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marzmeltdown · 11 months

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Familiar Taste of Poison - pt.3

⌦ Pairing: Wonwoo x Fem!Reader ⌦ Genre(s): series,, angst,, fluff ⌦ chapter specific genre: fluff,, angst ⌦ Warning(s): !!TW: LIGHT MENTIONS OF Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse, mentions of depression!!, reader kinda uses Wonwoo, a lot of this will be in multiple pov's(I will clarify when it changes pov's), some mention of being sick, swearing, most of this chapter is all Wonwoo's pov, Wonwoo goes on a date with someone else. ⌦ Word count: 3.07k ⌦ Summary: You and Wonwoo have been friends since childhood, though you're both a little estranged from one another, the only contact being when you call Wonwoo for help. ⌦ A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than the last two but a lot happens to push the plot forward. It's really random that I put skz in here but I needed someone who had a sister. Fun fact about me, cause it's brought up in this chapter: I'm allergic to apples. The end of this chapter almost had a bitch crying at 4 am. If there's anything you feel I should improve on in the future, don't hesitate to let me know! You can find progress updates on this story and everything else I write in my pinned post every Wednesday.:) ⌦ I have attached a link to a website with help hotlines around the world, this series has heavy themes of mental health and substance abuse. This link will be added to every chapter. ⌦ International Mental Health hotlines

⌦ Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

⌦ marz’s tag list ⌦ marz’s req form

⌦(Wonwoo's pov) It had been a little while since he had heard from you; granted, you had never gone longer than a month without needing him to clean up your messes. This new-found silence from being your knight in shining armor allowed him to begin streaming again. For awhile, he had stopped because your calls of need would come in at least 4-5 times a week.

To say he missed you would be an understatement; he would lie awake after a long night of streaming, waiting for his phone to ring so he could pick you up. After three weeks of no calls, he began to believe that you had fully forgotten about him, all because of a little spat that he could've handled better. He had plans to express how he felt about you, but the world had different plans that day. Maybe you two just weren't meant to be friends anymore.

Wonwoo had tried to take his mind off things; he would distract himself by playing video games until the sun went down. That night, like every other night, he stayed up to play online with a few friends.

"If I die one more time because you're not paying attention, I'm gonna strangle you," Vernon threatened through Wonwoo's headphones. To be honest, Wonwoo was a little distracted today; he kept glancing down at his phone, hoping for a call, a text, or something.

"Sorry, I've just got a lot on my mind," Wonwoo replied, the sounds of his mouse clicking and keys clacking filling his room and his eyes beginning to grow tired from staring at such a bright screen for an extended period of time.

"Woo, you need to let her go. She's clearly not interested in your friendship and hasn't been for awhile," Minghao said. If Minghao were talking to anyone else, they surely would've been offended, appalled that he could say something so cold so calmly, but Wonwoo appreciated his honesty; he wouldn't want Minghao to be any other way.

"I agree with Hao; you should put yourself out there; stop waiting for someone who isn't hurting without you," Seungcheol chimed in, everyone having paused their game to give Wonwoo some free therapy while they sat in the Fortnite lobby.

"Are you guys suggesting a date?" Wonwoo asked, pushing his glasses up as he put his hands on his face, muffling his question just a bit.

"Well, I wasn't, but I know someone who'd be great for you," Seungcheol said. He could hear the shrug in his voice, playing matchmaker so nonchalantly. "I'll send you her info; she thinks you're cute anyway," he added. Within seconds, his words were emphasized by the sound of Wonwoo getting a text message. He glanced at the notification, half hoping it was from you and half hoping it wasn't.

It wasn't.

Wonwoo opened his phone, seeing that Seungcheol had sent her Instagram profile along with her phone number. He clicked on the link, leaning back in his chair as he scrolled through the professionally taken photos that filled the girl's profile.

"She is really cute," Wonwoo said, clicking on a few photos. There was a familiar face in a few of the photos, though they looked too much alike to be anything more than siblings.

"Seungcheol, is this Chan's sister?" Wonwoo asked, zooming in on one of the photos to get a better look at the girl's alleged brother.

"Bang Chan?" Seungcheol asked.

"Yea, Bang Chan,"

"Yea, why?"

"Just curious," Wonwoo said. He chewed on his bottom lip as he swiped back into his messaging app, looking down at the series of numbers Seungcheol had given him. "You said she thinks I'm cute?"

"Yeah, she talks about you all the time at work," Seungcheol said.

"Well, I'll text her when we get off. Wanna go for one more round?" Wonwoo asked, setting his phone down and getting ready to unpause the game.

"Sounds good," everyone said, continuing with their match.

One game turned into two.

Two games turned into four.

4 turned into 6.

By the time Wonwoo looked at the clock on the PC that displayed his Discord server, he was shocked.

3:26 a.m.

Wonwoo must have really had a lot on his mind; he never stayed up this late, not unless you had needed his help. He yawned, stretching his back when they were back to the games lobby, cracking his neck as it had grown stiff from sitting hunched over a keyboard for so long.

"I think I'm gonna get off guys, I'm getting tired," he said, not waiting for them to object before closing the game and turning his headphones, mic, and pc's off. Wonwoo grabbed his phone as he got up, walking to his closet to grab a pair of night pants and changing into them.

He unlocked his phone, looking at the number again as he began brushing his teeth. After a moment of hesitation, he finally added Hannah's contact information to his phone, messaging her as soon as he finished brushing his teeth.

⌦ Wonwoo: Hey, it's Wonwoo. I know this is super random, but Seungcheol gave me your number, if that's okay.

Wonwoo didn't expect an immediate answer; it was almost 4:00 in the morning. He looked at the unopened message as he left the bathroom, slipping his phone into his pocket and turning off the light. His phone dinged as soon as he walked into his room, and he only opened it once he had lied down in bed.

⌦ 3:55 a.m.

⌦ Hannah: Hey, Wonwoo! It's totally chill; why're you up so late? (Read 3:55 a.m.)

Wonwoo found himself smiling at her message and answering immediately.

⌦Wonwoo: I could ask you the same thing, lol. (Read: 3:57 a.m.) ⌦Wonwoo: But I was playing Fortnite with Cheol and a few other friends and lost track of time. (Read: 3:57 a.m.)

⌦Hannah: That sounds like a lot of fun. (Read: 4:00a.m.) ⌦Hannah: Why did Cheol give you my number anyway? (read: 4:00 a.m.)

⌦Wonwoo: Uh, he's trying to play matchmaker. (Read: 4:00 a.m.)

⌦Hannah: Right (Read: 4:01 a.m.) ⌦Hannah: Well, what are you doing tomorrow? (Read: 4:01 a.m.)

⌦Wonwoo: Nothing as of right now. (Read: 4:02 a.m.) ⌦Wonwoo: Why are you trying to ask me out? (Read: 4:02 a.m.)

⌦Hannah: Yea. (Read: 4:02 a.m.) ⌦Hannah: How's coffee sound tomorrow at noon? (Read: 4:02 a.m.)

⌦Wonwoo: You're straight to the point, aren't you? lol (Read: 4:03 a.m.) ⌦Wonwoo: But, noon tomorrow sounds great! (Read: 4:03 a.m.)

⌦Hannah: Great, I'll send you the cafe's info tomorrow. I'm about to fall asleep (Read: 4:03 a.m.)

⌦Wonwoo: Awesome, sleep well (Delivered: 4:04 a.m.)

Wonwoo reread the small interaction he had with Bang Chan's sister, smiling softly as he put his phone on the charger. He turned off his light, took his glasses off, and went to bed.

⌦(Wonwoo's POV cont) Wonwoo was thankful for his habitual routine of waking up at 9:00 a.m. every morning, regardless of when he went to bed. He forgot to set an alarm, having fallen asleep as soon as he put his glasses on his nightstand. Waking up this early gave him a few hours to kill before he had to get around, creating a schedule in his head for how long it would take him to eat breakfast, take a shower, shave, get dressed, and drive to the cafe. He planned on being 15 minutes early; he was always early.

Hannah had already sent Wonwoo the address of the cafe; thankfully, it was only a fifteen-minute drive from his apartment complex with traffic. He ate a light breakfast of two pieces of toast and a glass of apple juice; he'd be damned if he were going to willingly drink orange juice. He rarely ate toast, but with few food ingredients in his fridge or cabinet, toast was his only option.

With thirty minutes to spare after getting ready, Wonwoo grabbed his keys, locking his door as he left to go to his car. Hannah was already at the cafe when he got there, sitting in her car as she waited. Wonwoo parked next to her, pulling out his phone to let her know he was there. When she looked up from her phone, he waved at her with a smile, stepping out of her car to greet her on the sidewalk.

"Hey! I'm so glad you could make it," Hannah smiled as she pulled the taller male into a hug. Wonwoo was stunned at first; she surely was a bold woman, which he seemed to like about her.

"Why wouldn't I?" He chuckled, hugging her back for a moment before they pulled away and walked into the cafe.

It was a small cafe owned by a sweet elderly couple from France. The cafe always had French music playing softly through the store speakers; normally, Wonwoo would have found it nice and cozy, but today it felt cheesy. The two sat down after having ordered their drinks, exposing the poor barista to a small argument over who was paying for their drinks. Hannah won.

"So, tell me about yourself." Hannah smiled, taking a sip from her cappuccino before moving it to the side of the table so she could place her elbows on it, letting her chest rest against her forearms.

"There's not much to know," Wonwoo chuckled, swirling his straw around in his Americano and watching the ice move around with it. "But I'm in college for mechanical engineering, I stream on Twitch sometimes, and I'm a big Marvel buff," he said after a moment.

"Mechanical engineering? So you're smart and cute, huh?" Hannah teased, smiling at the redness that grew on Wonwoo's cheeks from her compliment.

"Tell me about yourself," Wonwoo said, directing the conversation back to the original topic.

"Well, I'm in college for fashion design; I also really like Marvel; and I want to get into PC gaming," she said. Wonwoo looked up at her, stunned that Seungcheol had finally set him up with a girl who shared some of his same interests, and he was already friends with her brother.

Wonwoo was pulled out of his thoughts as his phone rang in his pocket. He looked down at his pants and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Your name and contact photo were displayed on his screen; seeing this made his smile drop slightly. He clicked the side button, silencing the call, before looking up at the girl he was on a date with. "Sorry about that; I thought I put my phone on silent," he said as he placed it back into his pocket.

"It's no problem; if it's important, you can step out and answer it; I won't be upset," Hannah said, gesturing to the window that the two were sitting by. Wonwoo shook his head.

"It wasn't, and besides, it'd be rude to answer a call on our first date," he said.

"And you're considerate? Well damn, I might ask you to marry me right here," she laughed. She stood up after a moment, and in that moment, Wonwoo half expected her to get down on one knee and ask her to marry him. Instead, she grabbed her coffee with one hand and his hand with the other, pulling him up from his seat. "Wanna go on a walk?" She asked, swaying their hands back and forth.

"Are you gonna murder me?" Wonwoo asked, grabbing his coffee from the table.

"I might," she winked, sipping her cappuccino once more.

"At least you're honest," Wonwoo chuckled. His phone began to ring again once they left the building. He looked at it and canceled the phone call.

"Wonwoo, if you need to answer that, I don't mind," Hannah reassured as they began walking along the pathway.

"I don't, I promise." He said.

The walk was nice, and Wonwoo and Hannah seemed to be getting along a lot better than he would have ever imagined. It didn't take long for it to start raining. May's weather was never consistent, which seemed to be the only consistent thing in Wonwoo's life. Inconsistency. Wonwoo had given Hannah his sweater as they walked back to their cars; only when Hannah safely got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot did he leave.

He looked at his phone for a moment, seeing that he had five missed calls and ten messages from you, asking for your help. He almost answered the texts, apologizing that he was busy and couldn't get to his phone. Just as he was about to send his text, he sighed, thinking about what his friends had told him only 12 hours ago. Instead of sending the text, he closed his phone and drove home.

⌦(Reader's POV) You groaned angrily when your phone went to voicemail for the second time. Where was he? Why wasn't he answering? Was he still mad? Your head began spinning, even though you couldn't tell if it was because of your impaired state or because Wonwoo was finally giving you a taste of your own medicine. You had ghosted Wonwoo for the better half of your freshman year of college, having found new friends and devoting all of your weekends to partying, so when you finally got ahold of him, he was shocked.

"He works from home; where is he?" You said it angrily, your plethora of messages having been delivered but unread for the better part of two hours. That was what really set you off. He couldn't even give you the respect to apologize.

Against your better judgment, you snatched the keys from your kitchen counter and stumbled out of your apartment, having decided to confront him at his apartment. You've had a few years of practice when it came to driving under the influence, taking back roads, watching the road extra carefully, and driving cautiously, it was easy. Parking your car, you stormed up to his apartment, noting that his car wasn't in the parking lot when you had gotten there.

You called him again.

and again.

Until finally, you gave up on calling him and decided to send him a hundred more text messages.

⌦You: Wonwoo, I need your help... (Delivered: 11:00 a.m.)

⌦12:45 p.m.

⌦You: Wonwoo, why aren't you answering me??? (Delivered: 12:46 p.m.)

⌦12:57 p.m.

⌦You: Hello? Where are you??? (Delivered: 12:58 p.m.)

⌦1:05 p.m.

⌦You: I'm at your place (Delivered: 1:05 p.m.) ⌦You: Hello!!!!! (Delivered: 1:05 p.m.)

Just as you were about to call him again, you saw that all of your delivered messages had been read. You watched as the three dots by Wonwoo's name appeared.

Then disappeared.

Appeared again.

Until they disappeared for a final time.

Your texts to Wonwoo began to be sent one right after the other, sitting with your back against his front door as you drunkenly blew up his phone. Fifteen minutes had passed before you saw a pair of feet standing in front of you. You looked up and saw the man in question.

Angrily, you stood up shoving your phone in his face as you began to speak.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for two hours now! Where were you?!" You yelled, and Wonwoo gently pushed your phone out of his face. He looked down, unlocking his front door before opening it to let you in. He waited for you to walk inside, quietly apologizing to his elderly neighbor before stepping inside himself.

"I got coffee," he said, setting his keys on the table by his front door and taking his shoes off.

"It took you two hours to get coffee." You asked in disbelief, crossing your arms as your blurred vision did its best to lock onto him.

"You didn't let me finish," he continued. He sat the now-empty to-go cup on his kitchen counter. "I was on a date."

Your heart dropped, and you weren't sure why either. He was only your friend, your shoulder to cry on, and your emergency contact because you knew he would bend over backwards for you.

"Oh," you said.

"Yea."

"You still could have answered after she left," you said. Your anger had softened just a little bit.

"Why? So I can pick your drunk ass up from some stranger's front lawn? It's 2:30, and you're already fucked up." He said, "Your jaw dropped. What was his deal? Why was he being like this?

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you being such a dick all of a sudden?" You asked.

"Because I'm tired of only seeing my best friend when she needs me to be her chauffeur because her other friends left her strung out on God knows what in some stranger's bathroom because she's too drunk to get home." He said. You could see that his words were hurting him just as much as they were hurting you; he wasn't making eye contact with you either. "I can't drop everything to come save you every time you need me; I have a life too," he said. This time his words were soft, almost upset that he'd finally told you how he really felt.

"Fine. I'll leave then." You said this, stepping toward the door only to have the pathway blocked off. "Wonwoo, get out of my way."

"No, I can't let you drive home like this," he said.

"Wonwoo. Get out of my way." You repeated. He didn't move.

"No," He said.

"Now you care about my safety?"

"I've always cared about your safety!"

"Evidently not; evidently it was a burden to you!"

"Do you know why I always dropped everything to come get you?" He snapped.

"To feel better about yourself?" You asked, your words laced with anger. Your eyes began brimming with tears, and your body began to shake. You need to get out of here as soon as possible.

"Because I love you, y/n!" Wonwoo snapped back. He stopped for a second, realizing what he had just said.

"What?" You asked, finally looking up at him.

"I love you.. and it kills me that you're killing yourself like this, but I can't be around you anymore if you're going to continue to hurt yourself. I will always love you, y/n; I hope you know that." He said this, grabbing his keys off the table once more. "Let's go; I'll take you home." You were sure this would be the last time you'd ever hear from him again.

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sophieakatz · 10 months

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Thursday Thoughts: Becoming a Writer #2 – Playtime and Story Time

I mentioned before that among the Guys – the many colorful plastic toys which lived in my People House – were Disney characters. Disney still sells these sets of toys, around eight or ten characters from a specific movie or franchise together in a box. It’s a great way for a grown-up to make a child feel like they’ve received a ton of toys while only paying the price of one. I loved our Disney Guys. We had the cast of Winnie the Pooh, The Little Mermaid, Pocahontas, 101 Dalmatians, and The Lion King. I remember we also had a Hercules, with one empty fist over his head where my mom had cut his sword off at the hilt. (The Hercules wielding a fish was allowed to keep his fearsome weapon.)

My parents were very hands-on with my siblings and me. I remember sitting on the floor with my mom, the Little Mermaid toys scattered on the hardwood between us, using the toys to act out the movie along with the soundtrack of the movie playing on the CD player. I can still hear my mom doing her best impression of King Triton’s deep voice. We played Dumbo together, too, even though we didn’t have any Dumbo toys; I had more than enough toy elephants, to the point where one of the elephants stood in for Timothy Mouse.

We didn’t watch much TV. My parents would generally limit us to a half hour of “screen time” a day. We listened to Disney stories much more often than we watched them. Our house was full of music and devoid of headphones; whatever we played, we listened and sang to it together. And then there were the Little Golden Books and the “book on tape” versions of Disney movies, which we would all read together.

When we did watch movies, we watched them together, and we talked about them. I don’t remember much from watching Cinderella as a child. It wasn’t one of my parents’ favorites, so we likely only watched it once or twice. The one thing I remember is the scene where the stepsisters rip up Cinderella’s dress, so she can’t go to the ball, and she runs into the backyard and cries. My mother turned to me then and said, “Cinderella could still go to the ball, even without the pretty dress, and the prince would still love her, because love isn’t about pretty dresses.” That’s stuck with me beyond any other memory of watching Disney movies.

When my parents didn’t have time to play with my siblings and me – when there were papers to grade, laundry to fold, or food to put on the table – they often sent us off on a mission: to put on a play. We would retreat to the bedroom and come up with the whole production. It was always something we’d seen or heard before – nursery rhymes like “Humpty Dumpty” and “Old McDonald,” a play we’d seen done on shows like Zoom or Blue’s Clues, or dancing along to the soundtrack of Seussical the Musical or whatever show was making the community theatre rounds at the time. We’d figure out all the details – who would play which character, who would be the narrator (usually me), what costumes or props we needed – and once we’d rehearsed, we would call in our parents to come see the show. One home video includes me at five or six years old telling the camera that “flash photography and video recording ARE allowed at this performance!”

When I became a Show Writer intern with Disney Live Entertainment, I found myself thinking about that home video a lot. Pre-show announcements were a recurring assignment in that role: “The show will begin in five minutes! Please turn off your electronic devices!” and the like. Clearly, at that young age, I had already been exposed to enough theatre to know that such announcements were an essential part of a production. And there I was, writing up those very announcements for the Garden Rocks concert series at Epcot, UP! A Great Bird Adventure at Disney’s Animal Kingdom, and many, many more Disney Parks shows.

Which brings me to the second thing I’ve learned about how to be a writer – it’s vital to have opportunities to engage with storytelling. As many opportunities as possible, in as many forms as possible: reading, watching, singing, and playing. It’s equally important to have the opportunity to be the audience as it is to be the storyteller; re-telling the stories you’ve been told is a kind of learning. Being able to replicate how a story is told helps form an understanding of the building blocks of storytelling. This in turn leads to an understanding of how to manipulate these building blocks and make the craft your own. And it’s always a good time to encourage critical thinking – to not only see what’s out there but also talk about why it is the way it is and what could be done differently.

Formal education will come later. Playtime and story time are the writer’s first classrooms.

#thursday thoughts #writer #writblr #disney movies #childhood #parenting #writing #storytime #disney #disney characters

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maketimecount · 1 year

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Tw: Death of a parent, blood, surgery, s**cide.

Preface:

My father Tom was abusive growing up. (Something that worried me was his continued abuse towards my mother after I moved out as I was the youngest)

Often times growing up my dad would threaten suicide in order to keep my mom from leaving him after many points of physical/emotional abuse he inflicted on us. So in this I will only be referring to him as “Tom”

Thursday the 29th

Something felt off all day.

The week leading up to moms surgery was tumultuous and stressful. It had just been Christmas after all, but to top it off we were severely understaffed.

The Friday before Christmas I worked alone for the majority of the day.

Christmas it snowed. It was beautiful and wholesome. I will never have a Christmas like that again in my life. Though what is to come will be different, it won’t necessarily be bad. It’s just melancholic to think about. A lost innocence.

Monday the 26th was a half day, and lots of people were mad we weren’t fully operating Friday. Tuesday was weird. We had no power due to a wind storm. We took a half day

Wednesday was catching up, but very busy at work with only two people working. (Including myself)

Thursday was the surgery. Thursday it was 3. Two other people working with me.

Something didn’t sit right. The surgery started at 7am, and was ‘only’ supposed to last till 3. (Only in air quotes because whipple surgery is a bitch and usually lasts around 7-9 hours)

So 4pm rolls around still no news. I’m starting to get antsy. I was planning on visiting mom this weekend while she was recovering. My main worry at this point is she will need to have more rest before I visit.

Surely the surgery will end before my work day ends at 6, it has too right? Worriedly I started googling things like “is it a bad sign surgery is taking longer than planned” and “does survival rate go down as surgery drags on” all I could find were reassuring articles. Obviously these articles were trying as to not to worry the worrier. But I am the worrier, so as I sat there in and out of doing my desk job I couldn’t stop myself. Peering down at my blue screen frantically typing the thought that consumed me; “Whipple surgery survival rate” all I could find were what seemed like low statistics. Hell one artical mentioned the fact that these ‘statistics’ only happened at smaller hospitals. My mom was in the best of care. A hospital that was world renowned for this specific surgery, right in our own state. Surely she wouldn’t become a statistic in these hands.

