing in dubai, at various courses, with various combinations of people

max, lando, tom, jakob, etc. go karting at the dubai autodrome with the ln karts. luisa spends the day shopping with sav and jennie

max does his first stream of the year. it's golf, and it's luisa's twitch 'debut'. lando's pissed because there are weirdos in chat and the game isn't going his way. the two of them bicker over clothes

lando posts an instagram story, known to the community as the breakfast for three incident (fun fact! i had literally just woken up, logged into tumblr and experienced my dash in shambles that day it was 'fun')

the incident confirms that the three of them shared a hotel suite in dubai

tom confirms on stream that lando, max and luisa were the only ones from the group to stay in dubai

max does his second stream, another golf one, but this time with lando and aiden (the kid he coached in f4). lando is pissed because the game isn't going his way. (the stream is also conveniently timed so that younger fans (derogatory) miss it because they are in school)

(ok, i didn't document most of dubai) other activites participated in over the trip included padel, minigolf, dune buggying, beach days, jetskiing, ukno, typical dubai holiday activities, and also the dubai 24 hours

they all leave dubai to return to their respective countries

a few days into living in monaco, lando's in the uk for mclaren work

they play some golf

max sets up his pc in his room, and the two of them spend time playing halo (lando from the mtc)

max confirms a stream via social media for the next day.

max also hops on lando's flight that evening to monaco, with the intent to stream from lando's pc

he streams from monaco, but it's from a laptop instead - lando decided he wanted to play halo 5 minutes before max was supposed to go live. he streams from a laptop and his setup is... bad (i am a gamer/computer... person and i hated it), when the technical issues subside, he talks ideas for lando's gaming room with ria, scrolls the qdrnt subreddit and tells lando off for not playing halo (and also occasionaly talking to luisa too)

the three of them go golfing in monaco

lando skips the autosport awards to stay in monaco drinking caprisun with max and luisa

they fly back to the uk together so lando and luisa can attend the brits

lando goes on this morning again, and he's officialy adopted by phil and holly

max streams quite a bit over the week, watching car launches, playing five nights at freddy's and geoguessr, and scrolling twitter and reddit

him and lando go for more golfing before lando leaves for monaco again

lando and luisa spend valentines physically together, max and lando spend valentines virtually together (they have a halo multiplayer date)

(lando's back in the uk the next day anyway)

qdrnt do filming for elgato featuring simulators (or at least lando, aarav, steve and ria do, max is just there)

[actual quote] max: i'm here just for emotional support everyone

max streams when him are en route for a merch photoshoot in leeds. it's him and lando squished together in the back seat of a seven seater

[actual quote] lando: are you going to fist me?

the photoshoot is them standing on a plane..?

the next day max is back on his stream grind, playing fnaf and halo, dicussing furniture for his new setup (crafting an incredibly elaborate plan to get a very specific chair which is made in partnership with logitech so theoretically would be easy access to lando, etc. etc.), and also introducing his grandma to chat

[actual quote] theo: oh pity innit, you went to see your boyfriend lando the next day anyway

lando also streams: he does one playing roblox (i know, right) and another on halo with max

they both stream again the next day, max watching planes and lando playing halo with ria

lando leaves for mclaren's test day in barcelona starting him and max's longest stint apart yet not entirely sure when exactly, but luisa leaves for a shoot in barbados

max streams twitter and tarkov. during the twitter part, he's looking at sunglasses, prompting connor/tom/jakob/lando to comment about a 'misses'

max goes to monaco to set up the gaming room with ria and aarav. he's staying in a hotel but would have otherwise stayed in the apartment

he also has... an exchange with the team l4ndo and qdrnt admins. aarav refers to him as lando's housekeeper

he goes back to the uk for a day before jetting off to barcelona to catch the final day of testing

they both fly to portugal after testing finishes

they spend time with luisa and her friends, and the three of them watch bohemian rhapsody together.

lando and max return to the uk together, max being 20 minutes late for a qdrnt squad stream with aarav and niran. lando's on his bed watching tiktoks instagram reels before disappearing downstairs to stream his hair getting cut. they both yell at each other up and down the stairs. max's mum also appears to change max's bedsheets, but max pulls the streaming card

max is also learning portugese ffrom luisa. the one word he and lando both know definitely is the one for 'kisses'

