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onlyswan · 11 months

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summary: in which you don’t want to give up on jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

> idol!jungkook x reader, angst, fluff / word count: 7k

> warnings: tears overflowing </3 mentions of cheating (but again no one did it ok !!), heh judgemental family members amirite, is giving lipstick marks a warning ?

> in which masterlist!

note: anniversary reveal! and more of oc’s pov :( in the aftermath of in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much left to give !! it’s up to u which one to read first if u haven’t. the in which series is a puzzle 😭 i’d love to hear your thoughts after reading <3 hugs and kisses <3

—

“i feel like this shouldn’t be taking this long.” jungkook jokingly remarks as he pushes the shopping cart with folded arms, tiptoeing and tracing your steps as your eyes wander around the entire shelf of feline necessities.

“leave me alone. there’s too many options.” a huff escapes your mouth as your index finger underlines the flavors of cat treats, aiding you in reading the small words.

he pulls back the cart before it could collide with your hip, resting his chin on top of his arms as he impatiently waits for you to pick out a small gift for your friend’s cat, who you will be catsitting tomorrow.

“just pick the one with the happiest looking cat. that should make it easy, right?”

“jungkook!”

entertained by his own humor, his bright giggles harmonize with yours. eventually, you’re forced to sit on your toes so you can scan the other products shoved in the lowermost shelf.

“surprisingly, many of them don’t look that happy.” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself.

“baby?”

“yes?”

“i’m getting bored.” jungkook pouts sulkily, bouncing his leg. in the midst of spacing out, he spits out the first question that pops in his mind. “what crime would you get arrested for?”

“arson,” you answer with a shrug, perhaps a little too quickly. the most adorable packaging you’ve seen so far steals your attention, and it’s almost as if you’re being beckoned by the colorful jars of cat cookies.

tuna? salmon? or chicken?

“oh?” he perks up in intrigue, mouth gaping in surprise. “why didn’t i expect that? why arson?“

“i mean, nothing special. it just sounds efficient? it takes little work but creates colossal damage.”

his face lights up when you stand back on your feet, relieved that grocery shopping is almost over. you place the jar of your chosen flavor, tuna, in an unoccupied space in the shopping cart.

“but realistically? i’d probably burn down my building with my forgetfulness and then get framed for it. i imagine that sometimes when i cook.”

“who would frame you?! tell me, baby.“ he angrily yells in a whisper, a cheeky smile growing on his face. “i’ll investigate and take care of them. that’s what i will get arrested for.”

“damn, how romantic.” you reply teasingly, granting his lips a loving peck. afterwards, you whisper to him as if you’re trading a well-kept secret, hushed voice and squinted eyes. “later. i’ll show you which of my neighbors i suspect.”

—

“baby?” jungkook chirps the pet name one more time, seizing your hand and putting it under his so that he’s pushing the cart while holding hands with you.

you hum in acknowledgement, sparing him a short glance as you look around, just incase you find something else you need while you’re on your way to the counter.

“have you thought of anything you want for our second anniversary?” he asks with sparkling eyes, his excitement uncontainable as more days get crossed out from the calendar. “a gift? and where you want to go?”

and that’s when your calmness completely shifts into chaos. his questions are giant buckets filled with ice, callously dunked over your head without any sign or warning. your walking pace gradually slows down as his words sink in, and you drown in the tornado swirling violently in your chest.

“our… anniversary?” you choke out.

your evident confusion is met by jungkook’s disappointment, halting on his tracks as to not leave you behind. “yes, february 25. that’s in three months… have you forgotten?”

“excuse me-”

a middle-aged woman rudely pushes your back, and you apologize in panic as you face your boyfriend to provide her the space to pass through. your heart drops to your stomach when you notice his stoic expression, hurt and distant, before you allow yourself to be whisked away from the center of the aisles.

“babe, please don’t be mad. i swear, i didn’t forget!” you cling to his muscular arm, hugging it to your chest as you stand behind a long line of overflowing shopping carts. “i literally have all the 25th marked in my calendar. how could i forget?”

“ugh, you tell me.” he frowns at you, lightly bumping his head against yours.

“i just didn’t realize it’s that near already.” the half-lie, half-truth tastes bitter on your tongue. “have you ever thought that time moves too fast when you’re happy and having fun? that’s exactly how i feel when i’m with you.”

yes, jungkook have thought of it a million times.

“fuck, alright, i’m not mad. you’re pretty good at this, huh?”

your sweet smile is pleasantly contagious. a flushed-face jungkook unconsciously copies you. he becomes pliant as you raise his arm to wrap it around you, stealing his body warmth this chilly november afternoon.

“i want to see a waterfalls with you. can we go there?”

he presses a kiss to your temple, unmoving for seconds, before he pulls away with a distinct smooching sound that fills your stomach with butterflies. “mhmm, niagara?”

you fail to hold back an amused snort, covering your mouth to prevent unwanted attention from strangers. “be serious. think local! we barely even go out of town!”

“but i’m serious.” he blinks at you. “we can just take pictures, have a dinner date, then go home!”

“you do know that it’s at the other side of the pacific, right?”

—

the cold breeze engulfs you in a big embrace as soon as you step out of the grocery store, carefree and unaware of its thorns prickling your skin. hand in hand, you and jungkook walk to his car parked two blocks away, carrying a plastic bag while he took the heavier two.

after putting out the small fire, your tumultuous emotions clamber to the surface, and it becomes increasingly difficult to hold them down the longer he’s around. the clouds are dark gray, as if they’re writing in pencil beforehand, my tears are about to fall. you feel stupidly envious of their ability to weep anytime they need to, in the face of the casualties. how nice would it be if you allowed yourself to be the same?

“this wasn’t here before. when did they open? let’s go inside for a bit.”

distracted by your stream of thoughts, you are guided inside an establishment with you only noticing belatedly. jungkook lets go of your hand to marvel at the collection of sunglasses displayed in extended rows. you stay idle by his side, watching him check himself out in the mirror as he tries them on one by one.

“that one looks good on you.” the praise automatically slips from your mouth when he wears a rectangle-shaped brown frame, more on the bigger side. as expected from your extremely handsome boyfriend, he makes it appear more stylish than it originally looked on the shelf.

“really? should i buy it?” he wears a radiant beam, repeatedly lifting it up and down as he inspects your face with and without the filtered lens.

“hm, i think so.” you skip over the grocery bags on the floor, squeezing in yourself in the small mirror. “here, look here again.”

jungkook rests his head on yours as he smiles at your reflections, tight-lipped, bringing out the most endearing set of dimples you’ve ever seen.

“why are you acting cute today?”

“i was just born this way.” he grins proudly. “and i guess i missed you.”

the ever-present sincerity in his voice adds weight to the heaviness chained to your heart, and you reward a kiss on his cheek to conceal your uneasiness, leaving a conspicuous lipstick mark in your wake.

“yah!” he lightheartedly scolds you with a chuckle, pushing up the sunglasses over his hair to examine his face.

you reflexively seize his wrist with an offended gasp. “hello? are you about to wipe off my kiss?”

“you can give me a thousand more in the car.“

“but that defeats the purpose.” you defeatedly answer as you let him go, witnessing your lipstick turn into a faint blush that compliments his honey skin. “oh, fine! i guess i’ll go window shopping over there.”

“where’s ‘over there’?”

he whips his head around to discover that you’ve disappeared.

—

you don’t flinch when you feel someone hold your waist. maybe you know it’s jungkook. maybe you know jungkook will die before he lets anyone else touch you in his presence.

“are you sure you won’t get anything?”

“i won’t. i just saw the hot air balloon two months ago.” you timidly shake your head as you return the sixth eyeglasses you tried on. “are we going home?”

your boyfriend responds by intertwining your fingers together.

“let me take this again then.” you reclaim the grocery bag you were with earlier, taking it upon yourself to hold the paper bag of his new sunnies as well, just to lighten his load. how the hell did he manage to carry everything in one hand?

your eyelids briefly flutter shut when he kisses your cheek. “thank you.”

when jungkook pushes the door open do you only hear the raindrops crashing on the pavement, splashes of cold water staining your denim pants as you stand under the canopy roof.

“shit, it’s so cold.” he shivers with a laugh as you simultaneously pull your hoods over your heads. “carry the bags on your other side.”

“why?” you ask innocently, but you do as he says anyway, not seeing any reason not to.

“just because.” he transfers to your right, capturing your free hand to put it inside the front pocket of his hoodie along with his. “let’s go!”

and you know the probability of you buying cold medicine for two in twenty-four hours is high, but this moment feels like it could last forever — running under the rain with him and feeling overwhelmingly alive, heart and soul; realizing halfway that he switched positions so he’d be the one closer to the busy and slippery road. they have wild similarities: nature and jungkook. a breath of fresh air. stars. the candied scent of flowers. dulcet sounds. warmth. home. resourcefulness. whimsical. unstoppable force. they devastate you catastrophically without meaning to. sometimes you overthink that they do. sometimes you know them and sometimes you don’t. you’re part of the problem but it’s hard to admit.

jungkook drives ten times more carefully. the rain is pouring harder as the seconds fly by, giving the radio speakers of his car a run for their money. the twenty-five minute drive to your apartment is nothing short of torturous, tinted windows too blurry and too reminiscent of memories you’ve been trying to push into the recesses of your mind. but they’re out of control, ceaselessly replaying in your head, and you can still see his tear-stained face even when you close your eyes. the windshield wipers are working hard but the sky is remorseless.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

“i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

he’s wrong. you so strongly wish that he’s wrong.

you swallow the lump in your throat, chewing your bottom lip harshly, but the thread you’ve been hanging on has been snipped. you begin to cry silently, curled up on the passenger seat and face hidden by the hood you haven’t taken off. you pretend to be asleep as jungkook softly hums the tune of the songs playing in the radio. you feel so fucking suffocated. you hate this car. you hate the rain. you hate that you’re being this way. you feel guilty that your boyfriend is excited for your second anniversary while you’re stuck up in the past. you feel ashamed of feeling, almost.

you don’t know how to tell him that you’re sad because you love him. and even sadder when he thoughtfully wraps you in a blanket in the middle of a red light, stroking your back as he whispers. “my baby must be so tired.”

—

the rain has become a clement drizzle by the time you arrive at your destination. standing before your apartment unit, jungkook sets down the grocery bags on the floor to take off the wax cord necklace hidden underneath his clothing. he uses the pendant, his copy of your house key, to unlock the front door.

you slip off the loose sneakers on your feet by the floor mat before heading straight to the bedroom. you hang your boyfriend’s backpack on your study chair and place his paper bag on top of your desk. he enters the room when you’re already pulling the thick hoodie over your head, leaving you in a navy blue body-hugging top.

“love, are you okay?” he asks as he brings out fresh clothes from his backpack, looking over your sprawled out figure on the bed, eyes shut and breathing heavy.

“i’m alright.” you force yourself to sit up, sliding off the bed to stand on your feet. your head is pounding and you want to puke your guts out. is it normal to experience such heartache that you feel physically sick? “i’ll put away the groceries.”

“okay. i’ll be there to start cooking dinner!”

you merely nod, brushing past him.

—

you begin with restocking the fridge. meat, eggs, yogurt, almond milk, fruits, and the like. jungkook arrives when you’re already unpacking the second bag, and his first instinct is to affectionately hug you from behind. after too many days physically apart, he’ll be damned if he’ll allow even an inch of distance between your bodies.

your actions are put on halt when his palm presses on your neck, and then the back of it. “why do you feel so warm? don’t you feel sick?”

it was the final blow. to be honest, it’s been long overdue. you’re frozen in place, defeated as one by one, the tears finally drip from your damp eyelashes. they roll down your cheeks, some crashing on the table and seeping into the wood to form tiny circles of a darker shade of brown. the rest of them rolls down to the hand that is checking your temperature. you sniffle before he can question the new sensation on his skin.