But anyone can become a statistic. I didn’t want this to be true. Angrily I shut down the pretreat machine. A machine who’s only job it was; Was to spray a thin layer of glue on garments. The glue then allows ink to add-hear to the garments. Purging the lines of any glue with boiling hot water. Aggressively whipping down the inside with windex. The smell of which reminds of ants. Summers spent spraying ants in the kitchen with this bright blue liquid.

Snapping out of this memory; I had one mission. Leave. You need to go home. It is 6pm. Wait it’s 6pm, let me check my phone-

More fear rustled within me as radio silence filled my world.

It felt like I was taking a long breath in and then holding it.

Fast walking through 21st, blaring music through my headphones. I couldn’t be stopped. Suddenly I was home, and on the phone with my sister. Suddenly it was Friday morning 5am, suddenly I was at the icu.

Friday December 30th

It was so difficult finding the hospital entrance. Everything felt urgent, but I couldn’t find the damn entrance. “Why am I such an idiot” I blurted out. I ascended the parking lot stair case, and noticed I was in the lighthouse lot. What a coincidence. I was writing a story about a lighthouse. I guess it isn’t that strange.

Something else peculiar, I had been here before. Not on hospital grounds, but at the park across the street. I had biked this way last spring, and this was where I stopped to take a break.

Smoking a cbd cigarette at a vandalized picnic table. The wood carved, and written on. Awkwardly I read an antagonizing comment “don’t smoke”. It was probably right, but we all die someday right?

The hospital has strict Covid rules around its icu. Only 2 people allowed up at a time. The first thing I did was try to go up. So nervously I went, I knew two people were already inside so the chances of me seeing her before her next surgery were slim. Regardless I had tunnel vision; I had to try.

The elevator felt like an eternity. Like a floating flower it softly dance upward; up and up until it abruptly bounced to a halt. As the doors flooded open I felt my anxiety pull at me. This was it. Quickly my pointer finger found the call box button. I rang.

Molly warned me they would probably say no, due to the amount of people occupying the room. They said no. They sent me down into the surgery waiting room. I complied anxiously.

It was completely empty. In the corner 2 couches were pushed together. I wondered how silly it was of someone to spend the night. I pushed them apart, and then sat. Alone. In the dark. And then a call. Mollys warning. Mom doesn’t look great, this could be the last time you see her. The doctors are willing to make an exception. Come back up.

Mom had coded the night before. They broke all her ribs to revive her. She coded around 9pm. The surgery lasted until 11:00 pm. 14 hours. 7am -11:00pm. 14 hours.

Mom doesn’t do long stuff like that. Mom barely does 14 hour flights, 14 hour drives, 15 hour anything’s. Of course she won’t look her best, or be fully with it, but maybe she could pull through. Despite being unresponsive, and living through a breathing tube; She could pull through. Miracles happen, and why can’t I have a miracle. The cynic in me was fighting with this. While the balance in me was staying neutral. It could go either way.

I rushed up the elevator for the 2nd time. Or was it down? This hospital felt like a maze throughout.

It was now 6am. Amelia hadn’t made it yet, she was running late. Walking down the hall for the first time felt like an eternity. The worried looks from the staff followed our movements, as if we were out of place. Too young to be visiting someone in the icu.

When I got to the room at the end of the hall it all set in. Outside of this room the weight of the situation didn’t fully exist, but inside it sucked you in like a black hole. Tubes everywhere, worried looks from the nurses, and my sister and Tom morose. I sent Tom down as I came in. He seemed eager to find someone to blame, and I knew the staff needed a break. They had just fought tooth and nail for her. Imagine. Anticipating your job to only take 8 hours and having it take 14; Fighting to work a miracle. But that is their job.

Instant tears flooded my face. I couldn’t keep it in. My sister sang and I joined. My mom looked pale and felt cold to the touch. But she was alive. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I kept thinking over and over again. My sister Amelia was close, but hadn’t arrived at the hospital yet. We needed to stall so that she could say goodbye. She was pregnant. Due in 2 weeks. Of course my mother would go out like a soap opera. She loved those damn shows.

I remember her watching recordings of soaps all the time. In some small way I wanted to be like her so I started watching the telenovelas on cctv. I’m not sure she understood my action was of appreciation. I’m not sure I did at the time either.

Tom came back up to say goodbye, and he was stalling as well. At the same time putting down my sister for not being here in time. What a walking paradox. Always critiquing others for things they can’t change, while being unchangeable himself. Frantically molly sent her husband Wes to guide them up. (This hospital is a maze after all) Seconds felt like hours waiting.

Suddenly she appeared, just in time. We sang once more as the hospital staff trickled in. Preparing my mom for the next surgery.

This surgery was to remove blood. They weren’t sure why there was internal bleeding, they weren’t sure why the surgery didn’t work. They weren’t sure what was going on at all.

So we waited. Was this the last time I would see my mom?

Flashing thoughts of a dream filled my head. A separate universe I escaped into. My mom fine. Sitting up in bed talking and joking with us about how terrible the food was. “I need salt!” And we would provide it for her. Like magic salt packets from our pockets, like gifts from above. I imagined how she would be in pain, but hopeful. Allowed to heal. Allowed a miracle.

I hadn’t eaten. No wait I had. I had, peanut butter toast and coffee, but the protein was waining, and I felt myself slipping.

I needed to eat. David, Amelia, and I headed to the cafeteria. We each got Korean noodles. It was okay. It was on the better end as far as hospital food goes, but it was no arupa.

Arupa was one of my moms favorite restaurants in Salem. I remember it was the first expensive meal I ever had. Mom would take us there for special occasions. I especially remember going for my birthday.

Eating out on the terrace next to the sky tram felt like I could breath in again. But it didn’t last long

We went back into the waiting room. For what felt like weeks was packed into hours of a single day. Suddenly mom was out of surgery, and suddenly we went back up the elevator. She survived.

They weren’t sure where she was at mentally so she was going in for a brain scan later on. Most of what is to come is a blur due to how many times we went up and down/in and out of the icu. But keep in mind this is still Friday the 30th.

I visited her 3 times I believe that day, taking turns to give people the opportunity to visit or the opportunity to take a break. Each time it felt like the gravity could sink me through the floor into the level beneath. Like the floor was water I was wading through. Directly beneath her room was a caffe. I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind me grabbing a cup while I sink below the floor tile waves. In fact she would probably request I bring her back up a cup. Coffee cream and sugar. But not too much sugar unless she was treating herself.

One moment I was alone with her. I felt aloof. I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was cry. But I felt bad for crying. I didn’t want to stress her out but I couldn’t help it. I tried talking to her when the nurses left. I told her we were going to go on that trip to Japan she desperately wanted to do, or Victoria. Honestly wherever she wanted to go. We would go. All the while sobbing. And then a twitch. A finger twitch. The nurses said this was probably convulsions and not actually her.

This couldn’t be the end.

Amelia joined me, and as she did she filled the room with balance and reassurance. We joked and talked. Eventually the topic of baby names came up. The whole time we were holding moms hand. Amelia said the top secret names. And I could’ve sworn I saw mom smile.

Suddenly we were being ushered out for a brain scan.

Suddenly it came back, and nothing was off. She was her.

As I was waiting in the room downstairs I felt a pull to walk around. I needed to go outside.

After which I came back to a pleasant surprise. My mom was responsive. And you’ll never guess; she made us laugh.

Molly and Amelia were chatting about an ex Amelia had. And as his name was spoken mom shook her head no. I could only imagine the glimmer in Amelia and mollys eyes in that moment. “Do you not like Michael?” Molly uttered. Another defined head shake swooped back and forth. “What about my ex” the swift disapproving head shake continued. “What about Emma’s college partners?” The third no.

Upon hearing this I cried in utter joy. Swiftly apologizing for the cry, but living in it. Maybe we could have a miracle on our hands.

3rd time up, 4th time up? I couldn’t be bothered on the count. Turned the corner, and reached the room.

I held her hand. It was warmer than before. She kept telling us how uncomfortable she was. I kept asking if she needed anything moved, Amelia applied chapstick for her. She kept nodding when asked if she was in pain. My stomach sunk. Each time I would ask what hurts. Each time something different. We tried to get the blazers on but the television wouldn’t work. So Amelia played it on her phone.

The blazers were her favorite. I remember going to games as a kid. The room was colorful even though we lost. This was how the games went. Happy excitement became the crowed regardless of the outcome.

Mom kept trying to ask for the breathing tube out. Of course she wasn’t actually asking just replying to us in yes or no head nods until we answered her thought.

Some part of me wonders what she would’ve said if we could’ve taken it out. That’s the thing about what ifs. They will burn you running you in circles. And what if we had. She wouldn’t have survived. She was going to survive right? She had to survive. Wait I meant to stay neutral. The neutrality was the only thing keeping me stable. The unknown was a life vest I clung too in deep ocean waters.

After leaving her room for the last time that night, we had to join a new room for the 2nd time.

The conference room was small. We all packed in per doctors request. We needed to talk about what we all dreaded. This time we had joiners. My aunt and uncle. We had to discuss something we had discussed earlier that day. The discussion of recessitation. Hinging on the advanced directive which Tom forgot to bring. More importantly in this situation would my mom be deemed do not recessitate.

The doctors highly suggested this option. There was a high chance that at this stage if recessitation was utilized she would become a vegetable. The hard part being my moms advanced directive was not present.

We had to make the most difficult choice. It seemed like a lose lose situation, and the walls were closing in. For an hour we sat there and debated.

In hind sight I remember something my mom taught me when making a tough decision. Something her dad taught her actually. Always weigh the pros and cons.

The doctor had left for a moment.

Even if I had weighed the pros and cons, I’m not sure I would have found very many pros in either direction. My mom wanted to live. She was fighting for her life in there. She wanted to make it out. But on the other hand it was so difficult to watch her suffer. To prolong that suffering for the benefit of myself, to lose her brain function most indefinitely in the process. It all felt sickening.

Suddenly I remembered I had a recording of the advanced directive on my phone. Suddenly we listened. Suddenly we had more questions than answers. But then we came to the last question. Her answer? Do not resuscitate.

Even so the group was divided. We all had to come to the answer verbally. The tough conversation kept circling. Back and forth. Back and forth. Always circling back to the same answer. The answer no one wanted to pick. The answer we all dreaded. The most difficult answer to the most difficult situation.

The doctor joined in and we gave him the answer.

Do not resuscitate.

We trickled out somberly and headed home.

Suddenly it was morning. I had slept in. Suddenly I was at the hospital at 7am. I wanted to get there at 5am.

Saturday the 31st.

My mom was unresponsive again. She wasn’t worsening, but she wasn’t getting better. I hadn’t seen her yet so I still had the naive hope from yesterday’s improvements. My breath was waiting on a miracle.

I had forced myself to eat peanut butter toast again.

I wasn’t hungry.

I was empty.

I was hopeful.

The chairs of the waiting room neatly lined the corners. It clicked. Those chairs the day prior had been pushed together to sleep on. I wondered what poor soul before us was waiting, and who were they waiting for.

I inspected the room. Who was there today. Today a young man sat in the corner. He was crying on and off.

Oh wait. What is today? Today was something- today was New Year’s Eve.

What a paradox.

I went up several times that day each time losing hope more and more. Her hand was cold to the touch again. The toilet was full of blood from her transfusions. Not sure why the doctors left it there. Were they going to flush it down? In retro spect feels like a bio hazard. In the moment it felt like a mirror of the situation. Chaotic, and strange, and unusually cruel.

Her hand was cold to the touch. I was sobbing the entire time. It was sinking in. Slowly but steadfast. It was sinking in.

Back in the waiting room, I wondered where everyone was. It was only us three and my siblings spouses. I called Tom. A call I would immediately regret.

10am call.

I’m on my way, but Emma can I ask you something?

Yes?

I’m taking mom home.

Tears flooded my face. I wanted that more than anything. But no amount of pleading would change the situation. Mom wouldn’t last more than a minute off the dialysis machine. Ambulances don’t have dialysis machines. She had to stay. Angrily he pleaded with me sobbing. I handed the phone off to Amelia. She took over. I started sobbing uncontrollably. My mom would’ve hated dying here. I know this.

Everything felt chaotic, but my inner world felt still. I could not face what was happening. So I turned inward. Disassociating at every turn. I still am if I’m being honest.

Waiting room lasted a lifetime. 12pm rolls around and it’s still just us. We get whisked up stairs and it’s looking worse than before.

I feel myself going back on my choice for do not resuscitate internally, but have to keep my wits about me. No amount of shoulda coulda wouldas would change this lose lose situation.

The doctor warns us her internal organs are failing, and there is one more thing we can do. Open her back up. She would most likely pass. My gut instinct said yes. Whatever we can do we should do. But part of me also said no.

Would we have had more time with her if we hadn’t?

We will never know.

I cant stall death and we needed to make a choice. So we chose resurrection. We held onto the miracle.

We lost.

Downstairs waiting for the answer to the surgery I took a stroll to the closed cafe. It had the same view as my moms room just one floor down. It was beautiful. The mountain glowing in the background.

Suddenly we were all in the room with her. Suddenly Tom was there. It all felt like a bad dream. I just wanted a moment. But the first thing he did was blame the doctors. The same doctors and nurses crying in the corner. The same staff working 24 hours to make a miracle.

At this point I had no filter. “Can you not right now?” I sobbed uncontrollably. I just needed one more moment with her. One free of blame. Without distraction, just one moment. In retrospect I regret this sentiment. Knowing it was some of the last words she heard.

And then she was gone.

1:24 pm

I had to sit down.

The whole room was in disbelief.

I was in pain. Pure and utter pain.

We had time with her, said our goodbyes.

Suddenly I was downstairs again talking with cousins, aunts, and uncles.

Not so suddenly I was empty.

Suddenly I was back upstairs.

Coming back into the room it felt like a crime scene. Blood on the floor, blood on her hands. I was not okay. It was not okay.

Stepping through her blood I needed to say goodbye once more.

I held her hand. Cold to the touch, and no twitching this time. But still I could’ve stood there for hours if given the chance.

Goodbye,

After I exhaustedly drove myself home. I needed to sleep. I took a melatonin at 4pm, and woke up at 9pm in a cold sweet. Alone. The sound of fireworks filled my empty darkened room.

My neighbors partying, big booms filled the sky. But I was sobbing alone in my bed. I was embarrassed. Surely they wouldn’t care, but it felt uncomfortable. I didn’t want to ruin their good time but I was bleeding out emotionally in the next room over. So I bled out. 3:00am I was awake until 3:00am. Sobbing uncontrollably. Until I was a sleep again.

We did all we could;

But sometimes things feel off for a reason.

Written 2 weeks after. It kind of helped to write this down. It’s hard to read back/edit the ending. (So apologies if that part is a little rough)

#personal

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gods-silliest-little-clown · 2 years

Note

Hey bro, could you do some hcs/scenarios on how the obey me brothers/ other characters (if u want ^^) react to/ Treat a gn MC who has autism? I know this is a really weird request, but I would love to hear ur interpretation!!

Obey Me Boys with Autistic MC

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphigor

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of Bullying and Violence

Pronouns: None (GN Reader)

A/n- It's not a weird request at all! I only have ADHD so I hope I get this right (I'd hate to offend fellow neurodivergents)

Lucifer

He already knew before you got to Devildom

He will ask you what you need to be comfortable and get you everything you need

I feel like he's low-key ableist in the beginning but is very understanding once he gets to know you and understand how it affects your life

He will change a few things he does for you, like be specific with requests and make sure you don't get overstimulated

Will listen to you talk about your special interest for hours on end, is genuinely so happy to see you so passionate about something

If someone is being a dick to you about being autistic, he comforts you and takes you somewhere more private and later that demon seems to have gone missing

Man is whipped for you in general so he's willing to do absolutely anything to make you happy and comfortable

Mammon

Is kinda a dumbass at first ngl

You'll have to explain it to him and tell him what you're comfortable with (like physical touch and what overstimulates your senses)

Tries his best to help you, he really likes you and wants to make you happy

Will take interest in your special interest and even participate in it (if it's like a show/game)

It's on sight for anyone who talks shit about you, you'll have to pull him away from the cowering demon who was stupid enough to insult you

Will buy you tiny trinkets and gifts that align with your special interests

Isn't always the best listener but tries his best with you

Leviathan

Honestly, I sorta headcanon him to have autism (I could be wrong about this tho)

Will absolutely listen to your special interest if you also listen to his (TSL and Ruri-chan)

Is his typical nervous self when you're around but feels more comfortable with someone who understands him

He probably has a space in his room for when he gets too overstimiulated and he lets you use it when you need to

Has a pair of noise cancelling headphones and gives you a pair when you need it

Understands the best out of all the brothers' (but he's still kinda an insecure ass sometimes)

Would like to fight anyone who trash talks you but just settles to comfort you away from the ignorant demon

Satan

Oh boy, my beloved cat boy thirsts for knowledge and you are his newest source of it

He probably has old, outdated research papers and stuff, which he's miffed about

Be prepared for all the questions he has

He's genuinely interested about neurodivergency and is happy with any information you're comfortable with sharing

Allows you to hide out in his room when you're overstimulated (I love his room it looks so calming to me)

He loves listening to you talk about your special interests, he loves your voice and is happy to listen to you

Is the most respectful of your boundaries and is excited to learn new things

Rip to anyone who says anything bad about you, he is the Avatar of Wrath for a reason

Asmodeus

He's touchy and kinda loud in general so he might make you uncomfortable but fear not, cuz Asmo is a consent king who respects your boundaries after you set them

He likes listening to you talk about your special interests and likes decorating any fidgets or stimming toys you have (he likes coordinating your outfits with the colors of your fav fidgets)

Probably not the best to go to if you're overstimulated, I feel like his room has a very strong sweet smell and is brightly lit all the time (except when he sleeps ofc)

If someone trash talks you, he will destroy thier reputation and they will be socially exiled (if you ask about it he just says "well they shouldn't have said such rude things about my darling MC 💕")

He's pretty sociable so you're definitely not the first person who has autism that he's met but you're definitely his favorite

Beelzebub

He doesn't quite understand but he's a silent gentle giant so he is pretty chill to be around

If you explain it to him, he kinda just nods and offers you food

Will absolutely save/not try to eat foods you like or can handle the texture of

If he eats your safe foods on accident, he will apologize and get you more

Likes eating out but will settle for takeout in his room if you are too overstimiulated for it

If anyone talks shit about you, he will comfort you and later, he will just straight up eat them.

Belphigor

Probably knows about it (a tiny bit) from Satan or Leviathan, or his time with humans before the Celestial War

Will try to help you without making it noticable

Drags you away to cozy, quiet places when your overstimulated

Has very soft textured stuff and let's you calm yourself down with them

Despite his ability to sleep almost anywhere, he understands when too much noise can become overwhelming

If you're comfortable with touching, he'll ask to hug/cuddle you as to not make you uncomfortable

If anyone trash talks you around him, they're very stupid and now very dead

A/n- I apologize if I got anything incorrect so please just tell me what was wrong and I'll correct it, thank you for reading <3

#headcanon #obey me #obey me x gn reader #obey me x male reader #obey me x female reader #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor

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dysfunctionalcrab · 3 years

Text

babysitter

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

pronouns: gender neutral

description: george is left to babysit your niece

warnings: mentions of a future family? just in case that makes you uncomfortable.

[y/n/n] - your nieces name

[y/s/n] - your siblings name (gender neutral too)

note: i’m not too sure about this imagine, please a like or reply if you actually enjoyed! - niss

you woke up to the sound of your alarm blasting your ear off, if you hadn’t turned it off right there you probably would have gone deaf.

george was sleeping like a baby beside you, you could hear his quiet snores. you were surprised he didn’t wake up to the sound of your ear-piercing alarm.

turning on your phone, you glanced at the time that read 12:30. you sighed in annoyance as you registered that you only had half an hour before you had to be on your way to university. so you got up and began your normal morning routine, brush your teeth, shower, have breakfast and finally get dressed. however, as you were packing your bag, almost ready to go, you received a notification from your [sibling]

[y/s/n]: we’re 5 minutes away!!!

[y/s/n]: thank you so much for agreeing to do this :)

fuck.

it completely slipped your mind. you had promised to take care of [y/n/n] for today, your 7 year old niece, while your [sibling] was at their job interview. regardless, you texted them a quick ‘no problem’ before rushing upstairs to wake up george.

he was still sleeping, but now he was completely hiding under the covers with one arm sticking out. you hated to interrupt his beauty sleep but this was more important. you began to shake him awake.

“babe,” you shook him

“wake up,”

“george,” you removed the covers off his face

“wake the fuck up!” you started poking his sides. usually, you would be a little less... harsh, but you were panicking.

finally the boy rose from his slumber, groaning and stretching all his limbs. he blinked a couple times before meeting your eyes

“good morning,” he said softly, as if he completely just disregarded your tone of desperation and worry.

you pulled him by his arm and he sat upright,

“you need to get up right now,” you told him

“what’s going on?” he questioned, clearly confused as you weren’t giving him any context

“you need to take care of [y/n/n] for today, i have classes today, and i need to leave in 5 minutes and [y/s/n] has a job interview and there’s nobody else to take care of her,” you rushed out all in once sentence.

“are you serious?” he narrowed his eyes at you. “you know how bad i am with kids, especially [y/n/n] , she hates me,”

that was partly true. unfortunately, your niece wasn’t exactly fond of george. ever since you even started dating,m, [y/n/n] acted cold towards your boyfriend, it only got worse when you moved in with him. she always refused to play a game if george was going to participate, or never accepted any high fives or hellos from him. you felt sympathy for george. this child despised him and now you were asking him to look after her.