#i have seriously underestimated this post wow #yeah this is long. again #complete with some half-assed citing!#nortrell timeline #lando norris #max fewtrell #nortrell #luisa oliveira #qdrnt #silver's fast car waffle

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years

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Omg I love all your drabbles they are so amazing and brilliant I can’t believe you do that for free! What a blessing you are!! I was wondering whether there would be a part four to the vacation au and if not could you do maybe more jealous Cassian but in your lawyer au I’m obsessed but honestly anything you write has me happy!

This is so sweet I am so glad you’re loving the drabbles! I did a second part to the vacation AU a couple days ago so I’m going to go with Jealous Cassian in the lawyer AU. I already *kind* of did this but I’ve been doing jealousy light lately and this time we are cranking it up to 100. This one is kinda long and pretty angsty and I think I definitely need to smoosh all these lawyer drabbles into a mini story that follows Nessian from meeting while studying for the bar exam and then through snippets of their careers so maybe that’s what I’ll do next.

Actually facing Nesta in court was an extreme rarity. All of her non pro Bono work was strictly solicitor. Drafting contracts and negotiating deals in different chic board rooms with little glass bottles of Perrier and complimentary latte carts trolling the halls.

Nesta thought that she didn’t want to litigate. She thought that people didn’t like her and because of that she was a bad advocate. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Watching Nesta fight for something that she believed in, truly believed in, was the closest thing to a religious experience Cassian had ever known.

“And I would urge you to consider in your decision, your honour, the fact that even if it should apply in this case, the very law my learned friend is attempting to uphold is currently under review by the Supreme Court and may soon be overturned on the basis of being unconstitutional as well as unconscionable.” Nesta took a pregnant pause.

“If that happens. If this law is overturned, as you well know, it will not be retroactively helpful to my client. My client who was born here. My client who grew up in Queens. My client who can draw you a map of which bodegas has the best coffee vs the best sandwiches and their proximity to the nearest train, and if that doesn’t qualify her as an American, and a New Yorker, then I don’t know what does.” The judge smiled a little at that. It was a calculated risk, the emotional appeal. But Judge Miluski was already on Nesta’s side and she was a born and bread New Yorker and she had the rare distinction of being a member of the judiciary with a sense of humour. “If this law is overturned, which we both know is highly likely, then my client will be sent to another country, a country she has never even been to, not because she did anything wrong, but because this trial happened a few weeks too-”

Nesta trailed off, eyes caught at the quietly opening gallery door. A man stepped in. Tall and thin and… greasy. Hair slicked back with so much product Cassian didn’t think he’d feel it if he hit him on the head with a hammer. Which he desperately wanted to do. That brutish, violent, raised in foster homes in Harlem side of him that even a legal education and a closet full of Armani suits could never quite polish out of him lit on fire at the sight of this creep. This asshole who was wearing fucking asics with his $4000 suit. And no tie. Top three buttons of a pinstripe white shirt unbuttoned. What a fucking rube.

Except that this guy. THIS fucking guy, made Nesta lose her train of thought. This guy who walked into court late and had yet to drag his eyes up from Nesta’s ass, had distracted her. Caused her to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and smile a little. This shy, light, cutesy little smile that absolutely did not belong on Nesta Archeron’s face.

When Nesta smiled it was a sly, knowing, victorious thing that curled across her lips and set Cassian’s heart hammering in his chest.

This… this was insanity.

The man smirked, deep and arrogant, as he stood at the back of the courtroom, hands slid into his pockets. Not even respectful enough of the proceedings to sit down.

Nesta gathered herself quickly. The whole mess over in under 20 seconds, but Cassian noticed it. Even as Nesta went on and cited the law and the competing jurisprudence and the ethics and the constitution, he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was that little smile.

Cassian said his final piece, the judge ruled, as they both knew she would, in Nesta’s favor, and it was all over.

Nesta didn’t even gloat like she usually would have. She just stuck her hand out, the absolute picture of professionalism, and shook his.