“hey- hey, what’s wrong? are you crying?“ he moves to your side for a better view of your face, but you shake your head in denial. “what happened? baby?”

“nothing.” you mutter, brushing him off.

you gather the bottles of soy sauce and vinegar, wiggling out his hold to place them in the shelf above the stove. you return to the table to pick up the stuff that goes in the cabinets, but jungkook catches your wrist, removing the pack of sliced bread from your hand.

“i thought we’re not supposed to shut each other out.” he whispers, pulling you closer and guiding your arms around his waist. “it breaks my heart when you cry, baby.”

his doe eyes are pleading as he tilts up your chin to meet his gaze, thumb softly drawing circles on the apple of your cheek. you feel so utterly lost, overwhelmed by his gestures of kindness and affection. and yet you cry, because if he loved you that much, how did breaking up became an option he was willing to choose?

“our anniversary…” you trail off, ripping apart at the seams. “it still counts.”

neither of you knows if it’s a statement or a question.

“it still counts.” he nods slowly, repeating your words. “sh-should it not?”

his heart races in his chest as fear creeps up on him, dreading your answer. did he fuck up again? but your response only leaves him with more questions floating above his head.

“if we only had a pause- does that mean you… didn’t try looking for someone else? right? you didn’t sleep with anyone? while we were…”

for a moment, jungkook forgets how to speak as silence reigns over. his forehead creases in confusion, a sharp pang digging in his heart like a dagger as you wait with bated breath.

“no. why would you ev- no. no, i didn’t. where is this coming from?” his round, agitated eyes search for a clue in your expression but you don’t allow him that privilege, impassive as you withdraw from the close proximity between you.

“it doesn’t matter, that’s all i needed. thank you for answering.” you sigh heavily, turning on your heel to head to the bathroom. “i’m going to wash up.“

“____, come on. don’t walk away from me.” he almost begs out of desperation as his fingers curl around your arm, itching to embrace you because serrated trepidation is gnawing at his insides. he’s not losing you. he’s not losing you. he’s not losing you. he won’t let you slip away.

you sigh. “let go, jungkook.”

“how can i let you walk away after learning that you think i cheated on you?” he frustratedly blurts out, the words revolting on his tongue. this was never supposed to happen. he was supposed to be a partner who never gave you any reason to question his faithfulness. “that doesn’t matter?”

“it doesn’t.” you assert firmly.

jungkook is scared. he doesn’t understand how you can look at him like this, pretend you’re not wounded and bleeding. he doesn’t know if you’re giving him a pass or if you’re punishing him.

“either way, you broke up with me, jungkook… i would hate it, but it wouldn’t have been cheating.”

“it is to me.” his hauntingly angelic voice shatters, along with your fragile hearts as he says- “i didn’t love you any less and you know that.”

sorrow seeps into the silence, permeating the cold air, thick with heartache and tension. you walk away from him wordlessly, and jungkook is taken aback, vision blurred and unfocused as his hand drops to his side, devastatingly dejected.

“____!” your name fades into a muffled noise.

the doorknob clicks when you lock it. numb as your feet carry you to the sink, numb as you twist the faucet until you can’t anymore. the strong pressure of the water hitting the porcelain echoes throughout the dimly-lit bathroom. you tightly grip the edge of the sink as you fall apart disastrously, like a wave blazing past the shore and destroying everything in its path with ferociousness — because it’s the only thing left it knows how to do. your endless tears turn the cold tap water into saltwater. it inevitably overflows, spilling over the edges and soaking your trembling hands.

when he broke up with you, it opened the door to many other possibilities that hurts you to think about. you thought you knew, too. but the seed of doubt was planted in your mind when you were forsaken, and it kept growing as a wildflower even when he came back and laid beside you after not reaching out for weeks.

the last time you cried like this, you begged him to allow you to keep loving him.

your weak knees give in to the pull of gravity, heedless of nasty bruises as you cover your mouth to restrain your afflicted sobbing, nails scratching the porcelain as your lone hand insists on holding you up. sometimes love is not a warm comforting embrace. sometimes love is teeth. sometimes love is biting and perversely holding on. were you not worth fighting for? this time around, can he sacrifice something else instead of you? does that make you sound selfish? what if you don’t care that it does? and you wonder if it’s alright for two people to be in a relationship despite having different ideas of what loving means. you wonder if you’ve truly changed his mind.

outside, jungkook anxiously paces back and forth. the piercing sob that tears itself from your throat and crawls through the small cracks of the door is a direct, forceful punch to his gut. he swallows thickly, wiping away the tears brimming his eyes. he can’t cry, not right now. four months have passed, but it isn’t time’s job to heal all wounds. it’s his.

—

“what are you making?”

jungkook’s bubble pops when he hears your voice. he didn’t even realize when the shower stopped running, too absorbed in the kitchen so that he won’t intrude into your boundaries despite his restlessness. he takes you in, clad in your silk pajamas, before looking back at the bowl of dark brown batter he’s been tirelessly stirring and folding to incorporate the ingredients together.

“brownies.”

“all of a sudden? thought you were going to make dinner.” you leave no space between the two of you as you dip in the tip of your pinky finger for a taste.

that was the original plan, but he knows that you like to consume sweets when you’re feeling down.

“i’m about to. are you hungry?“ he speaks in a subdued voice, gingerly rubbing your lower back. “i’m putting this in the oven now.“

“can i help?”

jungkook dies a little inside when your eyes meet and he notices that yours are swollen, yet still gleaming with affection.

“you can, uhm, peel the potatoes?”

you curiously look back to see the ingredients for gamjatang, pork bone soup, laid out on the dining table. “okay.”

as you begin to diligently do the task you were assigned, he transfers the batter to the pan covered with parchment paper before pushing it inside the pre-heated oven. the faint pitter-patter of the rain fills the apartment as the clouds squall once more. he occupies the seat next to you, entire body facing you as his arm rests on top of the backrest of your chair.

“don’t you want to talk about it?”

you frown, briefly pausing as you ponder so you won’t cut yourself. “no, i want to… i just needed time to think.”

he grows quiet, biting at his nails as he watches your hands smoothly peel off the skin of a potato using a paring knife.

“it matters to me.” he’s been dying to say. “____, you know that i love you, right?”

you thought you had no tears left in you, but your face is feeling hot yet again.

“i know.”

“i did a shitty job at showing it because i was stupid, but it never stopped being true.” he says, steady and sure, doe eyes longing to read your mind. “i love you so much, hm…? i love you.”

“i know. that’s why i’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

a small bitter smile appears on your face as you pick up another potato to peel.

“the other day, your aunt told me you went on dates… she even showed me old pictures of you and the girl together then apologized to me-” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “for setting you up, because she thought i got what i wanted from you and finally backed off. but none of your friends ever mentioned this person to me… or you… that’s why i couldn’t- i couldn’t… it was embarrassing.”

it’s hilarious, really, how you were scared shitless of jungkook’s parents not approving of you, but you failed to consider his relatives. you can’t shake off the subtle looks indicating that you were dirt on her shoe, the honeyed condescending tone that made you feel small and hollow as you sat with her at the bus stop, completely clueless as she rambled. you wanted to laugh, cry, and curse up a storm. and you would’ve chased after her when she went to ride the bus without giving you the opportunity to stand up for yourself, but you had to remind yourself that your actions might taint people’s perception of jungkook, and you couldn’t risk that.

“baby- baby, look at me. please.”

he carefully pries away the potato and the knife from your hands, cupping your face in his big palms. you gaze at him wide-eyed as you ground yourself by clutching onto his wrist. your loud heartbeat pounds in your ears because it’s not always that you can look at each other like this, meeting halfway, seeing more than feeling.

his eyebrows are closely knitted, nose scrunching and barely blinking as he sets the record straight.

“it was one time. she’s been trying to set us up since forever, then… then she planned a date during the time we weren’t talking without even confirming with me… it was a place outside the company, so i just went to say it was a misunderstanding and i’m taken! i felt embarrassed because it’s a family friend. nothing more…” he caresses you tenderly, feeling a pinch in his chest as he tries to put himself in your shoes. “i promise, love, i left after like two minutes. why would i go on dates when i was losing my mind, hm? i was missing you like crazy.”

you melt into him when he crosses the short distance between you, pressing his soft lips on yours for a kiss that makes the whole world quiet. your noses brush each other before he withdraws.

“she left out that part, didn’t she?” he rhetorically asks with venom stirred in his otherwise dulcet voice.

you purse your lips into a thin line.

“seriously, this- this is ridiculous… this is bullshit. she really did it this time. ah, i’m angry! does this even make sense? what’s the point of all that?” jungkook huffs with a sarcastic chuckle as he runs his fingers through his hair, squeezing and tugging to release his growing frustration somehow.

this is why his lover has been doubtful of his devotion? he has known his aunt since he learned how to recognize faces, and he knows that it takes a whole lot for you to reach this breaking point. he can only imagine the interaction that took place, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

you’ve seen the good and the bad, and you focus on the good, and you stay with him despite despite despite.

he takes a deep breath to compose himself, and then his tongue prods the inside of his cheek as his determined eyes search for his phone. he quickly snatches it from the table and stands up, the screen coming to life as he unlocks it with his thumb’s fingerprint. “i’ll be right back, baby.”

“jungkook,” you call out his name as a warning, grasping his wrist before he can go too far. “don’t act rashly.”

“i’m not! i’d go to busan but i’ll put that off because i’d rather spend my day-off with you.”

you don’t know what you were expecting his reaction would be, but it’s not a great leap to say that he is furious, pending to explode.

“i’ve been nothing but polite even though she was fucking badgering me non-stop, but i won’t let her think that it’s okay to treat you like that… she doesn’t have the right to meddle with my life, and she can’t disrespect the most important person to me. i-i-” he pauses to breathe, chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. “i won’t allow it.”

you are his calmness and he is the storm.

his voice wavers by the end of his sentence, doe eyes turning glassy as he sincerely confesses, which is probably why this isn’t the right time for you to smile like a lovesick highschooler with a crush. this is exactly what you tried to avoid, making a mess and a series of uncomfortable holidays, so why does it have to feel good to hear him say that?

you nod with understanding as you free his wrist. “okay. don’t take too long.”

jungkook heads to the front door before his anger can be erased by his adoration for you, so endearing as you peel small potatoes like you had all the time in the world.

as he steps outside, the raucous rain rings in your ears and its distinct smell mixed with the soil enters the apartment.

you cluelessly blink at the ingredients surrounding you as you mutter to yourself. “how many of these am i supposed to peel again?”

—

jungkook returns after a phone call that went longer than planned, but not before wiping the wet floor from both sides of your front door to avoid accidents. he discovers you squatting infront of the unlocked kitchen oven.

“what are you doing?” he asks with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“it’s baked…” you raise the toothpick you poked the brownie with, tilting your head to the side. “right?“

“oh, it is! let’s take it out.”

he rushes to the counter to wear oven mitts, and you stand aside so he can carry out the pan from the oven. you follow him as he places it on top of the wooden table mat on the table, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt to gain his attention.

“what happened?” you interrogate him worriedly as he pulls off the oven mitts from his hands.

“huh?” you’re coaxed to move closer when he caresses your nape, sliding down to the smooth expanse of your back. “my mom will call you soon.”

“what? why?!”

“she wants to cook for you. to apologize for what her son and her sister did.” he scrunches his nose with a guilty chuckle, scratching his head. “let’s go home for dinner one of these days, okay? we’ll cook your favorites.”

“but i thought…” you chew on your bottom lip, hand balling in a fist and crumpling the fabric of your boyfriend’s t-shirt. “did you call your mom too? i don’t want to cause trouble.”

“what do you mean? you’re doing nothing of the sort.” he gives you a disapproving look, gently squeezing your tense hand to quell your worries. “and it just turns out she was listening the whole time i was talking. they’re hanging out together. uh, besides, she would’ve found out one way or the other.”

“but they can’t be fighting, right?”