“please, i’m begging you,” you looked at him with pleading eyes. his eyes softened up after recognising the urgency of the situation.

“fine,” he agreed. you sighed out of satisfaction that you didn’t have to stress out [y/s/n] over finding a new baby sitter.

“thank you so much,” you pressed a small kiss to his lips appreciatively.

right at that moment, you two heard the doorbell ring. you urged george to get ready as fast as he could while you went down stairs and greeted your [sibling] and your niece.

“auntie/uncle [y/n]!” [y/n/n] yelled as you opened the door, immediately rushing into your arms. she looked a lot taller than the last time you saw her

“how’s my favourite girl?” you picked her up and swung her, before placing a little kiss on her head

you gave your [sibling] a quick hug. they handed you a bag full of toys, teddies and colouring pens, along with a spare set of clothing just in case [y/n/n] got a little messy throughout the day. and some quick reminders about her favourite foods or how to get her stop crying. you’d looked after her before, so all of it was pretty familiar to you

“again, thank you so, so much, you have no idea how much you’re helping me.” they told you. your [sibling] gave [y/n/n] a kiss on the cheek and told her to be a ‘good and kind little girl’ before finally exiting the household.

george, at last, made his way down. wearing a decent pair of jeans and a hoodie, giving an awkward wave to [y/n/n]

you checked the time and knew you had to get going. you had to explain to her that uncle george was going to be the one looking after her today. and after one whole tantrum, you managed to convince her to be a good girl by promising to give her a big reward afterward.

finally, you kissed [y/n/n] and george a goodbye , then shut the front door behind you.

george and [y/n/n] stood opposite each other. there was an uncomfortable silence in the air. george felt so...he didn’t even know. what do you say to a child who hates you? [y/n/n] tightly clutched her bag of toys.

“so, [y/n/n],” george cleared his throat, he bent down to her level. “i hear you like toy story?”

[y/n/n] pouted “i don’t like you” she said, and stomped away.

george sighed. this was going to be a long day.

and it was.

it started off with [y/n/n] innocently using her colouring pens and drawing random things, you know, as children do. but when she ran out of paper, she made her way to your office, where all your uni work was. she grabbed the closest piece of paper that was sitting on your desk, deciding it was going to be the next canvas for her art. this paper just happened to be a very important assignment.

when george caught her in the act, he had to physically tear her away from your office, in defiance of all her kicking and screaming.

then, when george accidently left the door to your shared bedroom open. [y/n/n] waddled in without him noticing, she started playing with all of his devices. his computer, his microphone, and somehow she got a hold of his headphones, and took out the battery. george didn’t realise until he noticed the cover missing. he tried to ask her nicely where she threw the battery. but she insisted that she wasn’t going to give it back unless he stopped being ‘mean’

when lunch time rolled around, george put a pizza in the oven, he remembered clearly that [y/n/n] loved pizza, specifically pepperoni. nothing could go wrong here.

but when he called her to the kitchen so she could receive her lunch. she just stared blankly at the pizza, and then at him. she crossed her arms

“[y/n] usually makes a smiley face with the pepperoni”

george just felt all his will to live just disappear

coloured pens and toys were spread out all across the living room floor, [y/n/n] was sitting in front of the tv, george put on one of her favourite shows which thankfully distracted her for a bit, allowing him to relax. he pulled out his phone and texted you

to [y/n] <3 : help me please

to [y/n] <3: i cant take this anymore, i’m literally dying rn

to [y/n] <3: come home quick

he exhaled heavily, throwing his phone to the side. he was so exhausted.

[y/n/n] was roleplaying with her toys, making them move around and doing squeaky little voices. george smiled at the innocence

“purple bear doesn’t play with us anymore. princess giraffe, mr. george took her away from us,” she spoke in a high pitched voice

george’s ears perked up. how funny that she had a teddy named ‘mr. george’. curiously, he watched the little girl.

“koala george, is a meanie, he stole purple bear and now they don’t want to hang out with us!”

it didn’t take a genius to find out what [y/n/n] was displaying through her role playing teddies.

that was why she didn’t like george. before they got together, [y/n] mentioned they almost spent every weekend with [y/n/n], playing with her and having fun with her.

she felt abandoned by [y/n] and felt as if george had taken them away from her .

george felt at fault as he noticed the girls eyes started to water.

“does purple bear love us any more?” she continued to play.

george decided it was enough and he switched off the television. he joined [y/n/n] on the floor and grabbed the teddy that was supposedly ‘koala george’

“[y/n/n]” he spoke softly. the little girl looked up at him expectantly. he held up the teddy.

“is this supposed to be me?” he questioned her.

“that’s a koala bear,” she answered

“no-, [y/n/n],” he said. he thought about how to ask her, and just chose it was best to be flat out with the child,”

“did i steal auntie/uncle [y/n] away from you?”

the question took her by surprise. she gazed at him with big wide eyes. she thought about her answer and grabbed the purple bear, which was supposed to be you.

“they don’t play with me as much anymore, they’re always with you, because of you, they don’t love me anymore,” she pulled a face, it wasn’t angry, it wasn’t annoyed.

it was a genuinely sad face.

george was sure he physically felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. he never even comprehended the fact that a child could feel so rejected.

“listen... [y/n/n],” he said gently. he thought about his words. comforting someone wasn’t exactly his strongest point, particularly not a child who detested him “[y/n] will never stop loving you, okay? they love you very much, and i’m sorry you feel like i stole them ”

[y/n/n] continued to listen.

“but don’t forget that [y/n] has so much love to go around! look, they love you, and they love me, they love grandma and grandpa too! they will always love one another even if they can’t see each other often,”

[y/n/n] stayed silent. she fiddled with the purple teddy, folding its ears and patting its head. she loved that bear. it was actually gifted to her by you, when she was first born. she brought it to her chest and hugged it. george tried a different approach.

“listen, how about- this weekend, we can all go to the park together, and have a picnic. you, me, [y/n], and your parents too,”

she continued to just stay silent. george didn’t know what to expect, she was unpredictable, was she going to throw another hissy fit? or start to cry? he wasn’t sure

“can we also get ice cream?” she asked

george smiled and felt himself relax. thank god. “all the ice cream you want,” he told her

[y/n/n] stood up and giggled. like her whole entire mood did a whole fucking 180. “okay! let’s go play dress up now!”

———

7:45 pm. you finally arrived home. you were tired out of your mind. [y/s/n]’s interview was delayed by two hours and was currently half way back home, meaning you had enough time to spend with [y/n/n]

you unlocked the door, expecting to see a giant tsunami of toys and colouring pencils and pens, but what you saw was the most heart warming thing ever.

george was sleeping on the couch, his head resting on the armrest. he had a couple pink bows in his hair, his lips were painted a hot pink, he was wearing a couple sparky bracelets and a purple floral necklace.

in his lap, [y/n/n] rested her head, she was wearing a fairy costume with matching pink bows and sparkly bracelets.

you quickly snapped a photo of this wholesome moment. because, who wouldn’t? you spent a few minutes just watching the two sleep, they were probably just as tired as you.

moments like these made you really appreciate the people you had in your life. the people you love so dearly much.

you didn’t want to disrupt the ambience but you felt it was better for your [sibling] to collect your niece when she wasn’t covered in glitter and an overload of pink accessories.

you quietly woke george up,

“baby, wake up.” you shook him awake, gently. in a very different way than you did this morning. he opened his eyes. and immediately smiled upon seeing your face. you ran your thumb across his cheek

“it looks like you two had a lot of fun,” you teased.

he quietly chuckled. “she’s okay,” he told you. looking down at the little girl sleeping in his lap.

you slowly and carefully picked her up, removing any accessories you thought may seem uncomfortable to sleep in. she was a heavy sleeper.

you carried her upstairs, tucking her into you and george’s bed and placing a kiss upon her forehead. you turned back to george and rushed in for a bear hug

“thank you so much for doing that,” you said. “i love you so much, i know it probably wasn’t easy, she can be quite the handful,”

george chuckled. “handful is an understatement,”

“you’d better be willing to dress up like that with our own kids one day.” you stated, hugging him tighter.

his face broke out into a small smile, having thought of an image of you two playing with you future kids. he kissed top of your head and then your nose

“maybe one day”

———

masterlist

#georgenotfound imagines #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound #mcyt x reader #mcyt #georgenotfound imagine #mcyt imagines

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

Note

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring?#probably #jonsa fic

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 15.5k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, an extra lil tidbit of exhibitionism this time around though, thigh riding, choking/erotic asphyxiation/breathplay, degradation, dumbification, objectification - all consensual, but y’all wanted meandom jimin so i delivered, please read at your discretion - dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, punishment/discipline, footjob kinda (socks are worn, it’s not bare feet), aftercare as usual, mentions and implications of mxm

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and femboy friday

please note there are hyperlinks in this chapter ! they link to specific images that i thought might help you visualise some things ;) all links are safe

DAY NINETEEN

Your body clearly still isn’t right again by Friday morning, but it’s nothing a good breakfast can’t solve. Fortunately for you, Jin is more than happy to turn it into an occasion for a large, communal meal, and with barely any prompting, he’s whizzing away in the kitchen like a madman.

As you wait, you sip away at some vaguely herby-yet-fruity tea that he’d brewed you, watching his broad shoulders shift beneath his shirt when he chops vegetables, and his brows furrow in focus when he measures out spices.

“I don’t suppose I’d have time to- Nevermind,” Jin mutters at some point, carting a bladeful of crushed garlic from the chopping board to a simmering pan.

You sit up, ignoring the billow of steam from your mug. “Time to what?” He shakes his head, but you keep on him, watching his eyes dart to your figure leaning against the counter, and back at his work. With a gasp, you thrust the mug at him accusingly. “Were you going to put the moves on me?”

He scoffs low in his throat, but doesn’t respond.

“You were! Was making breakfast for me just a ruse, then?”

Jin turns around at that, lifting his brows and giving you a mock look of offense. “It was not! I’m just an opportunist, that’s all.” His shoulders sag. “But I don’t want the meat to burn, and it’s only time before the irresistible aroma of my delicious cooking reaches their doors and draws them down like rats to the pied piper.”

“Are you calling the others rats?” you ask with a giggle bubbling up your throat.

The cook pauses. “I suppose I’m not not calling them rats,” he allows, “but that’s not the point. I’m taking my time with you.” Perhaps the comment would be more sexy or romantic if he wasn’t using a kitchen knife to gesture.

Your interested piqued, you take a slow, thoughtful sip of the quickly-cooling dregs of tea. “You could always tell me,” you offer up, watching his head tilt in curiosity. “Tell me what you would’ve done to me if you weren’t worried about time. Or burning meat.”

His lips part slightly, a strange look in his eyes, like he’s appraising you. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” Though it’s probably meant to come off as a joke, his voice is too soft for it to carry. “If I tell you, I’ll have to change my plans for the prompt. Keep you on your toes?”

“Plans?” you question. “I thought you were an opportunist.”

Even though his back is faced to you, stirring some vegetables amongst the strips of meat, Jin speaks clearly, every word enunciated like it’s a mantra. “I’d kiss you ‘til you couldn’t breathe,” he begins, “and when you were overcome with need, I’d lift you on that counter and get to my knees. Eat you out like you were my last meal. Finally, if you still wanted more, I’d lie you down on the tile and fuck you well like you deserve.”

Your cheeks are hot, searing skin and throbbing pulse. Jin turns around to spoon the cooked stir-fry into a bowl on the countertop, looking far more unaffected than you. His eyes dart to you, a bemused and genuine smile quirking at his lips when he sees you flustered into silence. “It’s your turn,” he remarks in an easy drawl, placing the bowl beside you before he goes to the fridge to retrieve a carton of eggs. “What would you do if you weren’t worried about time?”

You take a breath, nostrils flaring at the rich mix of buttery vegetables and perfectly seasoned meat. “I’ll be honest with you, Jin,” you quip in a small, unobtrusive voice, “I’d probably get you to finish cooking first. This smells fucking incredible.”

Jin’s pealing laugh is punctuated by the cracking of an egg into the still-hot pan, and as the sizzling echoes through the room, you feel the air settle back into something lighter. Good timing, too, as it’s then that you hear footsteps behind you.

Before you can turn, your sides are crushed by a tight back-hug, arms wedged into your sides. “Feeling better?” a smooth voices asks, and you’re surprised to recognise it as Namjoon’s.

The academic had woken before you, so was fully coherent when you’d gotten up with a roiling stomach. With more than a tinge of concern, he’d let you shower first while he’d passed the message on to Jin, the only other awake member of the household. He now smelt fresh, like mint and citrus, and his skin still radiated heat from under his shirt.

He releases you just as quickly as he’d wrapped his arms around you, nothing more than a greeting, and Jin doesn’t even lift a brow at the affectionate display.

Before you can answer however, there’s a fourth party entering the room, a familiar sleepy drawl as Yoongi pads into the kitchen and beelines straight for the coffee machine. “Still sick?”

“Still?” Jin questions, narrowing his eyes in concern as he scrambles the eggs with the corner of a silicon spatula. “How long have you been sick?”

“Just since yesterday,” you deflect, “it’s probably nothing.”

Namjoon goes stiff beside you. “You don’t think it’s...you know? A problem with your birth control?”

Your eyes furrow in confusion before you process his words a moment later. “Oh, I- surely not? I have an implant, so it’s not like forgetting a pill or anything.” But the thought niggles in your mind, and you seek out Yoongi, who slumps against the counter while his drink brews. “It’s not like… morning sickness, is it?”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Yoongi’s lips. You gape at him, but he just waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t stress about it. You have an IUD, right? They’re 99% effective, and morning sickness generally starts around the six-week period. When did you get the IUD?”

You think back. “Once I cleared all my tests for the show, I guess? I think it was a couple days before we came here. Why?”

Yoongi seems to wake up very quickly after that, face falling slack. “Wait- A couple days? First of all, unless you were having unprotected six roughly two to three weeks before you came here, I highly doubt you have anything more than a slight cold or at the most, food poisoning-” Jin shoots the doctor an accusatory glare, which Yoongi ignores in favour of abandoning his coffee and rounding the corner. “But I think we have a different problem to worry about.”

You blink, your sick stomach returning as his concern starts getting to you. “I wasn’t having sex at all two to three weeks before the show. But what’s the problem?”

Yoongi looks stern, what you imagine he’d look like in his clinic giving serious medical advice to a patient. “Were you on your period when you got the implant?”

Reflexively, your cheeks heat at the personal question, hyper aware of Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi’s collective attention on you. “No. Why?”

“Fuck,” the doctor curses. “Come with me.”

“What’s going on?” You take his outstretched hand, heart racing as he leads you towards the front door, away from the other two who wait in confused and concerned silence. “What’s happening, Yoongi, you’re stressing me out?”

Yoongi’s fingers squeeze yours reassuringly as his face softens, holding the door open for you. “I’ll explain when we get to Sejin’s van, sweetheart, you’re fine.”

Though the sun has well and truly risen, it’s relatively cloudy, and the two of you aren’t even wearing anything more than house slippers and socks as you rush across the gravel towards the production van. There are lights on inside, and Yoongi doesn’t bother knocking before he’s bundling you and him inside.

The van is relatively cramped, some modest floor space with a single bed and then every other surface filled with monitors, paperwork, and a bank of screens displaying the cameras inside the Villa. Sejin, with his bulky headphones around his neck and his chair faced towards you, clearly must have seen you coming, as your sudden entry doesn’t catch him off-guard.

“How can I help yo-”

“Did nobody do their fucking research?” Yoongi spits immediately at him, giving no introduction or pleasantries. “I know there are speakers in the rooms, I know you heard us, so you better start explaining otherwise if you’re not lucky you’ll be facing a massive fucking lawsuit.”

Sejin sighs, his eyes darting to you in sympathy, before they return to Yoongi. “The requirement was that Y/n was on birth control by the time the show began. She was.”

“Yeah, well, not effective birth control,” Yoongi counters.

“The IUD Y/n got is 99% effective. She and all of you signed off that using additional birth control such as condoms beyond that was your choice. If you’ve chosen not to, that’s legally not our responsibility. The condoms have been made available.”

You furrow your brows, finding comfort in his hand tightly cradling yours. “Yoongi, I don’t understand…”

The doctor sighs, pinching his brow, and turns to you. “Y/n, when you got the IUD, did they not warn you about the seven-day window?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, the feeling that bad news is imminent. “What window? No, the lady didn’t say anything.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Yoongi curses, rubbing a palm over his face. “Well, listen up the two of you for a quick lesson in intra-uterine devices. If you aren’t currently on your period, they can take up to seven days to be considered effective. So while it’s highly unlikely that you have morning sickness right now, Y/n, I’m pretty fucking concerned for what may have happened during that first week.”

You bite down harshly on your lip as tears spring to your eyes, you naturally feel yourself wrapping your free arm over your stomach. “How do I- What do I do?”

Yoongi’s face softens at the action, and he turns to Sejin with a sigh. “You need to get an early detection pregnancy test, so that we can know for sure. Plenty of couples have unprotected sex without any pregnancies, so it’s not a definite, but we need to rule it out quickly so that Y/n can decide how she wishes to proceed. How quickly can you get one?”

Sejin, who had been looking greener and greener as Yoongi spoke, finally lets out a rushing breath, jumping up. “I’ll go down to a pharmacy now. Y/n; are you wanting to come with to do it sooner, or...?”

You sniff, shaking your head quickly. “Can you just bring it back here? I don’t want the others to think something’s wrong.”

Sejin nods stiffly, patting you once on the shoulder as he passes you. “I’m so sorry, Y/n, Yoongi’s right. We should’ve done more research. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Yoongi goes lax the second Sejin shuts the van door behind you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Either way, you’ll be just fine. You always have options,” he assures you, cheek pressed to your hair, rubbing your back.

Like your mind is desperate to find something to relieve your sudden crashing wave of stress, a hysterical laugh jumps out of your throat. “A fucking pregnancy scare,” you bemoan, “this is meant to be slutty Bachelorette but it’s just a slutty telenovela.”

Yoongi freezes when you begin laughing, but quickly falls in on the joke. “I even have a secret twin,” he jokes. “We better keep an eye out to make sure Jin doesn’t fake his death to steal the show’s budget.”

You sink further into his secure embrace, chuckling at his remark but quickly sobering up. “What am I gonna do, Yoongi? I can’t have a baby, especially not if it’s some- some mutant mix of seven different dads!”

“Sweetheart, please don’t stress yourself over it before you even know,” Yoongi pleads. “If it’s any consolation, that’s not how biology works at all. That would make for a riveting episode of Jeremy Kyle, though.”

You let out a groan. “God, how would they fit eight armchairs on the stage?”

Yoongi chuckles, smoothing a hand down your back before he gently breaks the hug. “Do you want to stay here, or go back inside and get something to eat? We don’t have to tell the others; Jin and Namjoon are mature enough not to ask pry, especially if there are others around.”

Your growling stomach answers the question for you.

Inside, Jin and Namjoon stay quiet just as Yoongi had anticipated, the former simply announcing that you were just in time for breakfast.

The table was set, most of them already seated, and you gape at the impressive display. The stir-fry from earlier, several individual small bowls of rice, a deep brown broth, scrambled eggs, and even some rice porridge fill the table.

Taehyung, Jungkook and Hoseok are on one half of the table, Jungkook looking like it physically pained him to restrain himself. Jin at one end, an empty space at the other, and the final long edge has Namjoon sitting beside two place for you and Yoongi. Just as you open your mouth to voice the absence, Jimin comes around the corner from the stairs and snags a place on the head of the table beside Taehyung.

You wish him a good morning as you sit, the smells of all the different dishes mingling in your nose the second your butt hits the seat. “Sorry for holding you all up,” you apologise, pasting a smile on your face even as your insides still wriggle in anxious tension. “Thank you for the meal, Jin.”

“Anytime,” he deflects, and like that word was a command, Jungkook bursts into action, shoveling food into his bowl like he’s on the verge of starvation. Jin sighs, reaching for the stirfry. “Quickly, before the vulture gets it all.”

Breakfast, once you force yourself to enjoy it and stay in the moment, is impeccably delicious and a lot of fun. As it turns out, Taehyung’s been making good use of his free schedule, and he regales the table with anecdotes of teaching Mango a number of ‘useful’ tricks like high-fiving, playing dead and turning in tight circles to beg for a treat. It’s while watching a video of the small white dog lolling out her tongue after Taehyung pretend to shoot her with his fingers shaped like a gun that there’s a sudden knock at the door.

Immediately, the thought of the pregnancy test comes to mind, and you’re rushing to the door before anyone else gets the chance.

What you don’t expect to open the door to, however, is a simple delivery worker, with a decently large box under one arm and a small electronic pad in the other. You stare blankly at the man as he consults the label on the box. “Looking for a Jung Hoseok,” he states gruffly, eyes barely reaching you from under a yellow cap branded with the company logo.

Your eyes widen, and you turn back, calling through to the kitchen. “Hobi, it’s for you!”

Rather than returning to your seat, you wait in rapt curiosity as Hoseok practically skips to the front door, smoothly signing off the package with an easy grin. Once he takes it and shuts the door behind the already-departing delivery man, you press against his shoulder to catch a glimpse at the label.

Though Hoseok tugs it away from you with a tut, and you aren’t able to read the packing sticker, you manage to take note of a dark red stamp inked heavily on the top left corner of the box. Two Rs, back-to-back with lush flicks on the outer downward strokes.

The dom parades the box around the foyer, making sure he’s visible to the rest of the guys at the kitchen table, before taking it upstairs with a spring to his step.

Taking a seat again, you let out a disbelieving whoosh of air. “I think it’s from his work,” you tell the others conspiratorially.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, his right cheek stuffed with meat he’s pushed to the side. “Like the Red Room? Kinky stuff?” he questions with a slight lisp, before chewing frantically and swallowing the food. “Are we allowed to do that?”