“Good working with you, Counseler.” She said, as if he hadn’t pulled her around the side of a building and pushed her body up against a brick wall the other day, moulding her into him as they fought over this case. Discussed their future. Their passions.

She’d rejected his invitation to dinner, but she always did. It was a part of the game. A game that Cassian was determined to win.

“Who’s the tech bro?” The sneakers with the suit and the unbuttoned shirt and the general shitty attitude all pointed to that being the only reasonable profession.

“Babe,” the slimy man in question pushed past the swinging waist high half door that separated the gallery and the space where counsel’s desks sat. “Let’s go.” He wrapped and arm too tightly around Nesta’s waist and pulled on her a little.

Cassian curled his fists into his palms so hard his nails bit imprints into the skin of his palms. Babe? Telling her when to leave? The pulling? No.

“I’m Cassian.” He held out his hand. “ADA. What firm do you work for? Haven’t seen you around.”

“Tomas.” The man scoffed, “And I’m not a lawyer. Not interested in all that gibberish you’re type is always spewing. Sounds like pure nonsense to me. I’m a tech investor.”

Yeah. That sounded about right. No actual skills. Not an engineer or developer or even a business manager. Just an idiot with a trust fund throwing money at whatever looked cool.

“Well, Tomas. Do you know why they call that big exam full of all that gibberish you hate the bar exam?” The weasel just raised his eyebrows. “It’s because once you pass it, then you are an attorney. And allowed to cross past this BAR.” Cassian pushed Tomas back out the little half door again. “Which separates the civilians in the gallery from the lawyers making their cases. So maybe learn how to show a little respect.” Cassian scoffed, flicking his eyes to Nesta, “In a few different areas of your life.”

“What the fuck, bro?” Tomas rolled his eyes. “This is why I fucking hate going to your lawyer parties and shit. Jackasses like this.”

“Tomas, please.” Nesta placed a hand on his chest, Cassian tensed, and that seemed to calm Tomas down. Not Nesta’s touch, but another man’s jealousy.

“Why don’t you bring the car around. I have to work out a court date for another matter with Cassian but I’ll be right out.”

“Yeah, ok.” Tomas glared, keeping eye contact with Cassian as he kissed Nesta’s cheek, hand travelling too far down her back. “Hurry though.”

“Of course.” Nesta smiled that same tiny little smile that made her look like a doll on a shelf and Cassian wanted to scream.

“What the fuck are you doing with a piece of shit like that?” Cassian minced no words as he turned to face Nesta.

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty straight forward question, Nes.”

“You… you don’t know him. He’s not like that once you get to know him.”

“Sure he’s not,” Cassian scoffed.

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is that your boyfriend, who I’ve never heard of or seen before today despite knowing you for years, had a chance to see you in court. Had a chance to watch you all fired up and passionate and brilliant and instead he walked in late, stared at your ass instead of listening to what you were saying, and then shoved his way up here and pulled at you to leave like you were some kind of toy he didn’t mind tearing the arm off of.”

Nesta blinked. Huffed out a breath. “We’ve been on again off again for a while. That’s why you haven’t seen him before. And he just doesn’t like lawyer stuff that’s why he’s like that in here ok? Not that it’s any of your business.”

“So you’re dating someone who not only doesn’t recognize how brilliant you are but won’t even let you talk about your job?” That was wrong. That was so wrong. That was… why Nesta was so intense with him. Why she debated and fought and talked for hours. Because she couldnt do it at home.

“Why do you even care, Cassian? Let’s just set a date and-”

“Fuck you, Nesta.” Her jaw fell open. “Fuck you for even asking me that. You know why I care. You can’t play dumb with me like I assume you do with him.”

“You don’t know anything about my relationship!” Nesta defended a little too vehemently.

“I know you can’t yell at him about his take on immigration laws,” Cassian stepped closer to her. “I know you can’t get a little tipsy off your favorite Malbec and go on a rambling tirade about the corrupt judiciary and your twenty three- or twenty five depending on the night- reasons why voting for judges completely undermines the integrity of the legal system.”