“aigoo, don’t worry about it anymore. stop hurting your brain. it’s mean.” he strokes your head lovingly with a small smile that suggests an answer to your question. “your mother-in-law loves you. everything’s okay. it’s cold so let’s just eat our dinner then cuddle in bed, hm, baby?”

oh. your mother-in-law?

“you’re so annoying.” you mutter half-heartedly, burying your face in your hands as the tears surge in once more.

god, you feel so relieved.

you crash against jungkook’s body when he tugs you closer to envelope you in his arms. maybe, just maybe, if he does it long enough, you will be pieced back together. even though he, himself, breaks when you weakly pound at his chest with clenched fists.

“i hate you. i hate you. i hate you.” you chant like a broken record in between sobs, glitching in cracks and pauses and stutters. the more you say the same three words, the more they lose their meaning.

he squeezes his eyes shut, enduring the heart-splitting pain and embracing you tighter. “i know- i know.” he repeats your words from earlier.

he hates himself, too. he needs to get his shit together. he understands — he has to grow up if he wants to keep you.

“but i love you, and i’m scared you’ll leave again and i won’t beg you anymore.” you ramble without thinking, brain on auto-pilot mode. “i’m not that kind of person, jungkook. that’s not me. i don’t have to prove it, do i?”

you feel so utterly exposed, disgustingly vulnerable. nevertheless, before jungkook is anything else, he is your best friend.

“t-they think i’m using you.” you hiccup, forearm covering your stinging eyes. you taste the salt in your own tears as you speak. “but that’s unfair, so unfair. i only accept what i’m given. i barely ask you for anything. it was only one time, o-only one time. i asked you to come back, because i missed you. i want to be with you because you make me happy.”

jungkook’s jaw clenches in anger, no longer able to withhold his tears. he sniffles, wiping his wet cheek on his shoulder. you’ve suffered more than enough because of him. if anything, he should be the one getting the lashings from his side and yours. this is wrong. this is all wrong.

“shh- shhh. breathe, baby.” he coos as he pushes down your arm, brushing away the tears on your face. “come here.”

you whimper when he swoops you off your feet, carrying you bridal style to the living room. he sits on the sofa, and he sits you on his lap. you slide off him, just a tiny bit for your back to reach the armrest, pulling him along with you.

“hug me,” you demand quietly.

he fails to defy the urge to smile, abruptly pulling you in for a passionate kiss that steals the air from your lungs. your eyelids flutter shut, tense body relaxing into him as your lips follow his lead in this delicate dance of enigmatic intimacy. your fingers graze his jaw shakily, afraid it might cut you and you’ll be awoken from this enduring dream. they desperately tangle themselves with his hair, digging to keep him glued onto you.

“i won’t leave again. no matter how hard you push me away, i will stay within your reach.”

he makes a whispered promise carved into the walls of your apartment, sealed by his lips pressing to your knuckles, and you’re left to wonder forever if he kissed your left ring finger on purpose.

jungkook is soft-spoken, slow and careful with his words that could make or break you.

“i’m so sorry that i hurt you. and i’m sorry that you have to go through this because of me. i’m sorry for everything. i’m sorry. but…” he inhales, and exhales, licking his lips. “the noise might never stop. i know it’s not as easy to say, but i hope we don’t let them get into our heads. just because we can hear them, doesn’t mean we have to listen, you know?”

and as much as it kills him to admit-

“we’re fragile right now, so i want to protect what we have.”

you profusely nod your head, and his thumbs sweep over your cheeks to catch your teardrops.

“let’s be happy, and love each other for a very long time, hm…? i know you’re not that kind of person, so you can ask me for anything. or you can even take them without asking me. i don’t care. what about it?” he says with passion and conviction, galaxy-filled eyes expanding as he shakes his head. “but never me, or my love. you shouldn’t feel like you have to ask for it. do you know why?”

you arch an eyebrow at him, still switching between fiddling with his long and slender fingers and tracing the veins running along his arms. “why?”

“because i’m yours. every single second of everyday. i love you. you deserve all the love i can give. that’s my number one responsibility as your boyfriend… but i failed you. i know you forgive me but… but i-i want to love you better. i won’t get tired of fighting for us, and showing you that i mean everything i say.”

“don’t say things like that.” at last, you crack a genuine smile, giggling as you lightly hit his chest. “i’ll become greedy.”

“good. that’s what i want.” he retorts with a chuckle, but he means it wholeheartedly.

he wants to be inconvenienced by you. he wants to make impulsively confrontational phone calls he will overthink before bed. he wants you to wake him up in the middle of the night clawing for snuggles. he wants you to jump on his back when you’re exhausted of walking. he wants to charm the owner of your favorite restaurant into cooking one more meal before closing because you always ask him to make a quick stop when he visits you. he wants his life to be influenced by yours in every possible way, two different colors mixed in a palette to create a new one that matches the sky.

“thank you.” you smile sheepishly. “and i’m sorry too, for everything. i don’t handle these things well… i’m still learning.”

“mhmm-hmm.” he shakes his head in disagreement, before leaning in to pepper your face with kisses. “i love you.” he smells like romance and comfort, sugar and cocoa from the brownies — the cure to your nausea. you still taste a hint of the sweet flavor when your tongue darts out to lick your dry lips, traces from your taste test and his.

“babe?” you whisper after minutes that felt like hours, drowsy and cozy cuddled up with your boyfriend in the corner of your sofa.

he hums in question, sleepily nuzzling his face on your neck.

“i’m so hungry. i think i’m going to die.”

“ah, yes. i can hear that.”

—

“should i slice the onions next?” you question in a sing-song voice as you enter the kitchen, immediately regaining possession of knife.

“stay away from them. i don’t want you to cry again.”

you pout, clicking your tongue. “you’re right. then what else can i do…? why do you look scared?”

you study jungkook’s wary stance in amusement, taking a glance at your hand where his shaking pupils are trained.

he playfully puts up his arms in surrender, laughter laced with nervousness. “baby, stop waving the knife around.”

“i’m not!”

“yes, you are! just put it down. i’ll do everything, okay?”

you place it back on the table with a scoff, slumping on the chair and crossing your arms. “and then what?”

“then have the brownies for appetizer.” with a self-satisfied grin, he cuts out a slice of brownie that has cooled down during the time it was left unattended.

“i don’t think this is how it works.”

“shhh, baby.“ he menacingly hushes you with his pointer finger over his lips. “don’t say anything. just taste it first. ahhh-“

you take a small bite from the piece that he’s holding out for you, and then another after deeming it too small.

“how is it?” he gulps as he anticipates your reply.

“yummy!”

“really?” he giggles when you chomp on the remaining dessert and accidentally bite his poor fingers.

“don’t know what makes a good brownie exactly, but it’s perfect to me.” you nod your head enthusiastically, somewhat feeling better with the prospect of having your stomach filled with more of your boyfriend’s cooking.

your jaw slacks open in offense when he slaps your hand in the middle of your attempt to pick up the knife, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he threateningly looks at you.

“what was that for? i just want more brownies!” you cry out, lightly kicking his shin from under the table.

“oh- ow!” he cracks up in hearty laughter, corners of his eyes crinkling as he rubs the affected area. “sorry, i’m sorry for my fault! they’re all yours! please forgive me! i’m sorry!”

you send him a scowl before pouring all your focus into slicing the rest of the dessert into bite-sized squares.

he bends down to your eye-level, cutely tilting his head to the side as he speaks lowly. “i’ll cook dinner now. just wait a little more… maybe two hours?”

“please tell me you’re joking.”

—

not long after, you hop on the vacant counter space with the brownies for a better view of the kitchen scene. you leisurely swing your legs as you watch jungkook freely move around your kitchen, occasionally getting lost as he converses with himself. if your calculations are correct, he has asked himself the questions “oing? what was i supposed to do again? what did i come here for?” twice so far. it’s a good thing he talks to himself out loud so you can remember things for him.

he stirs the pot of stew, leaves to gather more ingredients, then comes back to dump them in. the cycle ends with nods of satisfaction, before he waddles over to your spot for a snack break. straight away, you greet his parted lips with the chocolate-y goodness that was reaped from his sweat and tears.

as he chews on the brownie, he turns his face to the other direction and pokes his cheek for another request. with your thighs caging his hips and your hands grasping his collar, you tug him closer to your body. your plushy lips plant gentle but full kisses on his cheek, trailing down to his defined jaw and neck when you run out of space. the tingling sensation shooting up his spine prompts his fingers to dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, breathing gradually getting heavier with your every electrifying touch. the final kiss is granted to his adam’s apple, more prominent as he swallows.

you straighten back up while fixing your hair, and jungkook’s starry eyes follow your red lips in a hypnotized daze. there’s no one else who can make his heart flutter quite like you do. your breathy giggles are music to his ears as you take in the sight of both his cheeks adorned with scattered lipstick marks, appearing like watercolor on paper.

“what’s that for?” he eyed you suspiciously while you were painting your lips, but it’s him who kept coming back to you for more although you were already happy with one.

“you look so funny.”

but if this arrangement goes: he can make you laugh by granting you the permission to leave marks where your lips have been, he will happily live with that.

“can i take a picture?”

but you don’t even have to ask. your phone is still charging in the bedroom, so he proposes his for your convenience.

“here. just airdrop them to yourself.” he hands it to you with a cool shrug, nonchalant on the surface but giddy inside.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send a message/ask if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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cool-fancier · 6 months

Text

A Secret Affair

Synopsis:You can’t get enough of your brother’s Girlfriend ;)

Seoul's buzzing energy served as a backdrop to the complicated web of relationships that linked Y/N, Howl, and Bada. The three had a special closeness that went to the usual brother-sister interaction. Howl, the lively and dynamic older brother, had recently introduced the love of his life, Bada, to the family.

Bada was a force to be reckoned with, a confident and seductive woman who seemed to effortlessly command attention. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull you felt towards Bada, a curiosity that seemed to grow stronger with each glance she sent her way. The more you watched your brother's girlfriend, the more you were captivated with Bada's attractiveness.

When the entire family gathered at Howl's classy flat, it was a typical evening. Laughter filled the air as they told stories and ate a home-cooked lunch. You were sitting across from Bada and couldn't stop staring at the mysterious woman. The more you looked, the more you became drawn to Bada's confidence and irresistible attractiveness.

As the night progressed, Bada's dark eyes met yours from across the room. You were taken aback and quickly averted your sight, feeling a rush of warmth run across your cheeks. You chuckled uneasily, attempting to dismiss the severity of the situation. Little did you know, Bada had noticed the subtle glances and was intrigued by the shy yet alluring energy coming from you.

When Bada leaned in to whisper something into Howl's ear, your mood changed. You couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity mingled with jealousy. What secrets did they share? Before you could think about it, Bada rose up and walked towards you.

"Hey, Y/N!" Bada's voice was like a symphony, sending thrills down your spine. You raised your head, mesmerised by the depth in Bada's dark brown eyes. "Mind if I steal you away for a moment?"

You muttered, caught off guard, "Uh, sure, Bada."

Bada smiled warmly, her lips painted in a colour that matched her confidence. "Great! Let's go upstairs to your room. We should get to know each other better."

You couldn't shake the electric thrill that surged through you as Bada led you upstairs to your room. The air between you two was packed with an unsaid tension, an obvious energy that grew stronger with each stride. Bada's warm and welcome laughter echoed in the corridor as you entered the room, the door softly closing behind you.

"Nice place you've got here," Bada said, a lighthearted glance about the room.

"Thanks," you said, your heart pumping in your chest. The setting seemed unreal, a secret encounter with the potential to change everything.

Bada sat on the bed's edge, her stare never leaving yours. "So, Y/N," she started, her voice a seductive tune that sent thrills up your spine, "tell me more about yourself."

You took a deep breath, attempting to gather your thoughts. "Well, there isn't much to say. "I'm just a regular person navigating the chaos of Seoul life."