“It seems so,” Jimin murmurs, his eyes glinting with interest. “Just because we can’t go out doesn’t mean we can’t bring stuff to us, I suppose.”

Jin watches the two youngest with a strangely amused look on his face, twirling his chopsticks against the tabletop. “I’m surprised the two of you have kept quiet so long?”

Jungkook frowns. “Huh? Oh!” Suddenly, his and Taehyung’s faces light up in unison, glancing down at themselves.

Taehyung claps the table in excitement, staring at you, Yoongi and Jimin. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Friday,” Yoongi answers shortly. “Is it a public holiday or something? It doesn’t really matter if we’re still stuck in here, does it?”

“No, hyung,” Jungkook enthuses, “do none of you go on TikTok? It’s femboy Friday!”

Jimin furrows his brows in utter confusion. “It’s what?”

In their haste to stand up, Taehyung and Jungkook just about tip their chairs over, knocking the table with their knees. Your mouth drops as you see instead of sweatpants or jeans, both boys are sporting skirts.

“Femboy Friday,” Taehyung repeats with a shy smile as Jimin’s eyes rake shamelessly over his figure, “we’re saying fuck toxic masculinity and celebrating feminine boys and proving that clothes don’t have gender all in one! Namjoon, don’t you love it?”

Namjoon, to his credit, manages to nod dumbly, but it seems like that’s his only remaining executive function as his jaw hangs slack, eyes wide.

You can’t blame him, however. You can’t stop looking at the two either. Jungkook has a casual, loose black t-shirt tucked into a high waisted skirt that’s the same shade. Tight around his hips and flaring in an a-line down his thighs, silver chains and buckles give it an edgier look. As he does a twirl, you catch a glimpse of the definition the fabric gives his ass, everyone watching with rapt attention.

Taehyung, on the other hand, has gone for a sweeter look, with a white blouse tucked in to a dove grey plaid skirt that falls in perfectly ironed pleats. It’s relatively cool inside, so he’s shrugged on a cream-coloured jacket somewhat reminiscent of a school blazer. It’s clear by the tentative smile and blushed cheeks that he’s more shy about the getup than Jungkook is; the latter stands tall with folded arms, like he’s daring you to say something.

Once the rest of you at the table get over the initial shock, followed by the silent awe and appreciation, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, his lips parted in a shocked pout. “Why did nobody tell me?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?”

Jimin pushes his chair back, brows furrowed. “Where was this announced? I wasn’t informed.”

Taehyung sends him a boxy grin, his skirt swishing with the slightest movement. “It’s a TikTok thing, Minnie! You should do it with us!”

Jimin tilts his head with a thoughtful hum. “I’m not sure that I have any skirts in my suitcases. Some lingerie, sure, but not-”

“Oh, I just got mine out of the little costume wardrobe in the cupboard,” Taehyung explains easily, jumping forward to tug at Jimin’s arm. “I got a schoolgirl one, but I saw a cheerleader one in there too, come on!”

Your mouth hangs open as the two rush away, and Yoongi splutters, clapping a hand on the table to punctuate his shock. “Wait, sorry, I must’ve- wait,” he babbles, shaking his head in disbelief, “Jimin has lingerie? I’m making tomorrow Panties Saturday.”

Jungkook giggles. “Hyung, that’s not how it works! Femboy Friday is like, a thing, you know? Tae and I made a video earlier and it’s already doing numbers. If we all did it, I bet we’d go viral!”

Yoongi winces. “In my line of work, ‘viral’ is not a good thing.”

You turn to him with a grin. “Come on, Yoongi,” you entice warmly, “it would really cheer me up.”

Keeping your mind off other things is definitely a priority now, and by Yoongi’s reluctant sigh of defeat, you know he knows it. “I don’t want to wear a skirt,” he states, “my legs get cold easily. Is there any compromise of some sort? Anything else I can contribute to the cause?”

It seems you and Jungkook get the idea at the same time, judging by the way his eyes light up.

Before Yoongi can voice his concern, a triumphant clearing of a throat catches the room’s attention. Looking demure in his schoolgirl-esque getup, Taehyung stands tall in the doorway, glancing behind him. “Announcing,” he calls out more noisily than is needed, “the head cheerleader himself, Park Jimin!”

When Taehyung had mentioned cheerleader, and again now, you’d expected the typical red get-up, maybe a sweeter, more innocent look, but at this point in the show it’s about time you realise that Jimin never restricts himself to the obvious route, preferring to defy expectations.

Stepping into the gap Taehyung leaves for him and resting an elbow casually against the doorframe, Jimin looks like the type of student that would run the team with an iron fist. Or, judging by the rings laden on his hands, a silver one. It looks like the only things he’s taken from the cheerleader costume is a pleated pink skirt and some white thigh-high stockings, slipping slightly on the foyer tile. A simple but sexy Gucci shirt is tucked into the obscenely high waistband. Though the logo is gold, red and green, stamped onto the centre of the white fabric, it doesn’t clash with the skirt, instead making an addicting contrast. Shrugged on top, loose around his arms, is a black jacket with red and gold detailing on the shoulders. His gaze is piercing and superior, wearing the skirt like it’s armour as he slinks forward and sits in the chair with a smug look on his face.

Your mouth feels dry. Reminded of the last time he wore more typically feminine attire, it’s like the temperature of the room has increased by several degrees. “I think this is my new favourite day of the year,” you admit quietly, though it carries well enough in the awed room. “You guys look incredible.”

Jimin smirks. “Who’s next, then?”

Jungkook brightens up, wiping the corner of his lip surreptitiously. “Yoongi! Hyung, we need makeup; lots of it.”

Yoongi blanches. “You what now?”

Jin sits forward eagerly. “Wait; if we’re all making ourselves look pretty, I want in. I’ve always wanted to look like the rich hot mom from Parasite,” he divulges openly, turning to you. “Y/n, do you have some jewellery I can use?”

You grin. “I guess so. I know Jimin has some too, and I think Jungkookie? We can get you iced up. Ah, I feel like a little girl dressing up paper dolls. Let’s go get some supplies and we can make a day of it!”

You stand up too quickly, head lurching and stomach protesting, and like the crashing of a freezing wave, you feel dread wash over you. Before you can even dwell on it, Jin’s behind you, steadying you and holding you upright against him.

“Alright?” he asks in a low voice as the others begin to discuss a game plan.

You nod. “Just stood up too quickly.”

Jin’s mouth twists, unconvinced with your answer. “Let’s go upstairs and raid your closet. Take a breather.”

Leaving the others behind, you let the noise drop away as Jin carefully leads you up the stairs and to your room, sitting you carefully on your bed.

You collapse back against the mattress, feeling weak now that the pressure in your head is beginning to recede. Unsurprisingly, Jin doesn’t immediately beeline for the wardrobe or set of drawers. The springs adjust to a shift in weight. Jin’s hands finds one of yours, wrapping it between the two and squeezing it in reassurance. You’re smart enough to recognise this as the start of a Talk, capital letter intended.

“I’m worried about you,” he starts softly, his voice warm and comforting like cotton. “You don’t have to feel obligated to tell me a thing, and I know I’m no medical expert like Yoongichi, but I do know a lot about sex and relationships, and I know that surprises and accidents can happen. I’m here for you in any capacity you need, Y/n. Any at all.”

You swallow, staring at the slightly uneven, off-white paint on the ceiling. “I might be pregnant. It’s a big might but, you know…”

Jin’s hand tightens on yours briefly at that word, like a flexing of muscle, and relaxes again. “The not-knowing is still scary,” he finishes lightly.

“Yeah.” With a frown, you focus your awareness inwards, feeling your stomach rise and fall with your breath. “I don’t feel pregnant. But then- how the fuck would I know what that felt like?”

Jin is silent for a moment. “That isn’t really something I could help with, sadly.”

You huff out a humourless laugh through your nose. “It’s fine, Jin. I appreciate your concern. Sejin’s bringing back a test soon, hopefully, and then I can just… deal with it then.”

“Do you wanna talk about what those results would mean for you? What you feel about the possibility of-”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in sharply, sitting up so quickly that your vision spots. “I’m refusing to dwell on it until I have an answer.” You swallow down the nausea that rises in your throat the more you think about it, turning to face him. “If you wanna help, Jin, and I can’t thank you enough for wanting to- then just distract me.”

Jin pauses, nods, then a grin stretches across his face. “Deal.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok huffs for the hundredth time, nails digging in to the arms of the chair he’s sat at. “It could’ve been anyone else but him. Y/n, why didn’t you help?”

You beam innocently, watching as an equally tight-lipped Jimin settles on a stool in front of the dom, a palette of brown and beige pressed powders and a small brush in hand. “Minnie’s way better than me at it, Hobi. Don’t you wanna look pretty?”

“I chose to pass this in the truth or dare game for a reason.” Hoseok tenses and recoils violently when Jimin’s hand lifts suddenly towards his face. “He’s going to make me look ugly on purpose,” he accuses.

Jimin scoffs, hand falling again. “Are you going to keep talking about me like I’m not here?”

“Ideally, yes.”

The blue-haired man tuts, lazily swirling the soft, short bristles over a particular shade, collecting more pigment. “It would be easier to make you look ugly, but I always relish a good challenge. Don’t worry; you’ll thank me when I’m done.”

“I most certainly will not,” Hoseok pouts stiffly. “Just get on with it, Peaches.”

Jimin’s hand overshoots and streaks a thick tan line on the strip of naked skin between his short skirt and thigh-high stockings. “Fuck. Keep your mouth shut, Jung.”

“You said you’re just doing the base stuff, why does my mouth need to be shut?” Hoseok complains.

Jimin levels him a glare. “Because if you open it, I’ll shove this down your throat and use you as storage.”

“Kinky,” Hoseok banters back, but settles into silence, only flinching slightly when Jimin raises the brush to his face again, dabbing delicately at Hoseok’s dainty nose.

Like some sort of makeshift salon - the second time all eight of you had gathered together to do so - the dining table has been transformed. At the head, Hoseok and Jimin glare at each other with less than a ruler’s length between them. Jungkook and Taehyung have descended on Yoongi like makeup kiosk employees, gushing over his smooth skin and graceful eye shape as the man protests noisily but otherwise seems very content being fussed over.

Jin is wearing enough necklaces, bracelets and earrings that he jingles with the slightest movement, of which there are many as he compulsively makes the eyeliner on his lids longer and thicker and longer again. The brief moments of silence that descend usually consist of him holding up the hand mirror and staring intensely at his reflection, sometimes holding it close enough that his breath fogs it up.

And finally, you and Namjoon are in between the three parties, the academic patiently holding his hands steady as you file away at his nails, shaping them a bit. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” you check in.

Namjoon immediately shakes his head, leaning in closer to watch your motions and the dust shavings that pile up on the folded paper towel beneath your hands. “I’ve always wanted to get my nails done,” he says, voice a casual low timbre.

That surprises you. “Really?” you ask, gently tugging on his hand so he can present his thumb for filing.

“Well,” he amends quickly, “always since yesterday.” At your bewildered laugh, he cracks a sheepish grin and explains. “One of the fans sent in something mentioning it when I visited the confessional booth at lunchtime. It’s sort of been on my mind since then.”

“I’m glad I can help you fulfil this lifelong dream of yours then, Joonie,” you remark with a smile of your own. It’s impossible not to cheer up in Namjoon’s company, your heart always feels lighter in his vicinity. “Are you wanting a colour? I don’t have many, sorry; Jin’s hogging the white and the pink.”

“It’s for a French tip,” Jin calls out imperiously, never one to miss his name mentioned in conversation. You know he’s chosen to help himself so that he can quietly keep an eye on you, and the thought makes you feel more secure and unburdened, appreciative of his attempts to keep your mind occupied. “It’s high class fashion, baby.”

“Maybe in 2010,” Jungkook retorts without glancing away from the blush he’s patting onto Yoongi’s cheeks. “These days it’s all about nail art, hyung.”

Namjoon pipes up. “Like drawing pictures and stuff on the nail? I think some of the girls in my class get those.” He gasps, wriggling in his seat as he turns to you with as much urgency as he can while his hands stay still in your loose grasp. “Do you think you could do that?”

You laugh self-consciously. “I’m not really an expert,” you begin, but Namjoon’s look of veiled disappointment is too much to bear, “but I could give you some nail stickers? They’re just like, love-hearts and stars and leaf patterns and stuff, but-”

With a gasp Namjoon leans forward. “Can I have the leaf ones?” After receiving your confirmation, his knee jiggles under the table in suppressed excitement as you pick up a bottle of nude base coat, the colour of milky tea with a hint of pink to warm it up a bit. You’d used it many a time when you just wanted something plain, and it’ll serve you well today as a blank canvas. Namjoon holds his breath as you uncap it and hold up his pinky finger, carefully coating the smallest fingernail in the glossy polish.

His hands are warm, pliant under your grasp. As he goes quiet to let you focus, the sounds of the rest of the room fill in the vacuum.

“You get that away from my eyes,” Yoongi hisses at one point, making his two stylists tut in reproach.

“It’s just an eyelash curler, hyung,” Taehyung defends, Jungkook providing a resounding ‘yeah!’ in the background. “People use them all the time, it doesn’t hurt.”

“People wax and get tattoos and piercings all the time, Taehyung, and those are still painful. You will not be using that medieval torture device on any part of me.”

Taehyung huffs, and you hear a petulant clank as he drops it back onto the table. “Enjoy your boring straight lashes then, Min Yoongi.”

“I will, actually,” he retorts automatically. “Are you almost done? I feel like I’ve dunked my face in cake flour.”

“Not even close,” Jungkook responds cheerily. “Now it’s time for the fun part though, don’t worry.”

“And what’s the fun part?”

A familiar sticky thwack echoes through the room. “Lip gloss,” he declares with a pleased voice.

Just as Yoongi lets out a pitiful groan, Hoseok gasps from the other end of the table. “Jimin,” he squawks in offense, “why aren’t you giving me lip gloss?”

Jimin just about growls in response. “I said not to move,” he chastises, “now you’ve gone and fucked up the smokey eye, so thanks a lot.”

“I believe you’re the one that fucked up, Jimin,” Hoseok answers haughtily, “a poor worker blames his tools.”

“If you’re calling yourself a tool, I’d be inclined to agree,” Jimin responds, his tone clipped in a way that means he’s focussed. “Okay, that’s looking better. And we’re not doing lip gloss, it looks tacky.”

Finished with the bottom layer on both of Namjoon’s hands, you glance up in just enough time to see Jungkook gasp and turn Yoongi around violently, presenting him like a piece of evidence in court.

Jimin appraises him silently, Yoongi blinking and waiting for his opinion. Taehyung and Jungkook have done a great job, giving him delicate hints of pink shadow just under the outer corners of his eyes, short swoops of eyeliner and baby pink lips coated with a thick sheen of gloss reflecting the light. With an indignant tut, Jimin turns back to Hoseok. “It looks tacky unless you’re Yoongi,” he corrects.

Yoongi seems more content than Hoseok with the answer, and steals Jin’s mirror to inspect himself. He tilts it every which way, mouth slowly opening. “I do look kinda hot, don’t I?”

“See?” Jungkook cheers with a small pump of his fist. “We did good, right? Oh. Jin-hyung, do you need the mirror back? Wait, let us help you! We come highly recommended, Taehyung and I.”

Tuning out the others, you turn back to Namjoon. “Okay, let’s put on some stickers.”

It takes the rest of the morning for everyone to finish up, but none of you seem in a rush. Yoongi, routinely smacking his lips together to feel the texture of the gloss, starts getting different dishes together to make some lunch, and his two little helpers go over to make Jin look like the tiger mom of his dreams. Jimin can’t hide his pride at how well Hoseok’s smokey eye and peachy lip turn out, and Hoseok can’t help but admit that he likes it. Namjoon covers each nail in a thoughtfully selected and arranged sticker, and keeps cooing over them as you cover them in a clear top coat.

Finally, when all of your boys are prettied up and you’re just about to tuck in to lunch, there’s a knock at the door.

You rush up to answer, and this time it is in fact Sejin. He looks harried, chest heaving like he rushed to get here, and before you can even greet him he’s thrusting a brown paper bag towards you.

“Traffic,” he gasps out, “I’m so sorry about the wait, there was a hold-up. I got you it,” he murmurs, before raising his voice so the others - who are no doubt listening in with curiosity - can hear, “so I got you the ginger pills for your stomach, and then just some vitamins that the lady at the counter told me were good for immune systems. Take it easy. Send me a text if you need anything, or if you don’t need anything.”

His voice sounds so awash with concern, his eyes softened in sympathy even as he looks out of breath from getting back here as quickly as possible, that you throw yourself at his chest and wrap your arms around him in a quick hug. He stays frozen for a moment, then pats your back and squeezes your shoulders fondly once you pull away. “Thanks, Sejin,” you say with a smile, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

When you shut the door lightly behind him and poke your head into the main room, where everyone’s acting like they were’t eavesdropping (Jungkook and Taehyung are thumb-wrestling, Jimin has grabbed Namjoon’s hand to inquire about the little leaf stickers, Hoseok’s turned his face a full one hundred and eighty degrees from you, staring wistfully out the window, and Jin and Yoongi share a look). “I’m just going to duck upstairs and take some of the ginger pills and the vitamins he got me, I won’t be long. You can start without me; don’t let it get cold.”

Though you try and stay calm, when you shut yourself in your bathroom, your hands are trembling. The thin cardboard box tears as you open it, a thick folded wad of instructions and warnings falling out. The longer you take, the more suspicious it is, so you just scan over them to get a general idea. Piss on a stick, you think to yourself, how hard can it be?

So nervous that your muscles lock up, it’s hard enough to actually do even that, but once you’re done, you wash your hands and the handle of the small white stick, and wait. Unable to look, you leave it on the counter and sit on the toilet seat lid, feeling your heart race a million miles a minute. Breathe.

A knock on the door makes you startle violently, a hand instinctively rising up to press against your chest. With a racing heart, you call out to ask who it is.

“It’s us,” Yoongi’s voice echoes through the door. “Me and hyung, I mean. Is it the- the test, sweetheart?”

Opening the door, you let the two men in with a silent nod, returning to your stoop. “Just waiting,” you explain when they glance at the plastic stick on the counter. Your voice has never felt so small and distant to you. It makes you want to curl into yourself and disappear.

Yoongi hovers near the test, checking his watch, but Jin immediately comes over to you, smoothing your hair back and pressing your head and shoulders against his torso. You slump into him, into the embrace that always reassures you. Jin smells still like his cooking, and breathing it in gives you some small comfort.

The three of you don’t speak. There’s nothing to say; not yet, not when you still don’t know. Yoongi stands by the test like a guard dog, not looking himself, and Jin rubs your back and strokes your hair, holding you close.

After what feels like a cold eternity, Yoongi consults with his watch again and clears his throat lightly. “Do you want to come and check, sweetheart?”

You get the thought of you leaving Jin’s hold, of going up there and taking the piece of plastic and seeing two blue lines, and you shake your head, pressing yourself more firmly against Jin. “Can you just… Can you check it and tell me?”

As Yoongi turns to pick it up, you feel yourself tense. Two blue lines, your mind chants over and over, and even as you’re terrified you’re going to somehow conjure that result by thinking too hard about it, you can’t stop.

The plastic rattles against the counter, and you’re watching his face, eyes narrowed on his expression with laser focus. He picks it up, looks at the result, and the slightest exhale gives him away. A tiny puff of breath, his shoulders dropping an inch and the line between his brows smoothing out. Your heart soars in raw relief even before he confirms, “you’re not pregnant, Y/n.”

Even though you’re happy, so grateful of fate working in your favour, the underlying fear of the past few hours comes crashing down on you like a tsunami, and you burst into tears, your whole body shivering and juddering with sobs that you muffle against the soft fabric and solid chest you’re leaning on.

“Hey, hey,” Jin’s voice calls to you in a soothing croon, “you’re okay, baby, you’re fine. You’re safe.”

The reassurance only makes you wail harder, feeling so unburdened, so unanchored, like you could float away were it not for your grip on his sleeves. He rocks you gently, back and forth as his fingers card through your hair and cradle your back. It’s not until you hear the hollow clatter of the test going in the trash can that you feel the ghost of your fear and worry leave you, and finally you go slack against him, tears dried up.

As you sit up and dab at your eyes, Yoongi passes you a tissue to properly clean yourself up and Jin pats your hair back down. “Sorry,” you pipe up with a croaky voice, “I got your shirt messy.”

Jin smiles softly and offers you a hand to stand with. “Never you mind that, young lady.” He’s quite a sight to see now; even with a soft expression, his eyeliner is sharper than the point of a knife and the imperious dark red of his lips makes anything less than a grin look pouty and dramatic. “Do you want us to let the others know you’re feeling under the weather? I can bring some food up here for you? Are you too cold? Too hot?” You giggle tearily as he lays his hand across your forehead and pinches your cheeks lightly, clucking in worry.

“I’m fine,” you reply. “I’ll take ten minutes or so to calm down a bit and then I’ll join you all. Can you just tell them I’m on the phone with a friend or something? I won’t be long.”

Jin furrows his brows. “Are you sure? If you need anything, I’m here for-”

“Hyung,” Yoongi chides gently, “let’s give her a breather.”

By the way Jin sucks in a deep breath and nods stiffly, it might be him that needs the breather. Yoongi drags him away as you thank them, and soon enough you’re once again alone in the bathroom.

Stumbling on weak legs to your bed, you all but collapse onto it, feeling totally devoid of energy. You just need a moment to recharge, that’s all. Just need a moment to acknowledge that no, there isn’t a life form inside you right now, and yes, everything can go back to normal.

And if it’s well over ten minutes by the time you make it back downstairs to reheat your portion of lunch, no one mentions it.