The was almost no space between them as Cassian looked down, gently set his hand under Nesta’s chin and raised her gaze to meet his. Burning with anger and passion and barely concealed desire. “I know that he didn’t understand why you were crying when RBG died. Because he doesn’t care about how appointing Supreme Court judges works or what that meant for the future of the court. And because I know that you weren’t with him that night. You were with me. Just like election night in 2016. And the Kavanaugh trials. And when the travel ban came into effect. You found me. Because I get it, and I care about your thoughts on all of those things. I’m devastated by them too. You were with me, Nes. And don’t you dare pretend that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does,” Nesta let her cheek sink into his palm. “It means everything Cassian, but…”

“But we fight,” he smiled. “We bicker and yell and cross ideologies and disagree on all the little things. But not the big things, Nes. Never on the big things. We disagree on how to change the world, not what we want to change in it. Isn’t that what matters?”

Nesta swallowed. “I can’t risk losing you.” She said quietly. “I need you. For all of those reasons, I need you to be in my life and if we… I hurt the people I love, Cassian. So if I let myself love you, I would only hurt you. And I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”

“So you date him.” Realization was an arrow sailing into Cassian’s chest. “Because you won’t hurt him. Because you could never actually love him.”

Nesta swallowed. “See? See how awful I am?”

Cassian moved his hand to her back, pulled her into his chest. “Go,” he whispered. “Go do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here. And I’ll be waiting for you to realize that I’m not going anywhere. That I can take it. Whatever you want to throw at me, I can take it, Nes.”

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #nesta and cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar

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ktheist · 3 years

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finale — show me yours & i’ll show you mine

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 2.1k

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis.

“show me yours and i’ll show you mine.”

“be nice," taehyung mouths across from you as he sits next to mina.

the red handprints on his cheeks becoming more apparent with each passing minute. it was half-believable to say taehyung fell face first in the snow, got stuck there for more than two minutes and voila, sported a red face upon your return to the kim’s.

but now, you’re just lucky no one’s pointing out the very obvious palm shaped mark on his pudgy cheeks as he stuffs his face with food.

“oh, mina, do you have any plans tomorrow? you could stay over and spend christmas morning with us," mrs kim asks as she passes the bowl of the roasted potatoes seokjin’s been boasting about.

“o-oh,” the brunette stammers, holding the fork with both hands as if citing a prayer of hope, “no, i couldn’t intrude on you any longer.”

“no such thing, we’re all family here.” mrs kim waves a dismissive hand and even that brief gesture feels warm, “___’s mother and i have known your mother since we were kids and i watch you two grow up with my boys - you’re basically daughters i never had,” she shoots you a smile, eyes crinkling in the corners.

not seeing the remark coming, you end up almost choking on the mushroom soup you’re just in the middle of enjoying.

“i can’t say i’d love to have tae as a sibling but here we are,” you jest, half-heartedly while laughter erupts from everyone at the table.

if there’s a god, please don’t let mrs kim find out i fucked her oldest son.

“i heard yuukal co is interested in your flower arrangements and wanna buy exclusive rights to have you deliver them to the company whenever they have an event lined up?” namjoon chirps up, dimples digging into his cheek as he digs into his

“the secretary of yuukal co was an acquaintance of mine in college, that’s probably why.” the brunette says shyly, pushing her hair to the back of her ear.

“so, you’re not planning on going back to college?”

but it’s your voice that makes her blink once and stare at you like you’re some tricky math question.

“what- oh,” she shakes her head, as if shaking away the trance that delayed her response, “i don’t know, my major has nothing to do with what i want to do so i’m thinking of taking another year off.”

you nod casually. understandingly. “i’m sure the college has plenty of spots for people who actually wants to be there, i guess.”

it’s not a new low. but it’s a kind of low you never usually stoop to.

no one seems to notice though, as mina laughs. obviously uncomfortable by your remark, “haha yeah.”

“taehyung got offered a job at the company he interned in last year,” with a smack on the aforementioned boy’s back, seokjin proudly announces.

and just like that, taehyung takes the spotlight to himself.