Bada leaned back, her elbows supporting her up, a cheeky smirk on her lips. "Regular, you say?" I doubt that."

You squirmed at the mocking sparkle in her eyes, yet you couldn't resist the magnetic pull that drew you closer to her. As you told her about your life, Bada responded by sharing aspects of herself that were as compelling as her mysterious aura.

The conversation flowed naturally, moving from light joking to more meaningful things. You found yourself opening up in ways you hadn't anticipated, a vulnerability that only deepened the connection between you and Bada.

"So, what's the deal with you and Howl?" You inquired, her tone becoming a bit more serious

She paused, unsure how much to reveal. "We're close, but he doesn't need to know everything."

For a brief period, Bada's gaze stayed on yours, and you felt a silent understanding move between you. It was a dark dance, one that thrived away from prying eyes.

Days became nights, and the secret encounters with Bada became a thrilling custom. You and Bada went like modern-day rebels, your bond growing stronger with each stolen moment. Your secret affair took place against the scenery of the the city, with its bustling streets and towering skyscrapers.

Bada suggested a late-night adventure one evening as the sun set below the horizon, spreading a warm warmth across the city. You two ended up on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the cityscape rolling out before you like a sea of glittering lights.

"Isn't this amazing?" Bada pondered, her gaze fixated on the bustling city below. "It's like we're on top of the world."

The fresh breeze ruffled your hair as you nodded. "It is. What about Howl, though? Won't he wonder where we are or mostly where you are?"

Bada looked at you with an obnoxious gleam in her eyes. "Let him wonder. This is our moment, Y/N."

And it was at that moment, as the city hummed under you, that you realised you were trapped in a maelstrom of emotions. The forbidden aspect of your relationship with Bada just heightened the tension, making every stolen glance, every hushed chat feel like a hidden gem.

The intimacy between you and Bada grew stronger over time. Late-night rendezvous turned into stolen glances across crowded rooms, and the thrill of the forbidden fueled the fire between you. The harder you tried to resist, the deeper you got caught up in the web of desire.

One evening, as you and Bada found peace in a quiet corner of a dimly lit bar, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear. "How long are we going to keep this a secret, Y/N?" she asked, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the question settling in your chest. "I'm not sure, Bada. But for now, let's savour the moments we have."you say putting your head in the crook of her neck.

Bada pulled back, her gaze locked onto yours. "Agreed," she said, her voice a promise that lingered in the air.

Your affair's secret became both a hardship and a delight, a double-edged blade that sliced through the ordinary fabric of your life. Howl, still very much clueless to yours and Bada's secret interactions, continued to spend his days and nights with Bada, unaware of the depths of the bond that had developed in the shadows.

The whole family was together for lunch one evening, but you and Bada were alone in your room, and the intensity reached new heights. As your lips met in a passionate kiss, the world outside faded away, the air was thick with expectation.

Gasping for air, Bada pulled away, her eyes locked onto yours. "Do you know how to keep quiet, love?" she demanded, a mischievous grin on her lips."Everyone might hear you now and we don't want that, or do we?"

You, still caught in the whirlwind of desire, managed a breathless nod. The room became a sanctuary of shared secrets, and the intimacy between you and Bada reached new heights.

You couldn't help but wonder how long this delicate moments could go on in the middle of the secrecy, yearning, and stolen moments. The city of Seoul, with its towering buildings and bustling streets, seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see how the story of forbidden love would unfold in your life's current saga.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x oc #bebe #bada lee x y/n #street woman fighter x reader

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femmefatale-tales · 10 months

Text

Dating Bucky would be like

An: i am just discovering right now and experimenting. Hope you like this. I hope I got Bucky’s character right. I am soo sorry because I did write how it would be like to date bucky but I also added some other shit, sorry 😗

Warnings: flufff, soo much flufff and again reader is funny. This is for my funny gals. This is utter chaos. Tell me if you would like more cannons.

Sooo many cuddles, cuddles when you’re mad, cuddles after nightmares, cuddles in the morning which always make both of you late for meetings with the team, and cuddles when you come home after missions.

Your seat is reserved on his lap now, you don’t have to seat anywhere else cause why would you, you have his lap.

You playing with Bucky’s hair and braiding his hair. Also you cried when he cut it because you were a bit too attached but he made up to you with kisses all over your face making you laugh.

You making stupid jokes which either make Bucky laugh or annoy him and you don’t mind either reaction.

Bucky scolding you for drinking too much caffeine, and you not listening to him and giving him puppy eyes every time when he refuses to give you your cofffee, it works every damn time. He just sighs and gives it back to you while shaking his head at you.

You being cheeky and annoying Bucky all the time because that’s your love language.

Him being annoyed and grumpy but only being a softie towards you because that’s his love language.

See he is not like the 40s bucky now, he is changed, he not that shy now, he expresses his feelings to you openly which took time but now he has no problem doing it. He may not be full of life like he used to be in the 40s but he really likes his life now, he has a family. Steve, nat, Sam and especially you are his family now.

After 5 months of you guys being in a relationship, bucky was surprised himself when he asked you to move in with him, which you replied with a stare of 40 secs and then the biggest hug possible.

You are the only one that can calm Bucky down., may it be if he is angry or if it’s after a nightmare, you are his cure.

Soo much banter with him, soo much. You always talking nonsense which Bucky has to listen to, he acts like you give him a headache but he secretly loves listening to you talk bullshit all the time.

You once asked him this and he denied that he loves it, so to prove your point, when you were talking and ranting on an on you suddenly stopped, made a face like you were about to cry and asked him if he wanted you to stop talking and he panicked so bad, he confessed his love for your talking just like that, then when you started saying, “I knew it” ,he realised your act. It all ended with bucky chasing you and tickling you until you said sorry😭.

You and Sam annoying Bucky and Nat, steve laughing his ass off and all you guys spending time together.

After you told the guys you were in a relationship, no one except nat and Steve believed it because everyone thought how can the most opposite people be together???

Also after that Steve and Nat told everyone they were dating too which made you squeal even though you were the one who already knew.

You guys actually moved in together with Sam Ofcourse, because it seemed like it would be fun.

You guys went to Wanda and visions wedding and had the best timeeee.

Wanda and vision moved somewhere else too, even before you guys.

You and Bucky always go on walks and go to your favourite cafe.

Bucky actually really likes mornings and always forces you to wake up and watch the sunrise with him, which ends up with you falling asleep on his lap and Bucky admiring your beauty.

Your favourite moments together are when you and Bucky bake his favourite cookies together, those moments are always filled with jokes ,laughter and kisses.

Though you may think Bucky must be a good cook since he was in army but he can’t cook for shit. He can cook some basic things but that’s it.

So he asked you to teach him and it was a disaster of Bucky burning food, you making jokes and laughing you’re ass off and falling off the kitchen counter. That was one of your best moment, it’s your favourite and Bucky does not like to remember it because you got hurt and he burnt food.

You always watch movies together because you are a movie freak and Bucky likes you too much to say no ,he also he enjoys it too.

You watch atleast one movie a day with popcorns and candies in front of you. Sometimes the others join you guys too and then it’s a family time.

You are one of the only people Bucky shared his problems to and you are grateful to be the one he can come to when he wants to unload his problems.

After you two started sleeping besides each other, his nightmares have decreased a lot and now he never sleeps without you. Though sometimes he still has nightmares but you are always there to help him through them.

The first time bucky saw you cry was because you were watching Star Wars, it’s safe to say you are very expressive and Bucky could read you like a book, he actually loves that about you.

Piggy back rides are your go to for any quest. You wanna go to the hall : piggy back rides, wanna get coffee : piggyback rides.

You and bucky always go grocery shopping together because then you’ll sit in the cart and Bucky will push it around, it’s very fun.

Bucky absolutely loves your kisses, and you love his. Bucky is always giving forehead kisses and just to see him blush you give him heart stopping kisses which he adores.

You both are each others best friends, you can share anything with each other and can cry, laugh with each other.

You were the first to say love because the moment you felt it, you expressed it and bucky was shocked. He also felt guilty that he wasn’t the first to say it but he did confess that he knew way before that he loved you though he didn’t wanted to scare you off so he kept quite.

You guys are always spending time with each other, its like Bucky will go somewhere only if you’re going.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x short!reader #tfatws!bucky #grumpy sunshine trope #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #incorrect bucky quotes #bucky series

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irishmammonagenda · 2 months

Note

PLEASE MORE MICHAEL CONTENT I AM ON MY KNEES BEGGING U CRYING PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLESASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEA

-yk who 😞

i do know who😈😈‼️‼️‼️

i love writing michael sm heehee anyway thanks for the ask pooks 🫶🫶🫶

grma <3

Unsane Uncles-An Obey Me x Reader

Summary: Michael realises some shocking news, has a crisis, as per usual, chaos ensues. Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: nothing I don't think, for anyone that doesnt know, i headcannon michael as lucifers twin, this was written with my 'Death is a Debatable Thing' Au in mind, but it can be read as a stand alone <3

post dividers by @saradika-graphics

The café was quaint, quiet and out of the way. It had been ages since you'd last visited the Human Realm. The soft sounds of chatter and cutlery clinking created a calm atmosphere. Well calm for the most part.

Michael sat on the chair opposite to yours looking quite frazzled. His white button down rolled up to just above the elbows and a few of the topmost buttons undone. His long golden curls done up in a messy plait, nonconforming strands coiling around his unusually antsy face. Long dexterous fingers wrap around his coffee mug, he brings it to his lips and takes a sip before setting it down with a little too much force. You watch the scene amusedly.

“I just- I don’t know what to do!” he runs a hand through his hair, looking up at you with stressed, ruby red eyes. "I mean?- Is it too late to give my congratulations?!...Or a push present?!"

You bite your tongue to keep from laughing, the Archangel notices. "This is serious MC! I am the worst uncle ever!"

You tilt your head, "Did you not think it was strange when the brothers first fell that Satan just kind of poofed into existence?"

Michael gives a thoughtful look, before making a 'meh' face and shrugging his shoulders. "I kind of just thought Satan was a low ranking angel that fell with the actual memorable ones, and that I had just... never cared to learn his name before he fell."

"You didn't ask?" You take a sip of your warm drink, revelling in how satisfying the hot liquid felt when it hit the back of your throat and warmed you up from the inside, especially as it was fucking baltic outside.

"Yes." Michael smiles sarcastically, "Because taking a trip down to the Devildom straight after the Celestial War to ask about the demon who kept biting people and snarling would've gone great for me."

"Touché." You grin. Michael's expression falls back from sarcastic to strained, his gorgeous features bathed in stress.

"But seriously MC! I've missed out on centuries as an uncle! That's so many birthdays! Luke must think I'm a deadbeat! I already act like I'm a divorced dad with visitation rights because I can't visit very often!"

You snort. "I don't think Luke knows."

Michael sinks into his seat, "Oh thank Father."

He stays there for a moment, the soft golden glow of the café lights on his dark skin so similar to the aureate ambiance of the Celestial Realm that you almost forget that you're back in the human world. He flutters his eyes closed, a hand over his brow in what can only be described as a himbo-ified imitation of a sickly Victorian woman saying something along the lines of 'Woe is I!" after finding out poor people actually have feelings. What a fucking drama king. You hold back a snort. Michael groans before swinging back up like a jack-in-the-box, his usual cheerful yet cheeky smile on his handsome face, he joins his hands together as he rests his arms on the wooden table, as if completely oblivious to the complete 180 he had turned. "So! MC, have I ever told you about the time Lucifer ran into a glass door in the Celestial Realm?"

You shake your head, grinning mischieviously, "I don't think you have!"

Hours Later, down in the Devildom, in RAD's royal library, Satan sneezed. He paused for a moment more before folding his handkerchief up and putting it back in his pocket, making a mental note to wash it when he got back to the House of Lamentation.

He groans, arching his back and stretching his arms out in an attempt to weave out any knots in his muscles. He'd been in the library since school had ended. Still unable to shake the feeling something was going to happen, Satan got up off of his chair, packed his books away, and made the journey home.