The afternoons are often a lazy affair in the Villa. Unless you’re off getting fucked (not uncommon, of course) you tend to hang around in the lounge with whoever’s in the mood for socialising, and put something on TV.

You’re starting to realise that perhaps there are better uses of your time, which is why when Namjoon asks how Jimin got so good at makeup, you enthusiastically accept Jimin’s generous offer to be his model.

Once again your communal area gets renovated into a mini studio fit for purpose. Two of the couches are pulled closer together, a tight arrow shape around the coffee table corner. As is often the case, Yoongi and Jin are noticeably absent, with Namjoon and Jungkook on one sofa, leaning forward in their eagerness, and Taehyung and Hoseok on the other, the younger looking like he’s just about to fall asleep on Hoseok’s shoulder.

You perch on the edge of the table between them with nervous anticipation as Jimin darts upstairs to collect his tools. “How come you’re wanting to learn, Namjoon?” you ask lightly.

The academic scratches his neck lightly, knee bumping against Jungkook’s as he shifts in place. “It’s interesting, and I love learning new things,” he states, his voice lilting up at the end.

Jungkook nudges his elbow into Namjoon’s side. “He thinks Jimin’s focusing face is hot.”

“I did not say that!” Namjoon insists, but the violent blush in his cheeks betrays him. “I enjoy watching, that’s all.”

“I’m sure you do, hyung, I’m sure you do,” Jungkook commiserates with a wise and somewhat sarcastic nod, but before Namjoon has any further chance to defend himself, you hear the thud of socked feet coming down the stairs.

Jimin’s skirt flounces around his thighs with every step as he rushes back in, a heavy-looking back held against his chest. He pauses in front of you, breathing slightly elevated. “Up you get,” he instructs.

You do so without thinking, but then stand awkwardly beside the coffee table as he takes your spot and dumps the makeup bag beside him. “Where do I sit?” you ask hesitantly, but Jimin just pats his thigh wordlessly.

Glancing out at the four onlookers, you suck in a breath and place yourself delicately on his lap, perpendicular so that your shoulder is against his chest and you’re facing Namjoon. Clearly it wasn’t what he was after, as Jimin clicks his tongue with a huff and grabs you under the knee, parting your legs so that you’re facing him, balanced on a single, stocking-clad thigh.

Your eyes widen as you’re suddenly face-to-face with him as he raises a brow at you. “Namjoon wants to learn, little mouse,” Jimin instructs, “so you’re going to be nice and still for me, right?”

You’re hyper aware of the pressure of his corded thigh against your core, even through your loose cotton shorts, and the four sets of eyes on you that are just outside your peripheral. “Yes, Jimin.”

His eyes darken in disapproval, fingers tightening on your knee. “A good doll doesn’t make any noise either,” he chastises. “Pinch me if you want out, otherwise stay still and be quiet.”

You swallow, recognising his introduction of a non-verbal safeword. But there are others watching, and he was just meant to be doing your makeup. Your eyes dart to risk a glance at the others, blurry in the very corner of your eye. They’ve gone dead still, Jungkook and Namjoon still leaned inwards towards you, Taehyung close to Hoseok but definitely no longer napping. You aren’t allowed to nod or say yes, so you give your lack of response as confirmation.

Jimin lets out a short hum and drops his gaze from you, unzipping the makeup bag. “Lots of steps in makeup have to do with personal preference,” he explains, glass, metal and plastic clattering together as he draws out a bottle. “But starting with primer is like prepping a canvas, so it’s always a solid first step.”

For a moment you’re confused, before you recall that Jimin’s teaching this all to Namjoon. He glances at the academic briefly, giving you a glimpse of his graceful side profile before he turns back and clicks open a narrow tube, piping some of the creamy formula on the back of his hand. When he dips a clean beauty blender into it, collecting it on the narrower end, you notice it glistens just slightly.

“I ran this under the tap upstairs to get it damp,” Jimin continues, and you fight the urge to flinch when you feel it begin to dab along your nose, spreading out to your cheeks. “These blenders are good because the sponginess is a good texture to make everything smooth, but they’re so absorbent that if they’re dry they’ll suck up half the product. If they’re a little damp, you won’t need as much.”

You can’t bring yourself to meet Jimin’s gaze, or even lift your eyes to his face at all, far too intimidated by the proximity. Instead, you watch the rhythmic way his chest rises and falls, rippling the Gucci logo on his white shirt. The afternoon had brought a low, hot sun, and all of you had stripped off any outer layers. Jimin was no different, ditching the jacket, and you can just make out his upper arms flexing past the short sleeves before the blender gets a little too close to your eyes, and you snap them closed.

“Once you’ve done that, I’d go in with a foundation…” Jimin lets out a small sigh through his nose. “This shade won’t really match exactly, but it’ll do. Finding the perfect shade is like finding a pair of shoes that fit just right, it can take ages but once you’ve got it, you’ve got it. Unless you go and get a tan.”

Slowly you begin tuning Jimin’s voice from coherent sentences into one smooth, lulling river. Soft whispers of brushes and cool swipes of liquid make your skin tingle, and the solid, unmoving presence of his thigh between yours anchors you in the moment.

After every step, or whenever there’s a specific technique to show off, you feel the searing heat of his fingers on you, turning your head to the side with a tight grip on your chin, displaying you to the others. Every time, that heat moves downward, pooling in your core.

“Eyes open,” a voice rings out, short with impatience.

Upon following his command, you focus on his face with a few blinks, just in time to see him come at your eyes with a narrow, pointed brush. Instinctively jerking away, you gasp when the movement causes you to grind against him slightly, pleasure blooming at the friction.

With an annoyed curl of his lip, Jimin uses the hand not holding the brush to grab your chin again, fingernails digging in and pulling you closer. “Stay still,” he hisses, and lets go after you freeze into place again.

This time, when he brings the brush back up, it goes not onto your eyes, but above onto your brows, and you remain obediently motionless as you feel the stiff brush press on something powderlike. As he explains its purpose and use to Namjoon, however - the other three watching just as intently - you don’t listen to his words, instead directing all your focus downwards.

If you move, just slightly, the smallest shift of your pelvis, you can press your clothed clit against the strip of bare skin between his skirt hem and the stockings, where the flesh is stiff with tensed muscle. You watch his face as closely as you dare, wary of a reaction, but there’s none.

It’s not much, and it’s not nearly enough, but you sate yourself on that dull pleasure as he finishes your brows, and begins working on some eyeshadow. He takes longer here, dipping into different shades with pretty names that you forget the second you hear them, because it’s riskier now, with your eyes closed again. You can’t see if he’s aware of your minute motions, but you’re too desperate to stop.

When there’s suddenly a sharp poke on your lid, your instinct takes over and you jerk back with a gasped yelp.

Jimin growls, and the noise makes you open your eyes in alarm. He’s holding a jet black eyeliner wand, and his face is tense, displeased. You even open your mouth to apologise, before quickly thinking better of it.

“Sorry for the technical difficulties, gentlemen,” Jimin states to the others stiffly. “Give me a moment to sort out my equipment.”

A rush of heat floods your core at the dismissive way he refers to you, and when you feel his hand tighten - not on your jaw, but on your throat itself - you melt into his grasp. The cold bands of his rings dig into the flesh as he inflicts just enough pressure to make your heart race.

Still able to breathe comfortably, just with that physical reminder of his strength and his control, you go pliant in his hold, eyes fluttering before they naturally settle shut.

“There we go,” Jimin murmurs, “now let me continue.”

Jimin uses your cheekbones to prop his hand up as he paints a delicate stroke of black across the bottom of each eyelid, his voice like honey as he walks Namjoon through every last detail.

The weak rutting had barely given you any relief before, but now with Jimin’s hand on your throat, it’s not even enough to keep you sane. Your brain knows there are four other people trying to watch the processes of applying makeup, but that logical part is being steadily overridden with primal need, a need that’s going unfulfilled.

Jimin has to remove his hand to show you off, then to turn your head back and reach for something else, the sticky sound of it opening, and the wet bristles that you can only just feel against the edge of your eyelids tells you it’s mascara.

“Look up,” Jimin commands shortly, tapping your temple. You follow command and glance up, curling your fingers into your own thighs to stop yourself from flinching when the wand comes so close to your eyes.

When he shows off his work this time, your eyes are finally open again, and so you find yourself facing the others properly. Namjoon’s doing a decent job of pretending he’s actually interested in the makeup, but his eyes spend too much time on the space between your legs, and Jimin’s face to be really focused. Jungkook’s got his feet up on the couch, with an arm shoved in front of his crotch, rocking against it to relieve some pressure.

On the slightly less affected couch, Hoseok sits back with his gaze hooded as he stares you down. Taehyung, shoulder-to-shoulder with the dom, has a swollen bottom lip pinned tightly under his front teeth. You don’t doubt he wishes nothing more than to be between you and Jimin right now.

Jimin pulls you back too soon, and as he retrieves the familiar short, round casing of a tube of lipstick, you can’t hold back any longer. No longer worried about accidentally being stabbed in the eye, you keep your face still but tighten your thighs around his, grinding your core against him.

You know you aren’t being subtle, but you’re beyond caring, just needing something to relieve the desire boiling over inside you.

As he uncaps the lipstick - a deep wine red that looks ridiculously expensive - he sends you a warning glare. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he chastises in a low tone.

You choose to ignore him, propping your hands on the top of his thigh, over the soft pleats of his skirt, to get better leverage, moaning between closed lips at the feeling.

“That’s disappointing,” Jimin admits, and as your heart begins to sink at his tone, his free hand lifts up once more to wrap around your neck.

This time, instead of his grip being an implication of consequence, he starts to tighten and tighten and tighten, slowly and steadily. You feel the pressure on the sides of your throat, where his fingers are, not on your voicebox, and it makes you start to feel a little hazy. He keeps going as you feel the first brush of lipstick against your parted lower lip, and there’s a heat in your face, a slight tightness. His fingers curl in more, just slight changes every time, but your brows furrow at the slight pain, and without you even reaching out to pinch him, he’s eased back to that sugar-sweet lightheadedness.

It’s easier to let your eyes flutter - not open but not quite closed either - as your lips are coated in red, hand moving with just as much case as his other. Although you can breathe, it’s thin, and you feel yourself go lax at the slight deprivation, like you’re floating above yourself. Once the cap of the lipstick clicks, his grips falls away, and you instinctively suck in a breath, your exhale sounding closer to a pleasured sigh.

You begin to sink forward, seeking out more contact as the endorphins of an oxygen rush lift you higher. Jimin hums, the lipstick clattering noisily on the coffee table as he grasps your shoulders and turns you slightly, so that you don’t faceplant into his chest. A strong hand keeps your chin up, air flowing so easily that you feel drunk on it, strength returning to your limbs.

“Isn’t my doll so pretty, Namjoon?” Jimin asks sweetly, before he ducks in and nips sharply at your earlobe, voice lowering to whisper harshly in your ear. “I only gave you two very easy, very simple commands. Be quiet and be still. And yet that’s seemingly too much to ask of you. I have no qualms about punishing you in front of everyone, little mouse. You’ve used up all your chances. If you make a single noise or move out of turn, I’ll discipline you right here without mercy.” His fingers are featherlight, tender as they turn you back to face him, pressing your foreheads together. His eyes dance in mirth, a smile playing on his lips. “Is that understood?”

You only just manage to prevent yourself from answering or nodding automatically.

Jimin laughs through his nose at the way your lips twitch, leaning back just a few inches. “That was mean of me, wasn’t it?” His smile falls in a second. “Then again, I think I’ve been going too easy on you lately. And I don’t make mistakes a second time.”

Blessedly, all he has left are delicate dustings of blush and highlighter, and some setting spray. He moves your face this way and that, tells you when to open your eyes and when to close them, and although it feels like your insides are vibrating hopelessly, you manage to keep still and silent, a perfect doll for him.

“All done.” When Jimin says those two magic words, and gives you permission to move again, you feel relief crash down on you, making your knees weak as you get up off him and collapse onto the couch in the gap between Jungkook and Namjoon.

Your relief is short-lived. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

You blink up at Jimin. “Um… You said we’re done.”

“The makeup is,” Jimin corrects, looking unbelievably intimidating even in a white t-shirt and pink cheerleading skirt. “We are not. You still deliberately disobeyed be, little mouse. You’re in trouble.”

On either side of you, Jungkook and Namjoon retreat, ducking out of Jimin’s line of sight so they can look on from the sidelines. You frown at him. “But I didn’t do it again, and you said you wouldn’t do it if I-”

“Goodness, were you so desperate that you stopped listening entirely? I said I wouldn’t discipline you in front of the others, Y/n. You haven’t earned absolution. You just get the dignity of privacy when I punish you. Go up to my room; now.”

There’s no protesting his command. There’s a safeword, or there’s obedience, and the choice is easy. You feel positively electric with arousal, excited at the concept of Jimin no longer going easy on you, and what that might entail.

You jump up, spare one glance at the four men that remain, open-mouthed on the couch, and make your way towards the stairs, Jungkook’s whines about ‘missing out’ fading away with distance.

Jimin’s room is relatively tidy, but it’s not the neatly made bed or overflowing tabletop of neatly arranged jewellery, watches and belts that catch your attention. At the foot of his bed, a heavy wooden armoire with his initials engraved is unable to ignore, a constant reminder of just how fucked you were. You didn’t know half the things he had in there, had only really experienced a few of them yourself, but something tells you that digging around inside it while you wait will just get you in more trouble; although you aren’t opposed to acting up for some extra attention, you’re in new territory with Jimin right now, and you want to get a feel for what you’re in for before you make things worse for yourself.

You’re proven right very quickly, when the door creaks behind you. “At least you know how to wait patiently,” Jimin’s voice calls in a sultry whisper. Turning around to face him, you can’t help but gulp at the glimmer in his eyes and the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That lipstick shade looks so beautiful on you, little mouse. Mind if I try it on?”

With two smooth steps, he’s upon you, a hand winding around the nape of your neck and the other keeping your chin steady as he presses his lips to yours, forceful enough that your teeth begin to dig in to the delicate flesh. You exhale roughly through your nose, a whimper stuck in your throat at the sudden contact. As plush as his lips are, he kisses you with a ferocity and coldness that has your mind reeling.

When he pulls away, your eyes flutter weakly open, and that whimper makes its way to the surface. He looks like sin personified, that deep blue hair low across his brow, exposing a narrow triangle of his forehead, a smokey eye and those lips of his, stained with red. Of course it’s not a neat application - you imagine yours must be even more ruined - but the messy smears of colour across the middle of his mouth just serve to make him look wilder, a creature of lust and raw desire. “Jimin,” you say, voice hushed like a prayer.

His eyes narrow minutely. “Did I say you could speak? On your knees, shorts and shirt off.”

You follow without hesitation, just about scratching yourself in the haste to remove your outer layer of clothing. Though your ribs practically vibrate with how fast your heart races, your skin still prickes into goosebumps now that all you wear are your panties and a bra. The fibres of the carpet, though soft, scratch against the bare skin of your knees and shins as need makes your nerves extra sensitive. You look up at him and shiver at the sight this position awards you.

You haven’t specifically drooled over his thighs before, but now that they’re bared to you, directly in your line of sight, you feel yourself grow wetter. You knew he still had the corded strength of a dancer, too, and the thought of him using that power to fuck you into the floor makes you seek out some friction, crotch pressed to your heels and rocking against them. From this angle, you can’t see up his skirt, but the fabric is thin enough to expose the bulge of his cock beneath it. Looking up further, craning your neck to see his face, you appreciate how even from below, he has a jaw that could cut diamonds - especially when he’s clenching it, like now.

Your eyes widen, taking in the tensed look of disapproval he’s giving you. With a start, you realise your hips are still rocking back and forth absentmindedly, and you freeze with an apologetic whine.

His hand comes down to stroke back your hair, deceptively lightly compared to iron lines of his face. “Oh, doll, you really can’t follow any basic commands, can you? So needy for cock that you can’t even think?” He lets out a teasing laugh, the sound like windchimes. Slowly, he trails a single finger down the side of your face, then diverts inwards along your cheekbone and pushes down against the seam of your lips, making you naturally part them. “Such a mess already,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Shall we see how much more that lipstick of yours will hold up? See how long it takes you to become just a mindless little doll for me to play with, hm? Maybe you’d behave then.”

Your eyes plead with him as he toys with your lips lazily, running that finger inside, collecting your saliva to smear it over, your cheeks a hazy red at the humiliation. It only serves to make you needier, though, as you wait for him to do something, to use you like you know he will, and judging by the grin on his face as he messes you up, you know he’s well aware of his effect on you. But good dolls don’t talk, and they don’t move on your own, and so Jimin makes you sit and wait, letting him take his time.

When he finally pulls his finger away and wipes the drool - tinged pink with the dislodged lipstick pigment - on your cheek, you could groan in relief, but he still seems in no hurry, lazily toying with the hem of his skirt as he tilts his head to the side like he’s appraising you. “Look at you, trying so hard to follow the rules,” he coos, “did you not like me calling you cockdumb, little mouse?”

You bite down on the inside of your lip to mask another whine, blinking up at him as it takes all of your effort not to grind against your heels. You can’t answer, but it seems your response was explanation enough.

“Oh, so that’s it…” Jimin grins, eyes alight with the condescending mirth that makes you feel so deliciously small beneath him. “You like it a little too much, huh? I should’ve known. I’ve been spoiling you; Tae too. In fact, I bet every guy in this house has spoilt you rotten, and now the only thing on your mind is when you’ll next get some cock..” You swallow at the way he slowly begins lifting his skirt, knuckles grazing on the skin of his thighs as more pale golden flesh is revealed. His voice is sultry, addictive. “Rest that pretty little mind of yours, little mouse, you don’t have to think about a thing. Just open your mouth and be a good doll for me, and I’ll give you what you need.”

You widen your jaw and let your tongue rest on your lower lip before he’s even bared himself to you, and he chuckles as he holds the skirt to his lower abdomen, showing off the cotton-candy pink underwear he’s donning. The satin-like fabric is so narrow across his hips and between his legs that it’s clearly not meant to contain his cock, but he doesn’t seem bothered about the precarious way the weeping tip pokes out of the skinny waistband. There’s not much time to dwell on it, or even admire it, however, because he quickly reaches in with his free hand and pushes them down, letting his cock bob free.

Your eyes grow lidded with desire as he holds himself at the base with three fingers and taps the head against your awaiting tongue teasingly, drool quickly pooling there.

Jimin grins at your needy reaction. “I’d love to tie your hands back and fuck your mouth, but I want them to be free if you need to use them,” he states lowly, before shrugging, “maybe next time. For now; open up.”

You stretch your mouth even wider, wanting to obey his every command, and feel his cock begin to fill it, the salty tang of his precum sliding over your tongue. Focusing on breathing through your nose, you fight the urge to gag. Though he takes his time, and certainly isn’t as large as some of the other members of the house, he hasn’t have any qualms about burying himself to the hilt, making your eyes tear up.

“Fuck, just like that,” Jimin curses, and your heart sings with the praise even as you struggle not to choke around the intrusion in your throat. Unsure if he wants you to properly suck him off, but knowing the last thing you should do is move without permission, you just keep your jaw as wide as possible, lips pulled back slightly to cover your teeth. As he draws back with a pleasured sigh before beginning his slow drive back in, you think Jimin’s more than happy with what he’s getting.

He takes his time, but throat isn’t exactly something that adjusts like your pussy would, and so it doesn’t get any easier to stop your gag reflex from kicking in when you feel him past the base of your tongue. You can breathe through your nose, but there are so many things to keep track of that you don’t get quite enough air to your lungs, trying to make every inhale you do manage as deep as you can.

His groans and breathy praises are enough to keep your nerves on a livewire, so turned on you could cry - and, in fact, your eyes tear up as he gently but thoroughly fucks your throat, so that when you glance up at him, he’s blurry in your affected vision. That doesn’t stop you from knowing that he’s grinning, because you can hear it in the way he assures you that you’re being “so perfect, little mouse; just drunk on cock, aren’t you?”

You groan around him in your mouth, and feel a spot of wetness on your sternum, that you don’t doubt is your drool beginning to spill over. Even as your cheeks flush with humiliation, he doesn’t tell you to suck him off, or do anything but leave your mouth wide open, and so you stare up at him with tears in your eyes and remain obediently still.

It could be a minute, it could be ten, but at one point, when your nose is pressed to the waistband of Jimin’s skirt and his hand is gently cupping the back of your head to hold you there, you become aware of a foreign presence between your legs.

It takes you a moment to recognise it, that probing pressure that quickly seeks out your clothed core, but you blink away the sheen from your eyes and and close your thighs just enough to feel the outline, and it’s the textured fabric against your skin and the teasing way he wets his lips that helps you make the connection. The object moves again, a stiff drag right over your clit, and the sudden burst of pleasure makes you choke around him, spit running down your chest now. He’s rubbing his foot against you, the foot that’s covered in pretty white thigh-high stockings.

Jimin pulls out to give you a moment to cough and splutter, and thankfully doesn’t call you out on the involuntary breaking of the rules, but you barely manage to suck in two breaths before he’s clicking his tongue at you, telling you your brief respite is over. You clear your aching throat one last time and spread your mouth wide open again, but Jimin just hums and pats your cheek. “Could my doll handle one more command? You’re doing so good, taking me well like I knew you would.”

You nod straight away before freezing at your unintentional mistake. The blue-haired man just lets out a dark chuckle, pulling his foot away. This time, you at least manage to prevent a whine, biting hard on the inside of your cheek at the loss.

“That was mean of me, wasn’t it? I understand, little mouse,” he coos, crouching in front of you so that you’re at eye-level, “I do. It must be hard for you to remember all these pesky rules and orders, isn’t that right?”

His gentle croon of sympathy cracks you once again, your need to please overriding your better judgement, and you nod again.