“oh my god, that’s wonderful news. kim taehyung, when were you going to tell us?” mrs. kim is the first to say something, eyes brimming with anticipation as she looks at him, waiting for him to tell everyone at the table more about it.

but the fact of the matter is, kim taehyung is torn between working a nine-to-five, subsequently making his parents proud or going professional as a full time gamer.

he breathes out an ‘uh...’ before his lips curl into a forced smile.

“surprise?”

some time after dinner, you end up drinking and playing card games. mrs kim already went to bed and it's a hour past midnight and all four of your find yourselves in your house to not disturb the kim couples.

the grinch is playing in the background because you, taehyung and mina won against namjoon and seokjin who wanted to watch frozen.

“frozen is so unchristmasy,” taehyung complained.

though, at one point, you did backtrack a little - only a teensy bit - and sided with seokjin who looked like he just won a lottery when you casually say, “i mean frozen’s got that wintry feeling and christmas is in-”

“oh girl, not you choosing a man over your best friend,” taehyung started tickling your sides as giggles erupted from your lips while trying to beg for forgiveness.

“okay! okay! i’m grinch team all the way!”

“is that allowed? yah! you can’t say that after converting to team frozen!” seokjin’s rebuttal sounded every bit casual.

in retrospect, him joining taehyung’s ticklish assault would have felt out of character had you not fucked behind taehyung’s back nor kissed like you were star crossed lovers just hours ago.

“two against one! not fair! seokjin- ah- hahahaha!”

one good thing came out of it though: you ended up sitting next to seokjin. it made you a little too conscious of him - of his cologne, of his thigh that brushes against yours with every movement you make and pretend like it’s nothing and of the ghost of a touch of his pinky finger that lingers on your knee when he seemingly places a hand on his own knee.

still, it’s the closest you could ever be in public and it’s enough to tell mina to back off.

she doesn’t seem to notice but her compliments are equally distributed to everyone in the room. she seems to be the giggly drunk. giggling at every single thing everyone say.

somewhere deep in your heart, you feel the guilt gnawing because of your uncalled for hostility.

“i better get home,” she starts to stand at 3:07 am and you wave a dismissive hand, “no, it’s so late. stay over. please. you promised to make me your special hot chocolate in the morning.”

she objects at first like she turned down mrs kim’s invitation to spend christmas morning at the kim’s. and that’s how you know your views have been blinded with jealousy to see mina for who she is - a cute, lovable girl who’d be the heroine of every romance novel there is.

“oh thank you, thank you!” her arms flail around before they wrap around you in a drunken hug.

you laugh, hugging back.

the memories of how you huddled together like children and fell asleep in the living room, is hazy but when you wake up - the time on your screen displaying a 6 something am - you find a blanket draped over your body.

the light from the kitchen pours over the living room but not enough to wake the slumbering bodies there.

seokjin shoots you a smile when he sees you ambling over to the dining table with hair pointing in every direction, eyes squinting trying to block out the light while holding the blanket around your shoulders.

“you’re working? jinnie, it’s christmas,” you whine, head resting on his shoulder, feeling your heartbeat skip at the small contact.

he chuckles, bumping his cheek against your head before you hear the sound the keyboard again.

you stay like that, blanket curled around your body, seokjin typing away at his laptop.

that is, until his velvet voice cuts through the silence.

“so... i reckon that red handprint on tae’s cheek isn’t because he fell face first in snow.”

“it was because i slapped him in the face,” you wave your injured hand that’s now wrapped with a panda printed band aid instead of the duck ones seokjin used in the beginning.

he takes your hand, making sure not to apply too much pressure on the injury and kisses the top of your hand, “why would you do that?”

your cheeks warm at the gesture but you clear your throat, trying to play it cool, “because he told me we looked good together after all that shit he put us through.”

silence lulls in once again.

it feels like the longest you’ve ever gone with your heart palpitating inside your chest and unspoken words hovering over you but not quite reaching the who they’re supposed to reach.

“do we?” seokjin muses.

“do we... what?” you ask despite having an inkling of what he means.

“look good.” he turns to you, one arm on the table, thumb brushing against your pinky finger.

“i don’t know- we never even took selfies together.” you shrug.

“i think our selfies would look cute,” he pauses, naturally pouty lips curling into a smile, “so cute that the guys in your dm’s would be devastated to know that you’re dating me.”