Walking alone through the cobbled streets of the Realm was calming and peaceful. Halfway through his siúl suaimneach, he comes face to face with a gathering of the stray cats he'd normally feed.

The Avatar of Wrath coos at them, hunkering down and reaching into his bag for some of the cat treats he'd normally kept in there. "Aww..." He mutters, speaking in a baby voice to the cats, scratching an old tabby's fur. "You've gotten so big, Purrsephone!" He scritches underneath the young cats chin, smiling as she purrs and remembering fondly when the cat was just a small kitten trailing behind her mother like a second, small adorable shadow.

As he pulls out the bag of treats onehanded, the symphony of meowing reaches a polyphonic crescendo, cats and kittens of all shapes, colours and sizes scramble towards Satan with more purpose now, all meowing for food. He chuckles, indulging the felines, petting them as they nibble and chew on the kitty treats.

Unbeknownst to the Avatar of Wrath, a good quarter of a mile away from where he congregated with the cats, a certain Archangel and his accomplice stood hiding in an alleyway.

In the shadows of the alleyway, Michael was clumsily putting on his batman mask. He already had a matching batman suit and cape on, you however were much more serious, and were dressed up as Robin.

"Michael." You hiss exasperatedly. "You seriously can't think that sneaking up on the Avatar of Wrath is a good idea!"

Michael merely waved you off with one hand, his other carrying his 'surprise for his most favouritest nephew in the three realms' as he'd deemed it. "Besides MC is worst comes to worst, you can just pop out!"

You nod. "Good point. "You face breaks into a grin matching Michael's, "This is going to be fun to watch."

Michael goes to say something before you both hear footsteps, your eyes widen. "Oh shit...he's coming..."

Quickly you dart behind the dumpsters, Michael moves to the wall of the alleyway. Holding his breath as he listens to the footsteps of a certain green-eyed demon.

After having petted the cats, Satan got up and begrudgingly left them in order to continue his journey home.

Lost in his thoughts, he can't help but feel as if something is watching him, thinking its just his imagination, he walks on. Who would be stupid enough to sneak up on the Avatar of Wrath?

An idiot in a batman costume apparently.

Satan jumped as the lunatic hopped out from the alleyway, hands behind his back.

"Psst! Kid!" The stranger in the batman costume says, ruby red eyes that reminded him of Lucifer staring at him. "I have a surprise for you!"

Satan's tail whips around his legs, on the defensive. "I'm not a kid." He says coldly. "And what surprise?"

"Heeheehee." The strange man giggles, before taking his hands away from where they were behind his back and revealling a small tiny little kitten, fur as dark as night, with an emerald green bow wrapped loosely around its little neck, having been jostled, the tiny creature meows in protest, big green eyes blinking sleepily. Satan's harsh, mistrusting glare softens as he looks at the kitten, moving to take it out of the strangers hands before his eyes narrow.

"What's the catch?"

"The catch?" 'Batman' says indignantly, as if Satan had gravely offended him. "The catch? How dare you! There is no catch! Can't an uncle give his nephew a present to make up for millennia upon millennia of missed birthdays?!"

Satan blinks. "It's March. It's nowhere near my birthday. And Uncle?" Green eyes narrow again. "I don't have any uncles."

The stranger sticks his tongue out. "Blah blah blah. You are just like your father. Take the fucking cat or I'm telling everyone that you're secretly Lucifer's son."

A vein pops on Satan's head. "Excuse me?!"

The stranger chuckles nervously upon sensing Satan's wrath bubble like magma beneath the surface of his skin, ready to boil over and erupt. When Satan's eyes flashed dangerously the stranger spluttered out. "Oh shit....! Uhhh....Cat Attack!!!" That was the only warning Satan got before the tiny kitten was shoved gently but firmly into his hands, his eyes immedietely softened, the rage slowed down from a boil as he looked into the soft innocent eyes of the kittykat.

He looked up at the stranger, who in his frenzy, had lost his batman mask. Ruby red eyes and golden curls tied in french plaits and tucked into the rest of the suit greeted him. Unholy fuck. Was that Archangel Michael.

The Archangel grins at him, "Enjoy your gift! Tell Lucikins I said hi! Oh and also the cats a girl, you can name her! Come visit your favourite uncle soon! Byebye!" Michael shouts to him, before he turns around, and fucking books it, sprinting away from the Avatar of Wrath at a speed that could rival Mammon running from Lucifer.

Satan stood shellshocked by the whole ordeal having acquired a tiny kitten and an uncle who needed to be institutionalised.

He grinned down at the kitten, "I'm gonna call you Dorcha."

Judging by the small creatures tiny meow, he'd gamble that she liked that name.

A/N: im so sorry this is so short, ive been busy w irl stuff, but this was a fun ask <3

also dorcha is sort of pronounced 'door-ah-ha' but you sort of say the 'ch' with your throat, idk how to explain it, but it means 'dark' 💗💗

siúl suaimhneach (shoe-el soo-ehve-neyak, except dont pronounce the 'ch' as a 'keh' and pronounce it liek gutturally!!!) it means 'peaceful walk' but suaimhneach can also mean tranquil or quiet

#ive decided that since irish is better than english in every way that im just gonna start chucking words in irish into my writing #im going to forcibly teach people some irish through reading my fics 😈😈😈#obey me imagines #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #omswd #obey me mc #obey me michael #obey me satan #asks #ask #request #obey me fluff #obey me crack #obey me shitpost

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httpsghostie · 9 months

Note

i was thinking, soap buying these little mood rings from spiritual shop that just opened by his home! and he brings them to the base, he’s so excited & he literally forces everyone to try them on—you do without hesitation and the only one who seems to have a hard time doing so would be ghost, of course.

eventually he caves in puts the ring. different colors associated with different moods, ie red would be anger, blue would he sadness, yellow would be happiness, green would be illnesses etc. until soap notices that ghost’s ring always seems to turn pink when he’s talking to you, or even just being near you, pink being the color of love.

and soap is so damn cheeky, he’ll purposely wait until it’s just him, ghost, and gaz around to start the teasing, saying stuff like: ‘y’know, i jus’ think it’s funny how your ring always turns pink when you’re a around y/n.’

and ghost is just glaring at him.

THAT IS SO SWEET

also I feel like this isnt my best work Im sorry lol

warnings: pure fluff

Soap was by far the happiest person around the base, and he also happened to be a really close friend of yours. He was a joy to be around, Gaz too, and inevitably you became the trio of chaos. Out of the battlefield, combining the three of you wouldn't build a single sargeant, it's like you shared the same brain cell or something like that — like Ghost once said.

One day, Soap brought some mood rings for everyone in the squad. He thought they could be useful on how you could deal with a person depending on their mood. How silly of him. But you didn't hesitate to put them on, thanking him for it.

He said they would change colors depending on the mood, but that's all the explanation, when Price asked him about what which color represented, he shrugged it off.

To you, he said yellow was happy and red was anger, and it stopped right there. You would hit him playfully, demanding for him to explain the rest, but that's what you had to deal with.

Ghost was reluctant to put it on. "There's no way that works, Johnny."

It took you probably a week for him to finally agree on putting the stupid ring — as he called it. The three of you stared, waiting desperately for it to change colors, seemed like eternity until he finally put it on. You waited, and waited, and waited.

No color.

"See? I told you it doesn't work."

He was going to take it off, but Soap insisted on him keeping it. Reluctantly, he let Johnny win this fight — after all, he said it didn't even work.

And Ghost's ring remained blank until Soap found the two of you talking in the mess hall, approaching you quietly. Ghost was listening to you ranting about Price actively teasing you about your new white hairs due to stress. "I can't do anything about it, it's genetic and it's also stress. Honestly I don't know how you handle this life."

But there was something about him, his body language when you were around, like he could relax when he was with you. You bet Johnny noticed the light pink on the ring Ghost was clumsily trying to hide from you.

Yet he couldn't go out there making assumptions, he had to see it again. You'd taken your ring off for training purposes, but Ghost still had his, and it turned pink again as he saw you executing your moves with perfect precision.

"Oi, Lt, anything to tell us?" Soap asked once he was alone with Ghost and Gaz, he glared at him, not understanding what he meant.

"Come on, the ring, we all saw it." Gaz said.

"Yes, yours turns pink around y/n."

"I don't know what that means."

"Pink is the color of love, ya?" Soap punches his chest playfully. "Ghost is in love with y/n!"

"Shut up, Johnny!"

"You really are, Lt, the ring doesn't lie." Gaz adds to the teasing, making Ghost brush his face. He takes a deep breath and leaves them two behind.

"Whatever."

And later that day, the group chat was filled with subliminal messages.

Not to mention that Soap wouldn't miss an opportunity to tease his Lieutenant.

Ghost: Sargeants, I need the reports by the end of the day

Soap: On it, pink-ie

Ghost: Shut up, Johnny

Gaz: Stop being such a pink-a-phobe

Y/n: What? Lol

Ghost: It's nothing, they're children

Soap: Did it turn pink again?

Ghost: Enough, Soap

"Can you please call Y/n to my office?"

"Why, you gon' kiss her?"

To which always led to Soap being slapped in the head, but it was priceless to see Ghost's reaction to being teased.

It would turn pink whenever you were around, he couldn't help it, he liked you way too much to be able to hide it from the ring, like he was able to do with every other emotion. Never blue, nor red. It would only change colors when you were there.

#ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod fanfic

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kalims · 2 years

Text

‎˃ ᵕ ˂ . . "if we were in a story. what trope do you think we'd be?"

trophies,

trophies, trophies.

parts. one , two

characters. jade, azul, lilia, riddle, ruggie, ace, and rook.

includes. gn reader.

cw. riddle's mom

note. I do love the late night motivation and I'm pretty sure I had one of the darkest mindset I ever had today lol

—ㅤjade leech & azul ashengrotto・ a love triangle (not necessarily a triangle but.. two people like you that's for sure.

oh boy. it's absolute chaos wherever these two are arguing, just add the fact that they like the same person and multiply the chaos and tension tenfold. it's like there's animated lightning clashing through their smiling eyes when the topic is all about you.

for some reason jade immensely enjoys rubbing it in azul's face whenever he wasn't informed that you and the eel would be 'hanging' out today, and azul isn't very happy when jade pops up from some random forsaken corner and practically wooshes you away. in that sense he isn't very similar to riddle but his theory is getting tested when he's going red from keeping his smile and not dropping it into a scowl.

they both might not come to the same terms at times but there was a mutual agreement to set aside their 'rivalry' with each other to deal with this little.. scoundrel who has no qualms against stopping himself from bothering you. with azul's wit and jade's concerning experience with dealing with bodies.. let's say that there's a chance everyone won't even notice the person is gone.

—ㅤlilia vanrouge・soulmates

they say there's people whose love knew no bounds. a love so deep that even the gods couldn't separate them from eventually meeting each other within lives once more, star crossed lovers who will meet in the middle even if they're on the opposite side of the world.

it's strange. you don't know this peculiar man at all, not once do you recall any of his presence in your memories so yet why is there an aching nostalgia present on your mind? you're absolutely sure that this guy is a stranger, heck.. you've been trying to skim your memory for god knows how long and it's even starting to hurt.

but your heart yearns, and your teacher had made sure to drill the fact that you should always choose logic over feelings. he looks really familiar. you think, unable to tear your eyes away from his streaks. unique but it feels like you've once seen those cheeky eyes full of underlying fondness. so when he turns to set his eyes on you, you're sure he feels the same when there's a flicker of suprise in them.

—ㅤriddle rosehearts・academic rivals

competing with a boy who's main motto is bursting into a fiery red was quite annoying. or, perhaps it's irritating because it's the same boy who practically had it out for you the moment he realized that you were a 'threat' to his number one positioning in academics, he hated you for that and you hated him for being like that. so both of you weren't exactly over the moon when the teacher just had to assign you to each other on a research project.