This time, he openly laughs, making you shiver as he runs a line through the spit that’s fallen between your breasts. “Let me give you a deal, then,” he begins, voice dripping with apparent sympathy, “I’ll take away those rules. I’ll let you move, and moan, and say my name, but only if you promise that it’s because you’re too cockdumb to follow them, hm? Can you say that for me?”

You swallow, opening your mouth to take a heaving breath. What’s worse; not being able to move, or having to admit that you’re so desperate that you can’t stay still? “I’m just c-cockdumb, Jiminnie, can’t think about anything else but feeling you inside me,” you confess, and as he strokes back your hair and smiles at you like a prized pet or small child, something beloved but not all that smart, it’s strangely freeing.

Your sex drive had skyrocketed since coming on this show, and even with having sex almost once a day, sometimes more, you found yourself missing the feeling of each guy in the house while they awaited their turn. It had been what felt like ages since the last time you actually, properly fucked him, even though it couldn’t have been a week, and you longed for it. Admitting that you were too desperate to even follow basic commands, letting yourself be reduced to a creature of need, with no coherent thoughts alleviated any shame you had about that thought. Jimin was here in front of you, skirt barely covering his spit-slicked cock, lips still a sinful wine red, and he loved your need, your desperation.

Jimin stands back up again, and makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, and any scant notion of tainted dignity that remained within you flies out the window. “I shouldn’t punish you, should I? When you couldn’t help it.”

“No, Minnie,” you agree with a whine, clenching your thighs together in a poor imitation of the stimulation you briefly had, “‘couldn’t help it. You don’t have to punish me.”

“And what would you want instead, little mouse?”

You widen your eyes in plea. “Fuck me, Minnie, I’m your good girl.”

He tilts his head to the side, and it’s the bemused smile that graces his lips that makes you realise he’s not going to give you what you want. “What a shame, then,” he murmurs, his fingers delving into your hair and tightening around a fistful of it, “that I have to punish you anyway. How else will you learn?”

You gasp as he steps backwards, pulling you with him by the grip in your hair. You’re forced to stumble forward on your knees and the tips of your fingers as he sits down on the edge of his mattress and settles you in front of him. “Minnie,” you whine, your own hands reading out to clutch at the fabric of the duvet in front of you.

“Y/n,” he teases in a singsong voice, “remember that new command that I wanted from my doll?” He spreads his legs open further, and the pink miniskirt rides up to expose his cock, smeared with a deep red from your ruined lipstick, dripping with saliva and precum. The hand in your hair tugs you closer. “It’s suck.”

Jimin isn’t gentle with you this time. Now that you have the advantage of responsiveness, sucking him down and swirling your tongue, he doesn’t bother sugar-coating it, and obscene noises emerge from your mouth as you swallow, gag and choke around him. He curses, using the handful of hair like a handle, guiding you up and down.

It’s barely any time at all before you feel a familiar sensation against your soaked panties. Jimin’s stockinged foot grinds against you with so much pressure you almost want to wriggle away from it. Your nerves are so touch-starved and your clit is so swollen that the slightest touch would’ve made you shiver, but the intense way he rubs the ball of his foot over your panties has you gargling hopelessly around him, mouth going slack.

He chuckles. “Too much? I can stop if you need, little mouse, I can’t have you getting distracted from your main use.”

Your hands detach from the duvet and wrap around his calf, fingers digging in and holding him there. Rutting your hips against it, you seek out the pleasure yourself but make sure to throw your efforts twice into blowing him, making him curse when you bob on his cock faster than your hips move.

“God, you’re fuckin’ filthy,” Jimin breathes out through a groan, “humping my leg like a fucking dog. Thought Tae was the pup, not you.” You’re unprepared for the hand that shifts and slips under your jaw, tightening around your throat so that you can feel his cock even more inside you. You gag, but swallow through it, the slight restriction of air bringing back that delicious heady feeling from earlier. Jimin catches your moan, even though it’s muffled around him. “Maybe I should get you a collar, little mouse. Make sure to buckle it tight.”

The thought makes your grinding falter, and you don’t doubt he feels the sudden rush of heat between your legs, because he suddenly kicks into action himself, grinding harshly against you as you cry out gutturally around his cock.

His grip on your neck loosens only to take a hold on the back of your head again, fucking your throat to chase his orgasm. The faster he snaps his hips, cursing lowly and groaning praises, the faster he jerks his foot against you, and it’s not long before the heat is gathering in a tight coil low in your belly.

You moan around him, jaw aching and lips stretched, and suddenly Jimin twitches inside you, spilling down your throat. Quickly, he pulls his cock out, and you only get the briefest taste on your tongue before he’s rubbing his tip across your swollen lips, spreading his cum across them.

His leg slows down as he releases, but you were so close to the edge yourself, and so you feel no shame in seeking it out, grinding yourself against him as you stick your tongue out to lick your lips clean.

Jimin groans, chest heaving, but lets you rut yourself against him, cum dripping down your chin, until finally you give a violent shiver as your orgasm runs through you. It’s mellow but toe-curling, and you clutch his leg to anchor yourself through it.

“Fuck,” you gasp out, head lolling forward onto his thigh, where the stocking turns to flesh, then the soft ironed pleats of his skirt.

Jimin’s hands are in your hair, stroking it away from your messy face and brushing out the tangles. “Oh, Y/n,” he chants softly, his voice a far cry from the dom that teased you before, “I love to play with you. How are you feeling?”

You feel drained, your entire body weight collapsed against him and the bed. “Mm.”

Jimin stifles a chuckle. “Could I have a colour, my little mouse?”

“Green,” you manage, “I’m green. But are we done now? If I don’t get some lip balm on now, my lips might just fall off.”

“Indeed we are,” he confirms, and bends down to slip his arms under yours, picking you up off the floor with ease. “As much as I love you being drunk off desire, I miss my clever, sweet, cheeky girl.”

Even with your body screaming in exhaustion, barely able to help him get you laid down on his bed and tucked under the duvet, your cheeks heat in a blush. “Don’t compliment me when I’m vulnerable, that’s cheating.”

“I’ll save them for later, then,” Jimin bargains with a tired smile, before he gets up and cringes, looking down. “As much as I’d love to collapse into bed for a nap with you right now, my sock is drenched thanks to you.”

Your eyes fly wide, and you manage to pull yourself up enough to glance over the side. Jimin isn’t kidding. All over the toes and top of his foot are dark patches in the stocking, clinging to his skin. “I’m so sorry,” you say with a wince.

“Don’t be,” Jimin assures, stripping it off with two fingers hooked into the fabric, “it was hot at the time. It just, uh, feels weird when it’s gone cold.”

Half the blood in your body has probably rushed to your face as you cover it with an embarrassed whine, burying yourself deeper in the sheets. “Maybe if you fucked me, I wouldn’t have gotten your sock wet,” you mutter petulantly, shamelessly deflecting.

“I’ll know better next time,” he quips, a grin evident in his voice. By the time you poke your head back up, he’s stripped down to just his white Gucci shirt, his bottom half totally bare as he retrieves a pair of boxers from the set of drawers. Stepping into them with no qualms about the temporary nudity - though, you suppose it would be stranger for him to be camera shy - he glances back over his shoulder. “And as much as I love to fuck you, we have just enough time for a cuddle before dinner. I miss you.”

Your heart warms, eyes soft. “Jimin,” you croon softly, “come here.”

He smiles, but hesitates. “Could I- I’m just- Should I text Tae?” he asks, lips twisting in uncertainty, still tinted a faded red. “I’m pretty sure nobody’s getting suspicious, and it’s not like we’re technically-”

“Text him,” you instruct with a beam. “I miss having you both close. We live in the same house; it sucks having to stay so separate.”

With how quickly Taehyung bundles into Jimin’s room after he sends the text, he must not have been far. He’s on you in a second, jumping onto the bed with enough vigor that the springs creak, and wriggling under the duvet beside you.

You seek him out with as much earnestness, if not enthusiasm, and hum happily when he lies back to let you rest your head on his chest. The bed creaks again, and Jimin’s body heat warms your back, his arm slung over your waist.

“It’s about time,” you hear Taehyung’s voice say, echoing through his chest, “I’ve been cuddling with one of Jin’s plushies these past few nights. It’s a sorry substitute for a whole human to snuggle.” He pauses to lift his chin, glaring imperiously at the blinking camera in the top corner of the room. “I missed having platonic cuddles with my friend Y/n. Cuddling is a favourite non-sexual pastime of mine.”

You giggle, curling into him and inhaling his comforting scent, like brown sugar or caramel. “I think you’re good, Tae.”

“Can we sleep now?” Jimin whines as he holds you tighter, face buried in the crook of your neck as he huffs. “I just had the soul sucked out of me.”

“I know, I know,” Taehyung grumbles, and if the comment strikes you as odd, it only takes the steady heartbeat and low hum of his breathing to blur the thought from your mind as you let yourself drift off.

Yoongi glances worriedly over his shoulder, ear straining to hear past the glass sliding door.

“They’re occupied,” Jin reminds, “besides, I doubt they can hear us all the way out here. Did we really have to come out to the patio just for a talk? It’s hot out here.”

The doctor shrugs, placing the package of fresh sliced beef onto the tabletop. “We’re having a barbecue tonight. At least this way we can pretend we were just getting set up.”

Jin narrows his brows, eyes softening in concern. Quickly, Yoongi drops his gaze, knowing it’ll just make him weak. “Yoongichi, talk to me. What’s up? What’s got you so nervous?”

Yoongi swallows. Thinks of what he rehearsed, of what he’d written in the notes app of his phone, read over and over that morning. This has been fun, but we’re kidding ourselves. Or maybe he’d skip the pretense and avoid beating around the bush. I can’t keep having sex with you while my feelings are on the line. “Um… A lot happened today. With Y/n.” Maybe he can beat around the bush a little bit, just to work up his courage.

“That it did,” Jin responds slowly, leaning against the outdoor dining table. Yoongi takes one of the wooden chairs, nails digging into the arms as he feels tension stiffen his body. “Though it seems like the others are doing a fine enough job of keeping her mind off it.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss the bitter tone in Jin’s voice. “Are you jealous? Of them, I mean.”

“Of course not,” the therapist answers immediately, “I have no right to be. She’s a free woman, and this is just a show.”

He frowns, heart sinking. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me about her, hyung. We started this so that you had an outlet. Physical or otherwise.”

Jin pauses for a moment. “I don’t think she would’ve told me,” he says finally, “if I wasn’t already there when part of it happened. If you hadn’t have asked me to look after her. She hasn’t told the others. Not even Namjoon, I don’t think.”

“And that bothers you?”

“It shouldn’t bother me,” Jin deflects.

Yoongi doesn’t miss a heartbeat. “That’s not an answer.”

Jin lets out a hollow laugh. “Since when you get so smart?”

Upon hearing those words, Yoongi feels a sudden shard of glass cut deep inside him, enough to make him wince. “I was always smart,” he replies stiffly. “I wasn’t dumb before I started fucking you, Jin. I didn’t get emotional intelligence through osmosis.”

At least Jin has the good grace to look pained. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to say you weren’t, I phrased that poorly. I just meant…” He trails off, seeking out the right words. “I suppose I’m realising how much you’ve learnt about me in the time we’ve been spending together lately. I feel like I don’t know much about you.”

Maybe because you don’t care about me like I care about you, Yoongi wants to say. Maybe because you only think about Y/n these days. “You could always ask,” he says instead, and curses himself for the pathetic way his voice wavers in the air.

Jin’s brows furrow deeper, and his hand begins to rub against his thigh. Self-soothing, Yoongi knows. Jin always started stroking at his own thigh when he was stressed. “It’s probably good that you asked to have this talk. I’m not sure this is best for both of us. I appreciate how you’ve stuck by me, and the support you’ve given me-” Yoongi wonders why he doesn’t just call it like it is, fucking, “-but it really seems like it’s doing more harm than good for you. Maybe we should put an end to this, Yoongichi.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. He came out here to say that. He came out here to end it. But hearing it from Jin’s lips, it sounds abhorrent to think of. “Don’t,” Yoongi blurts without thinking, nails digging into the wood, “don’t take it all away from me just based on that. I know what I have with you, Jin, and I know that right now it isn’t ideal, but it’s better than nothing!”

Jin’s brows knit together as he shakes his head. “I don’t think this is healthy. It was irresponsible of me to lean on you in the first place, but I swear you aren’t just a substitute for Y/n. I care about you, Yoongi, it’s why I came to you.”

“You came to me because you knew I’d say yes,” Yoongi corrects, a sad smile on his face. “Because you knew how I feel. It’s just my shitty luck that you don’t feel the same. I mean, I’m crazy about you, you’re crazy about Y/n, fuck, I’m even starting to- starting to think about her and me like that too, and…” He takes a breath, feeling like a speeding train about to run out of tracks. “And I know Jimin and Tae and Jungkook are all head over heels for her and each other, Namjoon just about worships the ground she walks on, Hoseok looks at most of the people in this house like he wants to eat them alive in the best way possible, and it’s just- All these feelings are all over the place and it just seems cruel that you couldn’t just like me. To want me to still be in your bed when you wake up, to want to cook for me not just with me, to maybe kiss when we fuck, I don’t know, it’s-” Yoongi forcefully cuts himself off before he digs that particular hole any deeper. “I guess the odds just aren’t in my favour here. Do you even like men? Romantically, I mean? A good fuck is fine, but-”

“I do, yes,” Jin says with a wince.

Yoongi’s heart sinks. “Just me then,” he surmises in a hollow tone. “That’s okay.”

Jin frowns. “I’m not entirely sure what you wanted to achieve with this conversation,” he says, in a voice so soft it could shatter, in a voice that sounds like he’s worried Yoongi might be the one to shatter, “but it sounds like whether you want to admit it or not, this friends with benefits thing just isn’t right for us. There’s too many loose strings and it’s getting messy.” Yoongi goes to butt in, but Jin isn’t done, raising his brows to get him to pause. “I want to be fully honest with you, Yoongi. I don’t think it’s wise for you to put your wellbeing on the line for a possibility. We should end this.”

There’s a part of Yoongi that’s writhing in relief, at seeing a light out of the cave, an escape. But that part of Yoongi is drowned out by the majority of his being, the part that can’t bear a goodbye. “It’s not messy,” Yoongi blurts against his better judgement, “I told you I’d keep my feelings out of this and I will. I want to fuck you, hyung, and you want to fuck me, and I see no reason to stop when I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you?” Jin asks dubiously. “I’m not going to continue this a moment further if I feel like you’re suffering because of this, Yoongi. It would be wrong of me.” He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by a swooshing noise.

Yoongi jumps and whirls around just as Jungkook hops through the sliding door, grinning at the two of them. Yoongi sighs, relieved it seemed like the kid hadn’t heard anything. “This is a private conversation, Jungkook.”

“Is that, like, your code?” the youngest asks. “Wait, doesn’t matter. Anyway; I want in.”

Jin frowns. “You what?”

Jungkook’s smile just grows wider, exposing his teeth. “I want in, hyung, you two always sneak away to fuck, so I’ve come to join. I brought supplies.”

Yoongi’s mouth drops open as the black-haired boy pulls his hand out of his pocket to reveal a fistful of condom packets. “Do you just carry those around in hope, or…?”

“I specifically went upstairs to get them,” Jungkook announces proudly. “So can I join the sex pact now?”

Jin pinches his brow. “There is no sex pact, Jungkookie, and now’s really not a great ti-”

“You can join, Kookie,” Yoongi interrupts, ignoring the disbelieving stare Jin sends him. The older man wanted to be assured that Yoongi was fine? He could do that. “Come sit on my lap.”

Jungkook looks like a kid on Christmas morning as he scrambles over, shoving the condoms back in his pocket. He clambers onto Yoongi’s lap with a touch of clumsiness, but settles in proudly, back against his chest. Automatically, Yoongi wraps his arms around him, low over his hips like a seatbelt.

Jin still seems to disapprove, hand dipping below the table to rub at his leg again. “This isn’t a good idea,” he says with a frown, “things will get messy if we start involving more people.”

Yoongi grins, leaning forward to press chaste kisses against Jungkook’s neck, making him giggle and squirm. Proving he was fine was one thing, but making Jin jealous? Making him feel what Yoongi had felt every time he gushed about Y/n? Yoongi wouldn’t turn an opportunity like that down. “Come on, hyung,” he coos teasingly, one of his hands lazily pressing down on Jungkook’s quickly-stiffening bulge, “our pretty boy just wants to play. If you aren’t interested, I’ll just fuck him myself.”

Jin’s eyes flare, watching Jungkook wriggle in Yoongi’s lap as he begins to suck a trail of hickies over the sensitive flesh. “I’m sure we’ll give him a better time together,” he says in a gravelly voice, and gets up out of his chair, stalking over to the pair. “But first, don’t you want to put on a show?”

Yoongi lifts his head up as Jin’s fingers brush over his cheek, and in a moment he’s being kissed with bruising intensity, all tongue and teeth. Jungkook whines and clutches at Yoongi’s shoulder, wanting in, but Jin’s lips taste like possessiveness and jealousy, and Yoongi thinks they’ve never been so sweet.

#cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jin smut #jin x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #ot7 smut #ot7 x reader

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bondsmagii · 3 years

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man it pisses me off so much when ppl impose themselves onto others in regards to triggers. one of my main triggers is a very popular bands music. sometimes im at the shops and i have to scramble for my headphones and remove myself. but like, people can listen to and enjoy that band. it’s not anyone’s fault i have this reaction. it’s on me to deal with my own shit. it sucks, sure, but it is what it is.

yeah, like... there's definitely two different levels of this, in my mind. the first level is regarding people you're around a lot and who you have a relationship with -- people you care about and who mutually care about you, where it wouldn't be inappropriate to mention things you struggle with and work out an agreement, or at the very least just give them a heads up/give them a opportunity to give you a heads up. like, if I know my friend gets really upset by a certain band, I'm not going to play it around them, you know? that's what we do for the people we care about.

but then there's the other level, which is regarding the interactions with strangers. these are people who you don't know, who don't know you, and aren't obligated to do more than the bare minimum in regards to decency. asking strangers to make allowances for highly specific and often difficult things is asking too much of them. in that respect, it's up to you to remove yourself, as you described. especially if the exposure is fleeting or happens rarely. it's not their fault, it's not your fault either -- but unfortunately it is your responsibility to conduct yourself in a cooperative way, and like. a lot of people don't get this.

I've had experience with triggers before in the past, which I'm very lucky I no longer have to deal with. but the way I worked through it was by exposure. there are some things I'll never be OK with, but I allowed myself to be exposed to it enough that it's no longer the world-ending response I used to have. I experience a brief gut-punch of unpleasantness, and then shake it off and immediately go about my day. this was the only option available for me, because one of my major triggers was something that happens to me damn near every day, and is also a frequent sound I definitely hear every day. it can even happen by accident, and can also be caused by the fucking wind. you know? there's no way I could demand that particular thing never cross my path. it's ridiculous. the only way I could have improved my quality of life was to work on it, and in the meantime I tried to ensure that I protected myself from it as much as possible (by wearing earphones, for example). naturally the people who were close to me picked up on this trigger and did help by ensuring it happened as little as possible, which I appreciate, but I would have never demanded that of complete strangers. like, damn.

triggers suck, but this attitude some people have that a) they're the only one who has them and b) it's something they can just demand for their rest of their lives while doing nothing to ensure their own future safety by working on it is astounding. and people actually think that telling people to "get over" triggers is ableist? managing triggers -- what we're actually talking about -- is literally a huge part of therapy lmao it's not healthy to avoid your triggers forever and never work on them! sorry to rant but as someone who worked my ass off for years to get through my laundry list of triggers I get so mad about this.

#anon #asks

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babyboy-cody · 3 years

Text

‘ ‘ chapter | 01 ’ ’

complex desires. ( prologue ) ( masterlist )

SUMMARY: It’s the first week of classes after winter break, but you’re not exactly used to seeing new faces - teachers and students in between.

WARNINGS: explicit language, mentions of mental disorders, anxious thoughts, anxiety attack

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

NOTES: i’m currently writing this chapter while drinking a big ass mug of hot cocoa. also, hunter’s pronouns are they/them! this series is one i’m most excited for. hope you kiddies enjoy <3

It was still early when the clouds gave off their rain to the grass and trees, when the road became alive with more splashes than your eyes could appreciate. Yet together they brought such a soothing sound, a natural melody every bit as beautiful as a mother's soulful hum. You felt each splash that touched your skin, watching as your cardigan become a deeper, more rocky hue. It was as if earlier the street had been a matte photograph, only to be washed as glossy as any magazine page.

Each raindrop is a kaleidoscope, if people could only see more closely. You wonder as you walk how it would be to stop time, to suspend this watery gift and peek through each one. Perhaps it would be fun to sit inside those raindrops and take that gravity propelled ride to the earth, as you imagine it you feel your inner self laughing – a little at the crazy daydream and a little at your own silliness. You see the rain beads upon the cars, upon each leaf and washing your outstretched fingers. Soon they will pull together, forming the puddles, opening up a whole new avenue of rain-related fun. Perhaps it isn't normal to love a rainy day so much, but who cares about normal anyway? You’re pretty sure "normal" is a made up thing.

Upon the umbrella come the playful sounds of dancing drops, and from it's rim comes the sight of their more relaxed cousins, dripping as if their soul purpose was to bring a sense of ease and calm to the day. And as the rain became more intense, it began to soak the bottom of each dark blue jean leg, deepening the denim to a stronger hue, bringing your brown boots to a glossy water-shine, becoming a kind of natural cocoon.

Each raindrop is a doorway into nature's heart, an invitation of sorts, a request for your soul to rejoin creation. In the rain there is a serenity, a sense of peace that offers to resonate with the peaceful elements of the soul. Walking among those drops is your meditation, a way to fully become present in the moment, a way to feel free.