“i can’t... do this,” the words slip out of your mouth like a waterfall like it’s bound to pour out of your heart through your mouth at some point, “because taehyung was... right. i don’t have a love language - even if i did, it’d be being jealous of every girl that talks to you. lashing out at those girls even though it’s completely understandable why they’d have heart eyes when they talk to you because you’re just that amazing... and... and... you like me? why?”

seokjin’s eyes look like someone personally plucked stars from the sky and trap them in those dark brown irises.

no- actually, he’s looking at you like you’re the star and he’s the moon that shines silver white rays just to have you notice him.

“who’s to say i don’t get jealous?” he cups your face, brows furrowing like you’re a math question without a solution and he’s going mad trying to figure you out, “i get so jealous at the thought of guys sliding into your dm’s, let alone make a pass on you but then i thought ‘if she’s not looking at me then i just have to try harder to make her notice me’ and i might or might not’ve reciprocated mina’s passes to make you jealous...”

you feel the corners of your lips tugging into a smile as you smack his chest lightly, “ass.”

that earns a chuckle from the man before he goes on, “but i’m not even sure what my love language is either, last i used it, i ended up getting dumped because apparently i’m too boring.”

“you’re not boring...” red flashes in your vision as you spit out the word, offended, “your dad jokes are bad but that’s what makes them so lovable. you’re so tall but you’re a literal walking teddy bear. you have biggest, kindest heart... and you’re so hung.”

something devious and prideful flashes across his eyes for the briefest moment before he asks ever so softly, “yeah?”

“yes.” you take his hands and grip them tightly, wishing the touch would convey your feelings.

“isn’t that kind of your love language?” his thumb feels callous against your skin as he rubs circles on the back of your hand. but that’s what makes this feels real - an affirmation that you’re not dreaming, “so... show me more... show yours and i’ll show you mine.”

you’d want to say you share a deep, passionate kiss to seal your promise for each other. but when you open your eyes - not knowing when you closed it - you’re staring at the white ceiling with neon starry stickers tacked up on it.

and seokjin?

he’s nowhere to be found.

the morning air sends shivers down your spine as you pull your blanket over your head, trying to tune out taehyung’s voice.

but the universe seems set on kicking your sleepy ass of your bed when the door swings open with a bang!

“get up! get up! it’s christmas!” the tall boy literally screams in your ears before hoisting you over his shoulder like a sack of potato and setting you down on the toilet in the bathroom with a “you better wash your face by the time i come back!”

you do as told.

eventually.

since the presents are all set under the christmas tree at the kim’s and you’re not looking to upload a christmas morning story in mismatched pj’s, you change into a cute totoro onesie.

mr and mrs kim got mina - she thanked you for letting her stay over last night even though you woke up to an empty house, she even has different clothes on than last night - new kits for the florist.

taehyung almost hugged you to death when he unwrapped his new ps5 that he’s been dying for.

namjoon got a new pair of gucci loafers from taehyung and booked an interrogation slot with their mother because-

“kim taehyung, where did you get all this money?”

you suspect he’s going to reveal his gaming channel to her where he got sponsors from to buy namjoon those loafers.

and seokjin gifted you with a heartshaped necklace as well as a new pc set for taehyung and a signed book of namjoon’s favorite writer that he’d been talking about for ages as well as an all expense paid trip for his parents to thailand.

“thanks for the necklace,” you lightly bump seokjin’s elbow as you come to stand next to him at the sink. he’s washing the mug he used for hot coffee.

he steals a glance at his family and mina in the living room. they’re laughing over taehyung having his head down, sitting on his calves like he’s asking for the forgiveness of a lifetime after confessing that he didn’t want to work a nine-to-five and wanted to go pro.

then his eyes find yours again. the glint in them makes your heart stop before he leans down, lips brushing yours ever so gently yet very seokjin-like.

you think your heart just burst as you freeze in your spot, staring up at the man with slightly parted lips and warm cheeks like a high school girl whose crush very obviously hinted he likes her back.

he raises a quizzical brow at your reaction before realization settles on his face and his lips curve into a smirk, “what? did you think last night was all a dream?”

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