(you're both to lost to stare at each other viciously to hear the rest of the class moaning about how unfair it was to have the smartest students paired in one go)

you realize why riddle was so reluctant and defensive over carrying out the project in his home. alas, your circumstances won't exactly allow anywhere else so he surrenders but not without a nervous, haunted look on his face. his mother terrified you, the moment you set foot on his home her eyes were immediately all over you. judging, scrutinizing, sharp. you can't even force a word out and you weren't even that scared of riddle.

so for once you suck up that grudge and manage to look him in the eye and spare a.. kind look. riddle looks suprised. with the close up without the creases in between his eyebrows and the gritted teeth.. he kind of looks, cute. lost, innocent even. like it's the first time someone spared him that look. (and for once, instead of the passionate anger he bursts into, the red on his face instead resembles a flush as he furiously looks away.)

—ㅤace trapolla・exes to lovers

your past relationship with ace certainly wasn't all rainbows and sparkles. if you were being honest there were times where there was just pure toxicity around you, two people who refuse to look past their wrongs in favors of their 'rights', instead of dropping the relationship you both just clung on frozen love who has no plans to break out of its shell any time soon. you were young, and admittedly dumb teenagers.

at the very least you did break up a few months later. it was surprisingly sentimental, ace himself even shed a few tears as he picked up his pride and apologized for all of the unpleasant times he was the reason of, so in face of his honesty even you can't keep in your tears. you still talked to each other sometimes but there was an obvious barrier none of you dared to cross.

that is until, you meet again years later in a class reunion and the feelings you've long buried—or atleast you thought you buried 6ft under the ground crawls out of its damn grave and practically dragged your asses back to each other with an awkward. "uh.. how you doing?" you both go silent when you realize you spoke it at the same time.

—ㅤruggie bucchi・commoner to royalty

for as long as you remember you've been housed under a home that could be could be gold if it were to be sold, fed by a silver spoon at birth you know how it feels to have everything just at the palm of your hand. just ask your kind parents and they won't have any arguments to whatever you ask, you are their previous little child after all and their love hasn't wavered at all. (or they're just sucking up so you won't have any qualms against taking the throne)

so it was quick for you to see the world through gray and white colors, dull as it should be. one day you just.. lost all interest, there's nothing to do, nothing to want. you're grateful for living such a lax life but sometimes you want to live out one that doesn't require endless pressure. when the topic of marriage appears you can't hold in your displeased look and your parents unfortunately notice. thankfully only sparing you a frown.

you were at the market when it happened. a ring from your mother was stolen right under your nose and you don't know why you started running for the very boy who stole it from you. he was fast, but you were intent on getting the ring back. eventually it was about noon when you stumbled around out of breath—then you see him, holding up the ring to a gather of children. all looking grubby, dirty but they still have smiles on their faces.

you are consumed by guilt when the boy perks up and flashes you a cheeky grin. "looking for this?" he inquires. holding up the ring and twisting it around. you stare at it conflicted, then flicker your gaze to the curious kids. finally you shake your head. "no i.. you can have it.." you trail off. there's probably a mountain of golden rings back at your home anyways.

he looks suprised. you look embarrassed when the children suddenly flock over to you, but for the first time you find yourself staring at a sea of light blue eyes—not gray.

—ㅤrook hunt・a performer and a devoted fan

you always see a strange man in the crowd. at first you paid no mind to him, only yet another face for your eyes to flit over and forget but you increasingly remember him once you're granted the ability to look after the audience after each performance. you were never a big star in your plays, so you were used to eyes going to anyone but you. so imagine your suprise and fluster when a blonde man looks ecstatic with you, going as far as to put on a bright grin.

after the third time you spot him in a crowd he flashes you the very same pleased look he fixated you the first time you met and not to be presumptuous of you or anything but you started looking forward to seeing the grin he gives you. it's bizarre for you to think that he's going to every single one of your shoes but.. at the 9th time he's still going strong so you're pretty confident.

as time passes by you've reached the big leagues. no longer was the time where you were that side character who was to die for the main character, this time all eyes are on you. but all you can think of are the green, shining eyes who've watched you along your path to success. so you square your shoulders and confidently introduce yourself to your seeming supporter. a contrast to the old, timid personality you had back then.

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yunarim · 5 months

Text

— LITTLE CAPRICIOUS CHRISTMAS | CHENYA X READER

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ summary : rsa and nrc are having conjoint christmas party within nrc walls. your crush, chenya, is also here to help you with decorations. everything's going smoothly until you both find a mistletoe — now this is where the chaos unfolds.

— characters : chenya x gn!reader, ace, deuce, grim

⌞tags⌝ : gn reader, pure fluff, everyone being a little silly

— w.c. : 2.8k

.ᐟ this is my christmas gift for a dear friend! hope you enjoy this silly thing i wrote literally at 5 am LMAO (local joke to add: a)

Your first Christmas within NRC walls appeared to be surely promising, leaving you in small splashes of genuine excitement. Knowing your friends’ reactions, you were ready for silly commentary on your sweet anticipation of the upcoming holiday (Ace’s capricious eye-rolling at you smiling widely after Crowley’s announcement that the Christmas this year is about to be huge — made you dismiss your friend’s oh-so-annoyed smile).

Still, you couldn’t even imagine that Crowley would suggest what he mentioned to be ‘joining forces with RSA’. You always found those little annoyed ‘ugh’s from NRC students when RSA was mentioned rather funny, not really caring about that entertaining confrontation between two schools. You genuinely enjoyed RSA students’ company, although not exactly noticing yourself that one particular person has been especially interesting to you.

Now that was very funny to your friends, your gentle oblivion and bunch of ‘What do you mean I’ve been staring at Riddle’s childhood friend with the name no one can pronounce?’. Not to mention you could pronounce his full name absolutely fluently.

Crowley said that the Christmas itself will be held in NRC, although RSA is coming to help with decorating. Not only that, Neige and Vil will perform on stage, which instantly caught Azul’s attention, inspiring Octavinelle students to start making preparations already — you could literally see numbers flashing behind Azul’s eyes.

RSA will be arriving today beforehand, but it was already quite lively around NRC with students making preparations already. You weren’t the exception, and now, following Ace and Deuce, you were carrying a huge box of Christmas decorations.

“It’s so nice to see someone being so excited for Christmas,” Deuce said, carrying two boxes in his hands, which appeared quite impressive to you, who barely managed to carry one, with decorations almost falling out. “I mean, refreshing even.”

“Are you referring to me?” You asked, the box popping in your unstable hold “I always loved Christmas back in my world. Imagine my reaction when I realized that it’s a thing here, too!”

“Refreshing, huh?” Ace replied, box with lights in his hands.

“Yuu’s reaction is certainly nicer,” you couldn’t see Deuce’s cheeky smile, but you knew it was there, spreading in his face.

“Ha! I just don’t get it — why spend Christmas with RSA? Have you seen their decorations? Who’d want teddy bears under their Christmas tree?”

“Teddy bears are cute,” you giggle, amused by Ace’s annoyance towards RSA, knowing he doesn’t really mean all the things he’s saying.

“Now say you’d want mistletoe to kiss under and we’ll call it a day.”

“H-huh?”

You startled, stumbling on your feet, and were ready to pretty much kiss the floor at this point, ruining the box with decorations you were carrying, but it never happened.

You feel a firm grip on your shoulders, preventing you from a not so graceful fall, and glance towards what - or rather who - helped you, catching familiar glimpses of pink and purple.

“Why hello, nya!~”

The smile on your face was quick to appear.

“Chenya-san!” You exclaimed, bowing slightly as you regained your position, ignoring little sighs from your friends. “Hello! When did you arrive?”

“Just nyaw,” he carefully took the box from your hands, and you could finally see what was happening around. “Where do we put this?”

“Ah, you shouldn’t have to!—“ Chenya only hummed at your reaction with amusement, so you allowed him to continue carrying your box. “Music club room.”

“Got it.”

You watched Chenya’s ears twitching every time you glanced at him, finding it adorable. Adorable to an extent you almost forgot that Ace and Deuce were also present, until Ace spoke.

“Alright, see ya later.”

“Oh?” You turned around and spotted Ace and Deuce stopping before another class. “Ah, yes. See you guys!”

You heard them discussing if you’ll manage to concentrate on decorating at all, but you preferred ignoring their little assumptions, and were quickly to return all of your attention to Chenya.

You opened the door to the music room, surprisingly not finding Kalim, Cater or Lilia there, and pointed where your new companion could place the box.

“Chenya-san, were you on your way to checking out Riddle and Trey? I must have startled you.”

“While I really was, they could wait~” He smiled, sending an unknown emotion to your heart. “Besides, it seems you need my help more than them, hm?~”

“Don’t worry, I can manage!” You smiled in response, but Chenya only started pulling decorations out of the box.

“I’ll help, nya. That’s why we arrived here in the first place, after all.” He took a garland and turned to you, jumping on the windowsill like it wasn’t a big deal. “So, chief, what would be the instructions? Where should I put it, nya?”

You giggled, certainly appreciating his help, and took a look at the room, pointing at the place where he can put the garland.

You took a Christmas tree decoration, placed it on the lower branch of the tree in the room, and the rest of the decorating process was pretty much relaxing, remaining in comfortable silence.

Occasionally you couldn’t help but throw your glance at Chenya. His figure almost floated when he jumped in the windowsills, reaching out for the ceiling to put something there. If you were a little bit more aware of your own gaze, you’d certainly notice how fixed yet gentle your eyes are on him. The only thought of you looking at him that much appeared funny — was it all Christmas that put you in that giddy silly state?

Another decoration, and you found that you almost finished. Chenya’s really handy, you thought, watching him pulling out the last one decoration and gasping at once.

A mistletoe.

“Now where should we put it?~” Chenya asked, turning to you and finding you becoming an incoherent cute mess. “Are you alright?”

“Totally,” internally you curse Ace for his stupid little remark about mistletoe. “How about right above the door?”

“If we are to imply that little tradition with kissing under a mistletoe…” Your stomach performed a sudden flip at his words, but you’re quite stunned to find it not unwelcome. “Sounds like fun! Maybe above the window though, nya?”

“I’m afraid not everyone has a habit of jumping off the window as a way of leaving the room like you do, Chenya-san.”

“I must say I don’t need doors or windows to enter at all~”

“Heh,” you smiled at him, sending a competition arising. “Above the piano then? Or better yet — the drums?”

“How about… sofa ~”

“Don’t feel like it, you demonstratively jumped on the sofa, as if testing if it’s the right place to put the mistletoe above.

“Inside the wardrobe,” you snorted at his suggestion.

“In the hall,” you continued throwing suggestions, opening the door and pointing out at the ceiling in the hall. “So that many people could see.”

You in turn couldn’t see him materializing behind you, the strands of his hair dangling from his head and brushing against your skin ticklishly as you lifted your head up to meet his gaze.

You couldn’t think of anything else beside how beautiful he was. Lively, whimsical, yet absolutely adorable and sweet — your mind raced, not being able to contain your excitement and causing blood to flow up to your cheeks, reddening them slightly.

Chenya either was too polite to not comment on that, or didn’t notice at all — though you questioned the second option. No way he didn’t.

“Most visitors will circle around the main stage,” Chenya started explaining, Christmas lights wrapped around his shoulders and lit with a touch of magic made him look exceptionally cute. “Not here in the halls, I think~ Now, the main entrance sounds like a fine idea to me!”

“Sounds like all of the NRC students would avoid approaching the main entrance then,” you chuckled and followed him into the hall, sneakily grabbing the mistletoe from his hands.

The little surprise on his face made you gulp, flush reaching your cheeks once more. Was it necessary to be so damn cute?

“Hmm~ Looks like we’ve set a competition of sorts, nya?” Chenya approached you, smiling, and took the mistletoe from you, chuckling at your surprised gasp. “The one who finds the best place to put the mistletoe — wins. How does it sound?”