There was a vibration coming to life in the back pocket of your jeans, cutting you out of your peaceful daydream in the rain. You stepped to the side to allow a cyclist to pass by and gave him a brief smile when he nodded his head in thanks. When you pulled out your phone to read the contact, you instantly smiled when seeing Mickey’s name on the screen.

“Okay, first off, hello. Second off, where the hell are you? Me and Hunter – okaayy – Hunter and I have been in the cafeteria since 7:15 in the goddamn morning,” she immediately went off as soon as you put the phone to your ear. “Also, did you take your meds today? My alarm went off as a reminder.”

“First off, hi back, Mick. Second off, it’s been 15 minutes and I’m five minutes away from the school. It’s fine if we don’t have breakfast today just once,” you laughed as you heard her scoff. “And thirdly, yes mom, I did take my meds. I actually have to get another refill for my BPD meds. Thank you for asking.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you better hurry. We have the last of your favorite yogurt and Hunter’s close to eating the damn thing,” you heard Mickey laugh as she shushes her significant other. “Also, be careful coming around the usual entrance. The school is doing some bogus construction to add a statue of the principal.”

“You’re shitting me!” You exclaimed, earning a dirty glare from a tiny senior citizen as she slowly walks passed you with her small cane. “What the hell did this prick do to earn that? Also, can you grab me a fruit cup too? I’ve been craving kiwi’s for some odd reason.”

“Well, he’s wicked rich and can basically do anything in this school and get away with it, literally. And there’s no fruit cups today, but there’s a bag of sliced apples and tangerine slices,” Mickey told you as she huffed, which you assume is her getting out of her seat to go back to the assortment of breakfast foods. “Ooh, there’s bagels too. I think they just added these.”

“Jesus Christ, this statue is stupid as hell,” you groaned and stood in front of the half built statue, your principal’s name on a gold plated plaque attached to the marble. “This guy really needs an ego boost, huh? And just tangerine slices then. I’m heading inside.”

“Alright, see you soon, baby doll.” She annoyingly kisses into the phone as you snorted and rolled your eyes at her antics.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you stood outside the entrance doors and shook the leftover raindrops from your yellow umbrella before closing it. You inhaled the fresh rain water for one last time before grasping onto the freezing cold and disgustingly wet doorknob and pulling it open to head inside. There was a small litter of students here and there; some reading new announcements on the bulletin board in the main hall; some sitting in the lounging chairs with laptops or textbooks open on their laps; some sitting on the ground with a half empty bottle of water beside their laps and phones in their hands, headphones in their ears. You terribly, annoyingly, and oddly missed this. You missed the bustle of students laughing and running down the halls. You missed it all, even if it has been two weeks.

You hear loud chatter coming from just ahead, so you know you’re about to enter the cafeteria area. Just as you’re about to do so, you stop in your tracks in front of a bulletin board. There were a few posters for new clubs, as well as study groups, upcoming announcements, room changes, and more. But one that really struck out to you was a new story writing group, specifically for writers or English majors. You felt a burst of excitement spread throughout your chest and settle into the pit of your stomach. You made sure to take a quick photo of the sheet beforr moving on into the cafeteria.

Almost immediately, you spotted Hunters straight platinum blonde hair and fiery streaks on one side while the other was icy blue. Sitting in front of them was Mickey, her hair curly and unruly, making you wonder if she rolled out of bed, threw some clothes on, and called it a day. You felt your cheek mucles twitch as your lips pulled up into a bright smile. Hunter was the first to notice you. They looked up at you passed Mickey’s shoulder and smiled so brightly that it made you reciprocate. They adorned bright orange eyeshadow with white eyeliner, making their eyes pop out even more. You loved how they didn’t cake on makeup, they kept it simple, yet so drop dead gorgeous.

“There she is, the man of the hour,” they announced and got up from their seat to pull you in for a warm, tight hug. “I missed you so much. I’m so sorry for not messaging you the entire break. We didn’t have any service whatsoever.” There was a crestfallen look on Hunter’s face and you held their cheeks so they wouldn’t look away.

“Look at me, don’t stress about it, okay? Did you at least have fun?” They nodded with a pout. You grinned and gave their forehead a kiss before pulling them in for another hug.

“Okay, first you’re late. And now you’re stealing my person. I see how it is,” Mickey smirked as you gave her the bird behind Hunter’s back as you both pulled away from the hug. “Hi Y/N.”

“Hi Michelle,” you responded in the same tone as you sat in an empty chair around the table. “Give me my tangerine, please.” She passed you the small cup of tangerine slices with a grin when you began eating them.

“You been eating three times a day?” She asked you, looking at you through her mane of curls rather than pushing her hair away. You shrugged and kept your eyes on the half empty cup in your hands. “Y/N..”

“I’m doing it little by little, Mick. And I’m starting to drink water too,” you blushed and laughed softly when her and Hunter began praising you. Praise was something you weren’t used to, but hearing it every now and then really gave you butterflies. “It’s nothing..”

“Are you kidding me?” Hunter laughed and reached over to lay a hand over yours. “This is amazing. This is progress and we’re both so very proud of you.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Mickey lightly bumped your shoulder with her knuckles as Hunter pulled away. “You should do a meal plan like I did when I had to get my weight back up, so that way you don’t forget to eat three times a day.”

“I don’t know.. I don’t exactly have the funds to buy a lot of groceries. I had to use over $100 of my food stamps cause almost everything in my kitchen was old,” you huffed and popped another tangerine slice into your mouth. “Plus, I’ve been busy with finding a job and paying for my therapy appointments and doing school work, and it’s all so fucking overwhelming.”

The first bell rang, signaling students to begin their walk to class with only a few more minutes to spare. You grabbed your shoulder bag and stood beside Mickey while she held onto Hunter’s hand. The three of you passed by a swarm of students; freshman’s and sophomores running by to get to the lecture halls early; juniors having their books and laptops already out and pressed to their chests; seniors loitering in the halls with their friends. Thankfully, you, Hunter, and Mickey had your first English class together.

“How about this?” Mickey began. “Hunter and I will help pay for your groceries.” She hushed you as you began to lightly protest. “Listen, you already got a lot on your plate. I’d be a really shitty best friend if I allowed you to deal with all that. So every week, we’re gonna swing by your place to drop off some stuff, okay? I’ll create a meal plan for you with your favorites, so that way we’re taking that worry for money off your back.”

“Mick, you don’t have to do that for me. Like I said, I’ll find a way,” you mumbled and shrugged as you walked up the long staircase to head up to the lecture halls. “I couldn’t do that to you guys.”

“Y/N,” Hunter stopped you three in the middle of the hallway. “We care about you and we don’t want you going down that negative route alone. We both have jobs and enough money to cover Mickey and I, and it’ll seriously make me the happiest if you let us do this, please.”

“Two more minutes until class begins,” the voiceover on the speaker spoke.

“Fine,” you sighed, feeling a smile pull your lips as you all continued walking to the English room. “I love you both. And I’m very grateful for you to do this for me.”

“We know,” Mickey told you as she kissed your cheek obnoxiously, causing you to groan and Hunter to laugh. “But in all seriousness, don’t be a stranger to asking, okay?”

You nodded and gave her a reassuring smile as you made your up the steps to your seats in the bottom middle row. Mickey sat in between you and Hunter as more students filled the class. There was light chatter and soft clatter as seats were pulled down and the folding desks were pulled up. You set your bag between your feet, being cautious of not getting it dirty from your boots. Pulling out your spiral notebook that had four sections, you neatly wrote the course name, your name, and the date. Nervously clicking your pen, you tried to block out the noise that had started to get a little too loud. Nibbling on your bottom lip to distract yourself, your feet began tapping on its own while you tapped your pen on your book. Mickey and Hunter were having a conversation of their own, so they didn’t notice the early signs of a small anxiety attack.

An invisible hand clasps over your mouth; an equally ghostly hypodermic of adrenaline pierces your heart, unloading in an instant. You feel your ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate your lungs. Your head is a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing your mind into blackness. You want to run; you need to freeze. Sounds that were near feel far away, like you’re no longer in the body that sits paralyzed in the cold seat. Your breath comes out in rapid, shallow breaths as you shake your head at yourself.

“No, no, no,” you harshly whisper as your bobbing knee gets almost frantic.

You felt the panic begin like a cluster of spark plugs in your abdomen. Tension grew your her face and limbs, your mind replaying the last attack. You held onto the sides of your head, your elbows digging into the hardness of your desk. Your only movement was the trembling of your limbs and salty tears darkening your sleeves. There you stayed, unaware of the numerous eyes watching you until Mickey turned and noticed your frantic state.

“Shit,” she hissed and slung her arm across your desk as the other wrapped around your shoulders. “I’m here, Y/N. It’s okay.. sshhh.. I’m right here.” She noticed a few students staring, to which she narrowed her eyes and snarled, “What the fuck are you looking at, dipshits?!” They immediately looked away after being caught. She turned her attention back on you. “What’s going on, huh?” Her voice was soft and soothing as she smoothed her hand down your hair.

“It-It’s so.. loud,” you hiccuped and covered your face even more when a sob escaped your lips, spit flying onto your hands as you felt your neck, cheeks, and ears heat up out of embarrassment and shame. “I can’t stop it, Mick. I-I can’t!”

Hunter sat on the other side of you, reaching down to get your back, shuffling their hand inside to pull out your earplugs and inhaler. They handed the earplugs fo Mickey while pressing the opening of the inhaler to your lips. “Come on, babe,” they quietly told you and tucked a few strands of hair behind your ears, lightly blowing on your flushed skin to cool it down. “There we go,” they gently said when you took two deep puffs of your inhaler while Mickey made sure your earplugs were snug inside your ears. You felt your lungs open up as the cold, bitter medicine settled on your tongue.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and shook your head, wiping away the last of your tears. You sniffled and looked at Mickey and Hunter. “I-I don’t know what happened.. it just... happened.”

“It’s always unexplained, but don’t be sorry for something you can’t control, okay?” Mickey told you firmly while making sure you were looking into her eyes. “This doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

Hunter smiled and sat your bag back between your feet before moving to their seat next to Mickey. All the students had settled down, their conversations now a quiet murmur. You felt relieved as you pulled your earplugs out and slid them inside your protective case, making sure the lid was closed tight before shoving it into your bag. Mickey kept an eye on you the entire time, making sure no one triggered you. She sat with an elbow resting on the back her chair with her legs lightly spread.

“You’re man-spreading,” you quietly told her, laughing quietly when she flipped you off.

Suddenly, the metal doors opened and a man hurriedly walks in with an expensive looking leather messenger back over his shoulder. Your lips parted and you sat up straight in your seat when he gave the class a guilty smile. You’ve never seen him in the school. Not even before break. He must’ve been in a different department and just got transferred to the English center. He deeply intrigued you. You noticed the other girls in the class twirling their hair in a cliché way with the tips of their pens between their teeth. He wore all black, and it was so very different compared to what other professors wore. There was no sweater vest or button up shirt. He just wore a comfortable and soft looking black sweater with black jeans and black boots. His dirty blonde - almost brunette - hair was perfectly styled. He looked devastatingly handsome.

“Hello, my name is Professor Shepherd and I’m going to be your English teacher for the rest of the semester. Professor Winifred recently had her baby during winter break and shall be back for the next semester,” he gave another knee-weakening grin as he clapped his hands together. “Shall we get started?”

#AAAHHHH FIRST CHAPTER IS OUT!!!#we’re just getting started 😏#duncan shepherd x reader #bill skarsgård x reader #professor!bill #professor!duncan #love triangle #complex desires series

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

warnings: extremely negative feelings towards a sibling, distressing / intrusive thoughts. placed under a break due to the content of the message. remember, I'm not a mental health professional.

updated with additional viewpoints from readers at the bottom!

I'm sorry in advance.

I really hate my older sister. She never respects my boundaries, insults me frequently, and is just annoying and hypocritical in general.

I've always had these issues with her, but she lived at her own apartment away from me and the rest of my family, so I've been able to control my hatred of her. But last year in March she moved back in and sold her apartment. She has no plans of leaving anytime soon, and I can't stand her.

We shared a bedroom for about a year because we were also taking care of my cousin who also moved in with us last year. My cousin has since moved out, but my sister is unfortunately here to stay for a couple of years. But with extra space, I was able to move into the spare bedroom and thought that would be the end of my problems.

It wasn't. In fact, she has become even more unbearable. The hardest part of this relationship is that she has a weird obsession with being with me. I'm not sure if this is because she loves me, or she's just weird. I think she's weird because my parents never act like she does.

Our bedrooms are right next to each other. There's really no reason for her to miss me. But every single fucking minute she's coming into my room to bother me. I would have more empathy for her if she acknowledged my limits, but she doesn't.

She's constantly cuddling me after I've said for MONTHS that I don't enjoy it and it makes me uncomfortable. She constantly belittles me by saying I couldn't live without her, and that I would be a mess if it wasn't for her (mind you, I've lived without her at the house for YEARS and I was perfectly fine). She's constantly in my business, interrogating me about every little thing. She once locked the door and wouldn't let me leave the room without answering her questions for 20 minutes; she asked me about a $30 Amazon order containing manga I ordered with MY OWN MONEY. And I had permission for my parents to order it! It wasn't her business whatsoever.

I've tried to keep her out numerous times; I've gotten in trouble for it. My parents say I'm being mean and that this is her way of loving me. What I feel like they ignore is that I'M UNCOMFORTABLE. Her way of "loving me" HURTS.

I've tried communication. I've had multiple meetings with my family about my boundaries and they say they'll change, but they never do.

Another factor that worsens this is that I have borderline personality disorder. I'm currently being denied therapy or intervention of any kind. I get told my mental illness is a result of me having an attitude and hating my family.

I writing this to you because I've been having very alarming thoughts recently. I'm been somewhat suicidal as long as I can remember, but this is different. I've been having nightmares about killing my family/my family killing me. I don't want to kill my family. As much as they have abused me, I know they truly love me deep down. But when I'm in a mental breakdown, I don't think for the most part. I'm afraid I'm going to do something to hurt them if they continue to push me. I'm too scared to turn myself into the police and I don't want to be taken away from my home. I truly need therapy, but it's expensive and I'm not allowed to get it.

Are there any options left for me? I love my family and I want to get better, but I can't stand them. It'll be a while before I can live on my own, and I don't think I'll make it that long.

I'm so sorry.

I appreciate that you came to me, however, please remember I am not a mental health professional.

I do not have the best relationship with my family. I've come to accept that they just exist and I moved away from them. I keep a strict level of familiarity with them for my own sanity and well-being. There are people in my immediate family I don't talk to anymore or only speak to in certain situations, with other people around to buffer my emotions. No one in my family understands or respects my mental health issues and I have ceased talking about it with them.

I will admit, I had to ask for help. I'm going to share the answer of someone I trust, because they are much more level-headed when it comes to something like this.

Use different words with your sister. Instead of "I'm mad or annoyed", use words that bring out more empathy - "You're making me sad and uncomfortable. You're hurting me." Anger is usually perceived as something within you, something you must control. But sadness is usually not perceived in the same light. People usually see sadness as something that has a cause and perhaps letting her know that she is the cause will have an effect on her. Using different words when speaking to her may slowly change her perspective.

When it comes to your parents, well, parents do not usually understand sibling dynamics. They're fucking useless most of the time when it comes to problems specifically between siblings. It might be better if you say something like, "Her constant intrusions are affecting my school work. My grades are going to drop." Usually, parents respond more urgently if you say you education is affected - and it doesn't matter if it's true or not, we're just trying to get them to help in some way.

I had to remind them it's summertime lol

Oh shit, you're right. Er. Well, In any case, it seems you've tried having reasonable discussions with your parents and it doesn't seem helpful to continue discussing this particular topic with them. Maybe get into fitness since it's summertime. Go outside, do something active. She can't cuddle you if you're running, right? Then you can also be stronger and feeling better physically improves mental health. Put some music on, go hiking or running, take yourself out of the situation.

I don't know if this is possible, but perhaps if you're experiencing a mental breakdown and you're afraid of hurting your family, run out of the house? It might be better to be physically away from them at that time to avoid saying or doing anything you regret. It may help clear your head and help your family realize that this is something that is truly debilitating to you.

I don't know your age, so I don't know if the school thing is relevant. It's only a suggestion.

You said it will be a while before you can live on your own. When I knew the cons of living with my family outweighed the pros, I did everything in my power to prepare myself for leaving because I needed a goal in order to survive. I needed distractions, reading, writing, gaming, music, anything else to occupy my mind and help control my thoughts. There was a time when I needed music to fall asleep (headphones in on low volume).

Also... uh.

I'm not saying you should do this. I'm only saying I did.

My siblings and I have physically fought before. One has scars from fighting me. The scarred one is the one closest to me currently.

Not saying you should do it.

But I did.

If anyone feels comfortable enough to share how they dealt with it in their own situation, please do. Maybe more perspectives can help this person.

some other experiences sent to me:

anon #1

I don't think I had a situation that extreme but my brother was a little like that. I honestly had to become kinda rude and indifferent. Like he'd always use my laptop and stuff and I put passwords on everything and just don't tell him. And then when he tried to hug or cuddle id say I don't liek it and just push him away physically now this soudns fucking obvious when I say it this way but like I don't think I read that u tried it ? Idk I discovered I have a loud annoying scream that neighbours will hear, and fucking strokg legs I used to kick him away but like I was tiny so I don't really endorse violence but I didnt like being close to a 'boy' essentially at taht age so yea... Idk man siblings are weird and I have had intrusive thoughts so I think I didn't handle it well but for a few years I became an asshole to him and then now I'm good with talking sometimes and I keep it short and sweet and I've mentioned that I'm sorry for being mean in the past bcuz like I am ? Bcuz I'm not an asshole ? ( But like I did what I had to do ) I hope u get the help and support u need

anon #2

I read the message from the previous anon and I have to say I relate to what they say. I wouldn’t say i’ve completely dealt with the situation when it comes to my parents.

I have 4 siblings and i’m the oldest, my sister that’s 2 years younger than me always gets in my way and is a tyrant. Because she’s much taller than me she overpowers me and i also have scars from when we’ve fought. My parents don’t intervene because they say we’ll make up soon and I honestly can’t stay mad at people for long. I also live with my parents and am not able to move out anytime soon until I get my degree.

A few weeks ago my mother was complaining to my father that I don’t help around the house and all that bullshit but it’s obviously not true. Anyway. My father came into my room and threw all my clothes from my cupboards on the floor and said my sister and I must get out of his house. He was literally pulling us and we were crying because where the hell would we go. My smaller siblings were begging for him not to chase us out of the house but he was ballistic. He was constantly throwing insults at me, calling me selfish and disrespectful. I was having a mental breakdown and I said i hope that God takes my life away because i’m too weak to do it myself. I kept saying that and when my parents heard me. They called me crazy and were laughing at me and said i should take it back because instead of me another one of my family members would go.

My parents don’t care about mental health and therapy. It’s all unnecessary to them. But after that night I tried to find my own way of getting rid of the negative thoughts, I choose to ignore what everyone tells me. I agree with everything that you said about trying to get away from their family when they have those thoughts. I try meditation and praying. I’m not sure if that person follows any religion but that’s what helped me. And writing can be cathartic. Also remember that you’re not alone, there are so many people out there who share your sorrows and can relate to your situation. I think about my little siblings who i’m close to and what it would be like if i wasn’t there.

Maybe if they could get a pet? I know having a pet can make you feel less alone and you feel a sense of responsibility towards them. As for their sister, she needs to see their point of view and tell her that she makes her feel overwhelmed with the things she does. She can spend time with her and try to make her understand that they need their space too.

anon #3

I also have sum advice 4 the sibling anon frm a fellow bpd buddy:

Does ur view of ur sister change from "i hate her" to "she's alright" sometimes? Viewing sum1 as all bad or all good is common in bpd ppl and usually changes alot. I rec writing down the moments where she shows she loves u. This could be thru buying smth for u or doing smth 4 u. I had a similar relationship w a friend and this exercise helped me remember that she might not have intentions to hurt me and might b trying 2 bond. Repairing the relationship might take a while. Talk alot if u can, it seems like ur family is at least willing to hear u out, even if there behavior doesn't change much. Keep sum distance if needed. Working out and finding fun hobbies is good.

If u feel like ur breaking down, try breathing exercises n identify 5 things u notice thru ur senses. What do u feel? What do u smell? What do u taste? What do u see? What do u hear? I personally like taking myself down rabbit holes. For example: I see a yellow jacket > this shade of yellow is a cool tone > what makes a color "cool" or "warm" > why do we associate red with warmth > what if the sun was blue > what if ocean water looked orange > is water wet

I usually end up forgetting what was making me upset. If it was a big deal I would still remember, but at least I would b less emotional and a bit more rational.

Search up cognitive behavior therapy and dialectical behavior therapy and try 2 practice sumthing similar 2 exercises u would perform w a therapist. Squeeze stress balls. Masturbate (this blog is perfect 4 that lol). Maybe watch some videos done by therapists on youtube. I watched a couple of videos abt therapists reacting 2 fighting in movies and I learned alot (this video was very fun to watch)!

Anyway that's what helps me! Good luck 2 u!!!

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

Faeted End || Rio and Bex (ft. A Special Guest)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @3starsquinn and @inbextween, Jim the Warden (written by Virginia) SUMMARY: Rio wants to keep his friend safe, and Bex has had enough of people hurting Mina. CONTENT: Head injury, Memory Loss, Gun mention (but no usage), Domestic abuse mentions

Anger wasn’t a feeling Bex was used to, but how could she not be angry? Someone had hurt Mina, badly, and they were still out there. They were still allowed to walk around, unscathed, unpunished, unjustly. Rio had told her all about it, even if Mina wouldn’t, and the second she’d heard that it was someone like Frank, someone who hurt people specifically like Mina, the rage had begun to build in her stomach. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Why were there people out there who specifically hunted others? It was disgusting. That man needed to be stopped. She’d decided that the instant she’d talked to Rio. He needed to be stopped, and Bex now had the tools to do that. You can stop the fight before it even begins. Nell had taught her a bit more since she’d last exploded that doll, and Bex knew she was right-- she was going to stop this man before he hurt anyone again. Before he hurt Mina again.