“How do we decide what’s the best place when we already failed?” You tilted your head.

“Don’t know~” Chenya giggled. “However you find it fitting to yourself! If I like the place, then you win. If you like the place, I win.”

“That’s so nonsensical,” you admitted but didn’t dismiss the idea. It wasn’t even serious from the very beginning.

“We’re all a little nonsensical here,” his tail wiggled.

“What does the winner get?”

“We’ll settle that after winning.”

“Hey, that’s unfair! This isn’t how you motivate the staff!”

He bent over you, brushing capricious strands of your hair, and you parted your lips, not knowing what to expect further.

It’s your heart which was unfair. Your reactions and feelings — all of them, absolutely deprived of sense before Chenya and his silly tricks. Not like you minded them, though…

But you were quite playful yourself, so to say.

You tapped his nose, causing him to wince slightly, reminiscent of the real cat, and nodded.

“Good,” you concluded. “I accept. Although it’s only one mistletoe, so~..”

“So good luck on trying to get it back from me, nya!”

And with that he disappeared from your sight, dissolving midair with his magic, to which you only blinked and laughed.

“Ha!” You exclaimed. “Don’t think you can get away with that!”

And that is how your race began.

You walked into the next room, finding Ace and Deuce. Having studied your character enough, they already had a presentiment that at the moment another chaos with your participation was unfolding in front of them.

You appreciated their attempts to arrange the audience, but you had other matters that needed immediate attention.

Your next stop was the Heartslabyull, where Riddle managed to slightly reprimand you for being careless, but when he heard you mention Chenya in your little adventure, he simply sighed and said that the last time he saw him was in the cafeteria.

Riddle, reliable as always, appeared to be right when you spotted familiar sprinkles of purple and pink.

You tried to be as sneaky as possible, hissing at everyone who tried to talk to you at the moment, giving everyone conspiratorial glances and receiving noddings in return. Maybe you were more NRC than the NRC students themselves after all.

For what he’s so tall, you thought internally, but still succeeded in grabbing mistletoe Chenya was holding.

“Hehe!!” You were so excited that you almost tripped again if it wasn’t Chenya who caught you by the elbow, drawing you closer to prevent your second fall.

Ugh, you thought, averting your gaze and knowing that your cheeks were burning. Even his hold is gentle and—

And what, you cease the chain of thoughts. And what if not loving.

Yet, the competition still was on the table, so you thanked him sheepishly and was quick to rub away, heading straight to the yard where you rushed towards the tree where the Stargazing event was held.

You leaned against the tree, catching your breath and wondering how gentle Chenya’s touch was. Every rare time you get to see him, he is always very tender with you. Is it really normal to think about this? Still, it is in the spirit of the RSA to be caring and friendly by nature. But still... what if it’s something making only you special and—

“Gotcha~”

Chenya appeared in the air, dangling from the tree above you, his whole body upside-down, his pretty face right before you, and the mistletoe slipped from your hands to his again.

“Hey!-“

“See nya!”

He disappeared, and you couldn’t help but giggle again. It’s always fun and joyful — being around him.

Your next stop was the main stage, where you noticed Neige and Vil discussing something. What a nice place to hang the mistletoe would it be, but you didn’t have it at the moment, so you walked away, wondering where Chenya was hiding again.

Curious, you thought. It wasn’t about finding the best spot for the mistletoe anymore — it was the game of hide and seek, with a side quest of calming your racing heart down.

And this is how you made it to the portal room after what felt like hours of unstoppable searching. Come to think of it, the school was pretty much fully decorated at this rate, sparkles of green and red suiting the whole dark and gothic atmosphere of the school surprisingly well. It was truly refreshing, even the portal room, usually dull and rather gloomy to you, appeared to be quite a sight.

You stood in the middle, students walking around, jumping to the portals to their dorms, hands busy with decoration boxes, and no time to stop someone and ask if they saw Chenya at all.

You wondered where your next destination must be, when an idea struck you. Right, why not hang the mistletoe here?! Guests will be wandering through the portals as they always did during previous events held in NRC. This is where the perfect spot for the mistletoe is!

Right when you made your decision and realized the only component left was the names mistletoe, you was about to turn around and jump into the first portal you’d see and call it a day, but—

“Chenya-san? What— Huh?”

You felt his arms around you, pressing you closer to his chest tenderly. Emotions were flowing within you, combining altogether and causing you to snap your eyes open, not really registering what was happening.

His mischievous expression turned more adoring and loving, making you question if you were awake at all. People were still walking, some of them stopped to gossip about you two, or maybe that what was happening — you couldn’t make sure at once, the whole world around you disappearing, and only Chenya’s cute smile reflected in your widened eyes.

“Guess we’ve been tricked.”

You blinked at him in incomprehension, but all the thoughts vanished when Chenya pressed his lips to yours.

You gasped, your body felt foreign, as if you turned into a ghost, watching the scene from behind and not recognizing yourself. It felt unreal — the softness of Chenya’s lips, the way his eyes closed and eyelashes flattered, confirming he was slightly nervous just as you were.

When you returned to Earth — or whatever this universe even might have been — and parted your lips, staring at Chenya absent-mindlessly.

“Wha— You— Huh? What?”

“As I’ve said, we’ve been tricked and—“

You weren’t sure. Was it real at all? Did you hit your head and return to your world? Was it just another dream of yours?

No, no, you must have made sure. So you leaned forward to him, now it was you catching his lips and a surprised breath at once.

The kiss you left was short and unsure, and when you met Chenya’s confused look, you prevented him from saying anything, pecking his lips again. And again. And—

“Woah,” Chenya smiled through your silly kisses. “Eager, are we?”

“Just in disbelief. Alright, confirm it for me: is it all real? I’m not sleeping, right?”

“You are not sleeping indeed,” he nodded, releasing you from his hold but still having his hands at your shoulders. “And look who’s tricked us after all.”

You followed his stare and found Grim chewing the mistletoe while looking at both of you with an unconcealed amusement.

“What?” Grim asked, apparently not really enjoying the taste of the plant.

“Indeed. What?” You ask your partner, chuckling at how silly the whole situation appeared to be.

“You two fools couldn’t figure out your stupid feelings without the help of the Great Grim!”

“Sure…” Chenya found your smug expression rather delightful, giggling at the conversation unfolding. “But hey, technically I win. I was just about to place the mistletoe here. And we’ll, it is placed here. Technically in Grim’s stomach, but still here, right?”

“Hmmm~ I don’t mind your win, but…”

Chenya pointed out the box behind Grim, filled with mistletoes only, much to your surprise.

“How about we start a new competition?”

“I’m all ears then.”

“The one who hangs as many mistletoes as they can, gets just as many kisses.”

“You know we both win at this rate, right?”

“This is the point, nya! Now, shall we start?”

“With pleasure!”

“Before you guys continue that, myah, a tradition or somethin’, go get me a real meal. Man, I’m so tired…”

“You did nothing though.”

“I’m a wingman of the day.”

Chenya chuckled, placing a small soft kiss on your cheek. “That I can’t argue with.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #rsa x reader #rsa #chenya x reader #chenya #artemiy artemiyevich pinker

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rookthorne · 4 months

Text

it's coming up to my personal favourite event of the year, Hot Bucky Summer, as run by the mods over at @buckybarnesevents!

in order to gear up for the chaos that will ensue (no doubt) from this event within my collections, I have compiled my personal top 10 Bucky collections into a poll. and here is where I will ask for your help — I would like to gather as much information as possible to determine where most of my focus will go.

to be clear, it is very likely that all of my collections will be given love and attention through this event (now that I have confidence to write smut) once I know the prompts, but I am asking who I should prioritise from my favourites. I will also disclose that there are AUs yet to be announced that will be very prominent... 🤭

to refresh memories, I have put below the cut the afforementioned collections! otherwise, the link is hyperlinked above, or easily accessed by the first link in my bio (my navigation).

thank you in advance for your help, my chaos kittens. 💗

— 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬

The 107th motorcycle club has been the protector of their collective hometown for many, many years - shouldering all the bloodshed and loss that came with it. Little did you know, you’d become the President’s own twisted version of an angel on his shoulder; the tips of your angelic wings tinged red by your own demons.

— 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐨𝐯

A pack of wolves looked out for one another, strengthened each other and battled to keep one another safe – it was the natural order of things, the way things worked. Being between the two most dangerous and possessive of them all meant you sat on your throne with pride; just how they wanted it.

— 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲

Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to them and their irresistible charm – their job, as firemen, was to put out fires and infernos, but you could only hope they’d let the fire they started in the depth of your soul, consume you whole.

— 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐧𝐤

The world of body art and botany had always been beautiful to you; each pencil stroke and each flower petal amounted to a masterpiece of creation. It wasn’t until the day that a chance meeting left you reeling amongst the artful blooms of your store, you wondered if that was what heaven truly felt like.

— 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

The depths of Hell had lost an asset, all thanks to you - no God could save you from his sights, or his clutches. Being consumed by fire was one way to go, you supposed, if it came in the form of one smug, hellish bastard.

— 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Life in your small town could not have gotten any better, you had sworn. That was until you started to call a handsome, brooding lumberjack your best friend, and you developed butterflies at any mention of his name, or thought of him. Sure, it was going to be fine, you could do this. What could go wrong?

— 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

Cars were all the same to you – classics, imports, you name it, they were all the same.

Well, they were, until you were nonetheless forced to visit your local mechanic and saw the man that would pique your interest in not only every single make and model of classic car, but his charming smile; the air of righteous arrogance that flowed from his tattoos, and that damned cheeky glint in his bright eyes.

— 𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨

Fate had a funny way of working. There you were, in the hospital again, and there was your favourite nurse; tall, broad, devilishly handsome, and not to mention soft, kind, and caring. Your stay, and consequently your life, just got infinitely more interesting.

— 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭

A powerful alpha had locked his sights onto you; a wolf to its prey. On the contrary, you were the fox that showed its belly to a predator – a mutual respect, the only thing keeping the wolf’s fangs from piercing the delicate flesh. You knew playing with his food was something he loved to do, and you would happily be the plaything for your mate.

— 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

Softness was a trait you unwittingly carried - the wings of a dove taking you higher and higher, elevating you in the eyes of the devil. And that devil did not want to wait any longer. It was time to collect.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes poll #I need the ASSISTANCE PLS #I am an indecisive writer #Lana's rambles #Lana's polls #HBS

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skzoologist · 7 months

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word count: ~4.3k, roughly 550-600 words per member

warnings: Bae has a bad mental day in the Jisung one, but it is not described in depth; Bae yells at someone in the last one

genre: slight angst, but mostly fluff and comfort

a/n: Of course I can, thank you very much for the cute ask! I hope this is what you wanted, have fun reading! It was honestly a bit hard to write, because Bae has such a strong martyr syndrome, so he never asks for help and rarely does he get sick, this idiot.

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

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Bang Chan:

The band was filming something for STAY, which wouldn’t surprise anyone. They were always working on something, new albums, interviews, award shows, all kinds of things.

This time they were all gathered in a room to film, clothed comfortably as they just chatted with their fans and each other. No dancing, singing or anything, just harmless chatting and fooling around, maybe some cheeky hinting at future albums or things STAY could look forward to.

And just as usual, Bae sat there between Chan and Hyunjin, silent. Not that he had to be, of course, no one forced him, but he loved letting the others speak and just listen to them. It was calming for him, and talking a lot just wasn’t in his nature. He added in his own thoughts and comments here and there, answering a few questions occasionally.

But sometimes, sometimes the others’ chatter and yelling became too much to bear, his mind becoming hazy and chaotic. Words would make less and less sense to him, the syllables turning into simple noise that grated against his eardrums. Every yell or shout pounded into his skull, as if someone was actively stabbing the squishy organ.

This didn’t happen often, but when it did, he tried his best to hide it.