It was with that boiling rage inside of her-- that fear, that worry, that pain-- that she ended up in the Outskirts with Rio. Apparently the man was at a bar down here, as Rio had told her. It just made her more angry. Was Adam like this? Was Dani? Was Mina supposed to be like this? She pushed the thoughts down and tried to calm herself, gathering her energy in the pit of her stomach, readying it for when she’d need it most. “Should we just go inside?” she asked in a hushed voice to Rio, “Or wait for him to come out?”

It was very possible that Orion had made a mistake. He had almost died on two separate occasions now, ironically with two girls that were dating. Once he knew, he couldn’t keep it to himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about the hunter that would almost undoubtedly go after Mina again. But he didn’t know how to stop him. When he first told Bex about the man, it was more as a warning than anything else. Just so they could keep an eye out for him. Now, he stood in front of the worst places in town.

His arms were crossed, a very deliberate attempt to hide his goosebumps. He rocked back and forth on his feet to hide any shaking. He hadn’t been inside of this bar in a long time. But all of the horrible memories were too vivid. He used to sit at the same table with his parents and sister, headphones in but still unable to block the conversations other hunters had. Terrible, evil conversations about the supernatural creatures Rio wanted only to protect. “Going in is a very bad idea.” Rio answered as soon as it was suggested. They never stood a chance against a group of hunters. They barely stood a chance against one. “He’s dangerous. And we don’t exactly want to attract any attention.” He hadn’t exactly mentioned that this bar was almost exclusively hunters. Well, besides that one guy. He seemed nice. “That wouldn’t be good for us.”

“Yeah, well,” Bex spat, surprised at her own ire, “I’m dangerous, too.” The power inside her stomach was dangerous. She didn’t want to wait for this man, but Rio was right-- going inside was a bad idea. She could recognize that much. So they would wait. “Fine, we’ll wait.” She ushered Rio over to one of the stores that was across the street from the innocuous looking bar. They’d have to keep a close watch, to see when he left. Not wanting to make a scene also meant they’d have to follow him a little distance away until they could get him well and truly alone. Just like he’d had Mina. Just like he’d probably had so many others. Bex felt her anger growing again and the window beside her cracked a little. She looked back at Rio. “You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to,” she told him. He looked absolutely frightened, which Bex was sure was fair. From what he’d told her, this man had attacked him, too, and there were still signs of that evident on his skin. Her eyes lingered on the bruises around his neck. She needed to calm down before she exploded too soon. “I’ll be okay on my own.”

The two perched in a nearby store, Bex seemingly intent on watching the entrance to the Silver Bullet at all times, while Orion barely wanted to see the place at all. The longer the two waited, the more anxious Rio was going to get. But there was no way he was going to leave Bex alone to try to talk to the man. Besides, he had no interest in anyone dying tonight. It was clear the warden had no issues killing non-fae. And the only examples of Bex’s magic that Rio had seen so far was her blowing things up. It was a hostile mixture.

“It’s fine. Just keep your eye out for the door okay? I’m going to go get him” He hated the words even has he said them, but pulled his jacket tighter shut and left quickly. His legs were going to give out quickly if he fought it off any longer. His choice now was to get in and get out quickly. He hoped that the sight of Rio would peak the hunter’s interest enough to follow him. As long as he didn’t call him out in front of the entire bar, this would probably end in no death.

The place hadn’t changed a bit, right down to the nausea Rio felt being inside of it. He stood in the entrance way for a while, looking past the prying eyes turning to see who had just walked in. Many faces were familiar, and from the look on their faces Rio could tell they recognized him too. The kid whose parents got offed by the supernatural last year. The news had spread through the hunter community that had known his parents. He didn’t want to give them a chance to start a conversation, so he pushed on his tippy toes and glanced around the bar as if looking for someone. Rio spotted him in the corner of the bar, eyes staring directly in Rio’s direction. So he noticed me too. Great. Though this was technically according to plan, he still hated the feeling of that man looking at him. When the man stood up, Rio spun in place and pushed out the door, glancing at the shop window and pointing in the direction down the street before high tailing away from the bar.

Since coming to this shitstain of a town, Jim’d learned two things: the people were fucking crazy, and what the Silver Bullet lacked in company and good beer, it made up for in information. And interesting sightings. He’d been feeling like shit since those two kids handed him his ass on a platter. One twerpy boy and an already injured fae should’ve been cake to take down, but somehow they’d gotten the better of him, and he couldn’t stand it, trying to swallow down the bitterness of it with watery beer. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. He’d thought maybe the boy had been brainwashed, promised into protecting the fae, but that hadn’t appeared to be the case. Then he’d thought the fae might try to flee while he took care of the boy, but she’d stuck around, and the two of them had managed to wail on him until he hadn’t been able to stand. Fucking kids. He’d kill the boy just for interrupting with his hunt, but not before he made the little punk tell him where the fae was. He’d make a pretty penny off of her, he just knew it. Somebody was always in the market for nix teeth and scales, and hers had been a nice, silvery color from what he could remember of her goddamn hand and claws ripping into him. He’d kill her slow, make it hurt. He’d be doing the world a service, too.

It was Jim’s lucky night, too. Not the fae; of course it’d be too easy to give him the fae, but the punk was in the Silver Bullet of all places, locking eyes with Jim and then scurrying a way like the fucking pest that he was. Jim grinned at the bartender and laid down his money. “Duty call, pal.” He headed out the door, following the kid and his weird gestures. Maybe the fae was around here after all, though he couldn’t sense her. He allow a bit of iron to concentrate in his hands, though, before reaching for the gun holstered under his jacket. No sword, this time. No point in losing another fine weapon when iron bullets did their job on all kinds of targets. “Hey, Peter Pan!” Jim called out. “Where are you, boy? I just wanna talk about your friend from the other day.”

Bex watched Rio scurry off and stilled herself, watching the door. She wasn’t a hunter or anyone who hurt people by a long shot-- she wasn’t like Nell, her magic wasn’t the kind you used to fight, and she wasn’t like Mina, she wasn’t strong or capable-- but Nell had given her the tools to do what neither of them could. Stop it before it even started. And oh, would she. She wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Mina again. Not like this. Not with broken bones and hand-shaped burns, and black-eyes. She could protect people, too.

Her eyes locked with Rio’s when he exited the bar. The man was coming. Rio darted towards an emptier part of the street, and Bex dropped whatever distraction she’d been holding and followed after, watching the man leave the bar in a hurry, trailing Rio towards the abandoned bits of town. Bex looked as innocent as a flower, with her pretty, blue dress, her hair tied up nice, and her matching purse. She followed casually behind the man, despite the anger in her stomach making her fingers feel like they were on fire. Somehow, there was no fear. No worry. No anxiety. Just anger.

The man turned off behind one of the buildings after Rio and Bex followed close behind them. He called out, but Rio didn’t answer. Bex cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, clicking her heels on the cement, “are you looking for someone?”

This had been Orion’s own idea, yet his heart exploded in his chest as he rushed out of the bar and down the street. He could hear the hunter behind him, the heavy footsteps loud enough that Rio’s hunter senses weren’t even necessary. He dipped into the alleyway, dipping behind a dumpster and pressing his back against it. The hunter would find him. Rio knew that much. He couldn’t hide forever. He looked for anything he could to defend himself, eventually settling on a broken piece of wood from a nearby pallet board. He gripped the wood tightly and held it against his chest, waiting for the footsteps. They drew closer and closer, feet away from him now until he heard Bex’s voice cut through the quiet of the night. Jesus. She really had no fears. Rio inched closer to the dumpster. He needed to be ready to jump in if the hunter lunged for her.

Jim was expecting a boy, not a girl to start talking to him. He turned around to face the voice and relaxed. Easy. Just a girl, no fae, just a kid in a dress with a purse to match it. “Heya, little lady. Yeah, yeah, I’m looking for a boy about,” he put up his hand, guessing the size of the kid from when he’d last seen him, “yay high?” Runty looking, he almost said, but he was playing nice. Girl was probably a normie. “Might look a little skittish. Kid owes me something, and I need to talk to him real bad.” He put his thumbs in his front pockets, his posture loose, easy. Then he said, “Or he might have a friend with him? Been needing to talk to her, too. She’s about your height, wide eyes.” Doesn’t fucking belong here. “I just need to talk to them both like you believe. Saw them the other day, but they just ran off before we could have our chat, can you believe that? You’re not rude like that, are you, sweetheart? You’d tell me if you saw them?”

She hated the way he talked. So many men had talked to her like that in her life already. It only made her more sure of what she was going to do. What that was? Even Bex wasn’t sure yet, but it was going to be something. Her magic could mess with people’s heads, that’s what she knew for sure. She’d given Eddie her memories of Kyle, had linked her and Kyle’s thoughts, had jumped through Hina’s dreams-- whatever she was going to do to this man, he was going to be left wishing he’d never laid a hand on Mina, or Rio. She smiled pleasantly. “Oh! You must mean Rio,” she said, grinning wider. “He owes you something? That’s strange. He usually always makes sure he follows up on that kinda stuff.” She tapped the strap of her purse, as if in thought. “A girl?” she tilted her head, innocently. All those years of pretending to be proper, pretending to be a good girl were paying off, weren’t they? She knew exactly how to be sweet and unassuming to old men who would never even guess that she hid a power they couldn’t fight again. “Do you mean...Mina? Brown hair, beautiful hazel eyes? A voice that sounds like a babbling brook?” She kept the innocent look on her face. “Are those the two you mean? My friends?” Her voice grew dark in a way she hadn’t known possible of herself, but she couldn't hold it back. “Do you mean the friends of mine you tried to kill, simply because, what?” she held her hand out in a shrugging gesture, “you’re human and they’re not?”

Well, this was… confusing. Jim furrowed his brow, lips dragging down into a frown as he looked at the girl in front of him. “Well, now, I don’t know names or anything like that, but--” Well, huh. Jim relaxed his face, looking at this girl with new eyes. Little lady had bite, then. “Like I said, don’t know names. And I don’t know if I’d say ‘babbling brook.’” He laughed, finding irony in the descriptor. Of course this girl would say that the water nymph sounded like a goddamn stream. “She did babble, though, on and on about shit I just didn’t care about until I shut her up. Got to give it to her, though. Wretch didn’t cry out when I snapped her arm.” This one wasn’t fae, but, just like the boy, she was a liability. Pixy-led, they called them, led astray or promise bound, tricked by the trickiest of the supernaturals. This girl was just like the boy, a fool to fall for a pretty facade. Beautiful hazel eyes. Jim wondered if this girl would think they were so beautiful if they were the last thing she saw as she got dragged under the waves. “I’m like pest control, girl. That’s all there is to it. I’m getting rid of dangerous things. Things you might think you understand, but that you just don’t. Now, you can tell me where this Rio is, this Mina is, or you can stay the hell out of my way. We clear?”

It wasn’t the way he talked to her that set Bex off, no. It wasn’t even the things he was saying, or the way in which he talked down to her, like she knew nothing and was nothing, the same way her parents did. No, it was the casualty with which he talked about snapping Mina’s arm. Bex couldn’t help the release of anger that erupted from her. The windows next to the man cracked and shattered. The dumpster Rio hid behind caved in as if by some invisible force, crashing into it. Bex’s chest flared and she breathed in deeply, holding it. How dare he hold that memory like a laugh in his mind. How dare he think about Mina as if she were prey, a pest. Her teeth clenched so hard together she heard her jaw pop. “Stop,” she hissed through her teeth, and a pulse of magic went out and it commanded him, whether he wanted to or not, to stop. Stop talking, stop moving, stop thinking. “You get her name out of your mouth.” Her hand tightened on the strap of her purse, and, slowly, she removed it from her shoulder, setting it on the ground. Inside it, the ingredients she’d used for the spell, red hot on the palm of her hands. She locked eyes with Rio behind the man. Her entire body was shaking, and she couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear, but she began her path forward, towards the man. Her hands were tingling with what felt like fire, all of her energy concentrated in them. She’d rip the memories from his head if she had to. She’d decided-- she would not let this man hurt anyone, ever again. “She is not a pest,” she said with shaky conviction in her voice, “and right now, she’s not the dangerous one.” She reached out her hands, placed them on the man’s head. “I am.”

Jim immediately realized that something was fucked up when he couldn’t move. He couldn’t flinch as the glass rained down on him, couldn’t blink, could even move his eyes from where they were focused on this goddamn child in front of him. Motherfucking witches. He didn’t think that witches gave two shits about fae, but what the hell did he know about these fucking kids? All of them had gone off the deep end. His brain felt like the cogs in it had grinded to a stop before they sputtered back to life, and he started to regain pieces of himself the closer the girl walked to him. He could move his eyes. He could twitch his fingers. He could grit his teeth. When she reached her hand out, Jim jerked his up. “Nice try, kid,” he grunted out, taking her hand before she could touch his head. “But I’ve dealt with fae mind magic my whole goddamn life. You’re gonna have to be better than that.” He grinned, savagely. What an important little fae this must be if she had not one but two humans at her beck and call. “Mina, Mina, Mina,” he drawled out mockingly. “What a fucking whiny name. Can’t believe something like that’s got a witch on her side, of all things.” He brought her hands down to her waist. “You’re not dangerous, sweetheart. You’re just fucking annoying.”

The movement caught Bex by surprise. She probably should have been afraid-- this man had ruthlessly attacked Mina, had even tried to go through Rio to get to her-- but she couldn’t feel her fear through all of the anger coursing through her. It was an unstoppable energy now, even as her hands were yanked down to her sides and she was held in place. She tried to pull from his grip, but he was too strong, and she couldn’t move. Her eyes went to Rio behind them. She wanted to call for his help, but her magic was volatile, he might get hurt. “Stay back!” she shouted instead. She hoped it would distract him enough to look away, but the fact of the matter was that she didn’t need him to look away. Instead, she threw her head forward, like they had taught her in those self-defense classes, and slammed her head as hard as she could into his nose. She could hear it crack. Her head splintered with pain-- oh, yeah, she had a cut on her head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She saw the gun on his hip and it just didn’t matter. What mattered was Mina. And how he kept saying her name and how he kept thinking about killing her and Bex wanted it to stop. She wanted him to suffer, to feel the pain and hurt and agony he had caused every fae he’d met up until this moment. And she wanted him to crumble to his knees. And she let go of all of her energy, eyes flashing, and let it pour into his head as she focused on everything she wanted this man to feel. And when he crumpled, she would take everything else from him. She would tear Mina’s name from his mouth and his mind and she would make him wish he’d never met them.

Hunter reflexes or not, Orion knew that Bex’s magic was keeping him preoccupied. He took the opportunity when it prevented itself, sliding out from the dumpster and swinging his makeshift weapon like a bat, bringing the board against the back of the warden’s neck. If Bex’s magic was already overpowering him, then that would just add some extra fuel to the fire. The act of violence triggered a wave of unease in Rio, but he tried to remind himself of how passionately the man had tried to kill Mina and Rio just days ago. He just needed to remember that they weren’t here to kill him. Unlike him, they weren’t monsters. Rio reached for his holster, unclipping and pulling the gun free. He hated the way it fit into his palm. He had always hated guns even more than usual weaponry, but he knew how to work one. His parents had made sure of that. He pressed the magazine release, dropping the round from the gun and then cocking back the slide to release the last bullet from the barrel. Once the gun was dismantled, he tossed the pieces aside. He had no plans of using the gun and he definitely didn’t want the hunter getting to it. “Unlike you, we don’t plan on killing you. We just want to make sure you’re going to leave our friend alone.”

“Fuck!” Jim managed to shout as the girl jerked her head against his nose, blood pouring out. It didn’t do anything more than piss him off, and he was about to tell this goddamn brat that before he felt something whack him against the back of the head. He stumbled, enraged like a bull with a red flag waving out in front of him. He was pissed off, and somebody was about to suffer for it, fae or not. Nobody taught their goddamn kids the rules anymore. Nobody taught their fucking offspring to stay out of a hunter’s way. As he was about to speak, Jim felt warm, like he tended to when he brought iron to the surface of his skin. Then he felt hot, burning, like he’d been sliced and burned and cut and scorched, an agonizing burn that started under his skin and in his brain, and he screamed out, as if he was on fire, but he wasn’t. He looked at his shaky hands, but they were fine. But Jim was on fire. He couldn’t even comprehend what the boy, the one from the woods and the one who hit him with a goddamn board, was saying to him. He couldn’t comprehend the sound of the magazine hitting the ground, and he couldn’t comprehend the sound of the gun being thrown. He could only comprehend the feeling of burning on his skin, and the smell of iron in his nose, and the screams that he recognized, vaguely, as ones that he’d caused melding with the sounds that came out of his clenched teeth as the realization that this is what cold iron felt like on the skin of a fae overwhelmed him. Jim fell to his knees, clawing at his skin. “Please,” he said, voice ragged, choked. “Make it stop, witch. Make it fucking stop.”

Bex stumbled and fell from his grip. Blood dripped down her head, the cut gashed back open. She fell to her knees, shaking. She’d used a lot of energy, she could feel it aching in her bones. But she wasn’t done. He was still able to feel and walk and talk and that wasn’t fair, was it? That wasn’t fair. He’d snapped Mina’s arm and tried to strangle Rio and if he was left to walk away from this unscatched, he’d do it again. She heaved a breath and stood back up on shaky legs, stumbling one step before catching herself. She locked eyes with Rio for a moment, breathing heavy, before she let her eyes fall back to the man on the ground, writhing in invisible pain. She’d done that. Nell was right. She had so much power. She managed to walk the few steps over to the man before she fell back to her knees in front of him. “Did you ever stop?” was all she asked, making sure he knew his fate before she reached her hand back out and placed it on his forehead. Just like in the books, she closed her eyes and concentrated on whatever memories he had of Mina, of Rio. Of hurting anyone who was fae. And she heaved with exhaustion as she cried out and ripped them from his head, her hand pulling back as if on fire, palm blazing red.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Orion stole glances back and forth between the man and Bex. His breathing quickened as he looked away from the visible pain the man was in. He knew hunters exactly like him, had grown up with them. They valued pride above anything else. He would be doing everything in his power to remain stoic if he could. Whatever Bex was doing, it hurt. The thought made Rio uncomfortable, shifting back and forth in an attempt to clear his head from it. He thought about the way his vision began to blur as he was held underwater. This man was a monster. A murderer. If they didn’t do something, he would kill again. If the scene didn’t look so painfully cruel, Rio might almost be fascinated by what she was doing. Instead he tried to think about the fae that would be safer in the world.

Jim managed to look up at this witch, this fucking child, who held so much distaste for him just from doing his goddamn job. He could just barely make out her question, but he couldn’t be bothered to be moved by it. Of course he hadn’t stopped, he wanted to say, but there were no words on his tongue. Why would he stop? He was doing his duty, and if that meant that he took a few extra lives that got in his way, then it didn’t matter. They were beyond saying. Fae were dangerous, they were cruel, and they would twist everything they could get their hands on until it was a perversion of itself. This girl would find that out eventually. The boy would, too. He couldn’t really voice that, though. Couldn’t really voice anything, and, as the girl cried out, Jim did, too, as he watched with his mind’s eye as all the parts of him that made him got dragged out, scrambled, distorted. Was it his mama that gave him his first knife or his pop? Was it a knife or a gun? Was it anything at all? Was he anything at all? He didn’t know. He slumped a bit, head bowed, and blood dripped from his nose onto the ground in front of him. Glassy eyes stared at it but didn’t see. He didn’t know anything at all, really.

Bex’s lungs heaved for air as she fell away from the man, a coughing fit overcoming her; she laid out in the alley on her back, just trying to breathe. She’d used too much, she knew that, but she didn’t care. She tasted iron in the back of her throat, on her tongue, wiped it from her lips once she’d stopped hacking up air. She sat up, the world was spinning, the road was stretching out before her, Rio somewhere down it, staring wide eyed. Visions of the man’s memories played behind her eyes and she blinked heavily several times to make them go away, speckles of light dotting her vision. “Is he…” she started to say, lightheaded and dizzy as she tried to climb to her feet, stumbling into a dumpster and collapsing back to the ground. She looked back at the man’s slumped form and knew that he was. He was gone. He wasn’t going to be hurting anyone, anytime soon. She’d done it. Blood trickled from her nose down over her lips as she smiled. “I did it,” she mumbled, before her world went black and she slumped backwards onto the pavement.

Eventually, the man stopped fighting against the magic and went still on his knees. Orion tilted his head slightly at the sight. He was breathing, Rio could hear it. But he didn’t look aware of his surroundings. He took a step toward the man, “You did it?” Rio asked, unsure exactly what she had just done exactly. But Rio wasn’t going to get an answer. He heard the rush of air and turned as Bex started to fall backwards. His reflexes kicked into effect quickly, his arm shooting forward so he could grab onto her wrist just before she hit the pavement. He breathed a quick sigh of relief that his hunter reflexes had at least been good for something tonight. “Uh… Bex?” Rio asked quietly, slowly lowering her against the ground. She was probably fine, right? He knew that spells could be draining. It must be that. He couldn’t stop himself from looking back at the hunter. It was a weird feeling, knowing that the two had just taken on a hunter. Even if Rio didn’t do much besides play bait. He took a small step back and patted the hunter’s shoulder, “I’m uh- sure that you’ll be fine here.” He mostly said to reassure himself before squatting down to lift Bex up and toss her over his shoulders. And she called him scrawny. He supposed he was responsible for getting her home now.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: rio #rio #domestic abuse mention tw #gun tw #head injury tw #memory loss tw #//pls feel free to message if u need a tw free summary!

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