Bae was never one to ask for help, always wanting to solve everything on his own, thinking that the moment he would ask for help, he would become a burden. Thus, he remained seated there, lips slightly pursed and a hand tugging at his ear that was hidden by his long hair. He would always do this unconsciously, the notion slightly easing the pain and confusion residing in his skull.

A hand gently grabbed his, tugging it away from the raw skin underneath his fingers. His head was led towards a shoulder, his pained ear pressed onto skin and fabric. His other ear was covered by a hand, the thumb slowly caressing the hair around it.

That unbearable noise became quieter, as if he was further away from it, everything now muffled and more tolerable. The hold on him was tender, as if the smallest of wrong moves would shatter him.

Even without glancing up, Bae knew it was Chan who held him so carefully. Only one person did this, quietly humming for him so he could focus on the vibrations that left Chan’s chest. His overwhelmed mind was grateful, immediately latching onto that quiet buzzing and focusing only on that.

The chaos decreased around him, no doubt the result of that shushing sound he’d heard just a few seconds ago. It was probably Minho, his other hyung who always came to his rescue whenever this happened.

“How’re ya, baby?” - Chan’s pleasantly low voice asked, urging Bae to hum in response.

He was definitely feeling better, his jumbled mind able to focus on what someone was saying, but he remained there anyway. Bae would never admit it out loud, but he felt the safest in Chan’s arms, as if nothing could harm him.

His hyung let out an airy laugh and squeezed his shoulder, only holding him tighter. It was all Bae could ever ask for, a gentle distraction from his failing mind. From the outside, it just looked like he was cuddling with Chan, so it was the perfect solution.

And for the rest of the live, Bae remained seated there, leaning against a dimple-smiled Chan who held him happily.

Lee Know:

That day in particular wasn’t any different than the others. Everyone woke up at the crack of dawn, ready to start their schedule after -hopefully- throwing something into their stomachs.

Bae was no different, starting his day at the gym to get into shape for their tour. An hour or two later, he was done, absolutely sure he would be sore the next day. After a quick shower he hopped over to the company, only to go to singing practice.

They wanted him to hit a higher note, something that he couldn’t get just right. So they had him try again and again, his throat sore and head hurting. It took him an embarrassing amount of time, but he finally hit that note, the coach letting him go for the day. It was a good thing too, because with how long he took, he had to go straight to dance practice, unless he wanted to be yelled at.

Bae ran there as fast as he could, his breathing heavy as he opened the door and found everyone already inside, ready to start. They smiled at him, standing up and getting into formation. He followed their examples, getting into place and dancing when the music started, even though the room felt too bright, painfully so.

But it seemed like it wasn't his day, as he only kept messing things up. His vision had black spots swimming in it, his mouth felt dry no matter how much he drank. No amount of blinking helped him either, half his vision already gone, making it really hard to see the others or even the wall-sized mirror in front of him.

“Bae, you either get yourself together or leave.” - it was Minho’s voice, prompting Bae to look in his direction. “With the tour on our necks, we really can’t afford anyone lazing around. So fucking try harder!”

Minho was becoming extremely agitated, his voice loud and snappy. Bae understood why, knowing fully well that his hyung was simply saying the truth, so he just nodded in response.

“Look into my eyes when I’m talking to you.”

Bae really tried, he truly did. But no matter how much he looked, he could only see a part of Minho’s face, everything else was covered by darkness. His head was starting to develop a dull pain too, slowly growing stronger by the minute.

“Hey, Bae. Bae, can you see me? Jagi, say something.” - his hyung’s voice immediately softened, his face held in careful hands. Yet, he could only stand there, gulping air greedily with swimming vision, even though he'd closed his eyes a while ago.

“Shit, he’s having a migraine.” - that was all it took for him to be lifted up and quickly taken away from that horribly bright room.

Only when he was gently laid down onto a bed did he manage to pry his eyes open, wincing at the pressure that built behind his eyelids and skull. It throbbed relentlessly, as if something wanted to burst out of there.

“I left out water for you on your nightstand, please drink as much as you can. Your phone’s there too, call us if you need anything, like always. We’ll be back soon, just try and sleep it away.” - with the sensation of lightly cold fingers fluttering over his forehead and pushing away some stray strands of hair in their wake, Bae heard the door to his room close as both his hyungs left, whispering to not worsen his headache.

Seo Changbin:

Everyone knew Bae was careful when it came to dance practice, even the managers and the other workers.

So imagine their surprise when they witnessed Bae twisting his ankle first-hand, all because he didn’t want to accidentally collide into another member.

No, it was usually Bae who was the first to assess damage when something happened, the first one to help and calm everyone down. And somehow, he did that even when he himself was injured, holding a slightly shaking Jisung’s hand and patting a freaking out Felix on the head. It wasn’t like it was a big injury, no, it turned out to be a simple sprained ankle, one that would heal in a few weeks.

At least Bae thought so, unlike everyone else, who babied and pampered him endlessly.

“Binnie, I just wanted to grab some water…” - he sighed out, but no malice was in it. “You must not move a single muscle while I’m here, your knight in shining armour!” - came the loud reply, Changbin soon appearing with a big glass of water in front of his patient.

Bae could only sigh and accept it wordlessly, watching as the little dwaekki’s eyes shined with what could only be identified as pride.

Why?

Well, for some unknown reason Changbin nominated himself as Bae’s personal assistant, ready to help in anything. In anything. Bae wanted to grab something? It was in his hands in the blink of an eye. He wanted to go somewhere? Changbin immediately knelt down before him, ready to give him the piggyback ride of his life.

“You do know I can walk with crutches, right?” “What crutches?”

That was the other thing, he kept asking the poor doctor for crutches, only for them to disappear the next day. He wasn’t that stupid -unlike the members of baboracha-, he knew it was this little dwaekki’s doing. Bae was on the verge of giving up, letting Changbin have his way. The man was way too stubborn for his tired mind.

The sound of a door opening could be heard, Chan and Hyunjin striding through.

“How you doin’, baby?” - Chan asked in a singsong voice, giggling as Bae just glared at him in return.

Hyunjin merely dramatically draped himself over Bae’s uninjured side, making sure to snuggle up to him extra hard. Bae’s face contorted, protesting against this unfair treatment. But no matter how hard he pushed the younger away, Hyunjin always came back and latched onto his immobile form. Chan also joined in on the fun, ruffling up his hair and leaning against the back of the couch.

“I’m glad you’re in high spirits, but don’t forget to go to the photoshoot in an hour. Take Changbin with you, I don’t want you to worsen your injury.”

Bae nodded at that, knowing fully well that he most probably had no choice in the matter anyway.

And how right he was.

That hour rolled by, his form smothered in the others’ and his ears still ringing with their teasing and giggling. Somehow he got free from them, only to have Changbin carry him to his room and help him get ready. He really didn’t need help, but he couldn’t fight the man off, it was like trying to push a giant rock with a broken hand.

So, with heated cheeks, he was finally ready to go, only to witness the dwaekki rush in front of him after he himself got ready as well, kneeling down.

“No.” “Yes.” “No, Bin.” “Yes Bin.”

Bae groaned as he dragged a hand down his face, praying that no camera would catch them like this. With a heavy heart, he climbed onto Changbin’s back and buried his head into his neck, listening to his delighted giggles as he ran out of the dorm.

Hwang Hyunjin:

They were doing a live for their fans, listening to music and chilling while chatting. It was the usual shebang, everyone joking around and teasing each other.

While Bae was quiet, like usual, he was somehow even more out of it that day.

He didn’t comment on almost anything, he didn’t give any of them a criminal side eye when they acted like their usual gay self, nothing. It was a bit troubling, something that even a few fans noticed.

In all honesty, Bae was just a bit under the weather for no particular reason. He woke up tired, as if someone took him off the charger halfway through the night.

That remaining energy only diminished as he went through with his day, now seemingly nearing its end. He tried to mask it up, but it felt nearly impossible.

Bae desperately hoped that no one would notice his damp spirits, but his prayers weren’t heard.

Hyunjin moved next to his standing form -because they were all huddled up, watching a clip-, a hip bumping into his. He glanced at the younger next to him, seeing him start to lightly dance around, a little habit of his. So he ignored him, focusing back onto the clip–

Another bump. Then another and another, until he finally looked at the perpetrator, who just flashed a cheeky little smile his way. Bae couldn’t stop the slight upwards curve of his mouth, especially when Hyunjin took his hands and started dancing harder, forcing Bae to join him in his shenanigans.

They swayed together, spun around, even as the music ended and another took its place. No, Hyunjin didn’t let up, not until he heard Bae’s soft laughter, until he saw the older smile so wide his eyes turned into little crescent moons.

Sometime along Felix and Jisung joined in, fooling around and filling the place with laughter. The remaining members either took some photos or filmed them, having the time of their lives watching this rare moment.

Bae didn’t notice them until it was all too late, his breath short and lungs greedily demanding more air. He stopped with a Hyunjin draped over his shoulders, his cheeks hurting from the smile he formed. Slowly, his mind catched up to what he had done, his eyes settling on the camera and the zooming chat, the latter filled with comments on how cute he and everyone was. His skin flushed red, something everyone caught before he hid behind his hands.

“Come on, don’t hide, you were so cute while dancing!” - Hyunjin whined over his shoulder, no doubt enjoying the situation.

Bae merely shook his head, unable to face anyone, especially the camera and their fans behind it.

“You never really dance with me, what’s this!” - Changbin started protesting, soon joined by several other members. “Yah, he’s right, are you playing favourites now?” - it was Minho this time, his typical cheshire smile dancing on his lips.

Bae couldn’t form an answer, too flustered and mortified. The members and the staff all laughed, watching as Hyunjin walked in front of Bae and turned him away from the camera, hugging him. He let Bae bury his face into his neck, swaying from side to side gently to the rhythm of the music.

“Thank you.” - Bae whispered it out, but even over the chaos, Hyunjin heard it, bringing a gentle smile to his lips.

Han Jisung:

Waking up felt useless. Getting out of bed was even more useless.

Why should he bother, when his efforts were wasted, only his faults pointed out? Why should he even try at that point?

None of it mattered.

Those were the thoughts circling around in Bae’s head, his sad form engulfed in his blanket, his room plunged into darkness. It was way past his alarms, the time nearing noon. He was lucky to not have anything on his schedule that day, besides his own training and practices. This way he wasn’t causing trouble for anyone else for not appearing, something that slightly eased his guilt and self-deprecating thoughts.

He could freely mop in his room, or at least, that was his plan.

The plan that was shattered when someone knocked on his door gently, the knob twisting and light pouring into the room once he gave no answer. He was facing away from the door, so he had no way of knowing who the intruder was. But it was better this way, they wouldn’t see his sorry state and how miserable he became.

The bed dipped next to him, only the quiet shuffling of clothes could be heard in the deafening silence.

“Why are you here?” - Bae grated out, his voice rough from the lack of use. “Felix texted me.” - Jisung answered, because of course it was him.

The boy had a keen sense of Bae’s mood, always knowing when he was having a bad mental day. It was both reassuring and frightening.

None of them talked after that, just merely existed in the same space. It was as peaceful as it was suffocating.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Silence greeted Jisung, his question remaining unanswered. But he didn’t huff, whine or ask it again, no, the boy just slid up against the headboard and made himself comfortable. No talking, prying, nothing. Only their soft breathing could be heard and the soft taps as Jisung was no doubt messing around on his phone.

Bae remained lying there, guilt eating away at him like a slow-working poison. He knew Jisung had his schedule full, the boy needing to be at a photoshoot. But no, instead he was sitting in his room, dealing with his sorry ass.

“I know what you’re thinking, and no, there was a technical problem with the cameras, so my shooting was rescheduled. So don’t even think like that, aegi.” - Jisung’s voice was soft, yet stern.

Bae wasn’t sure if it was the truth or the sweet lie he needed to be told to feel better. Either way, he accepted it, because he had no choice. Not unless he wanted to completely break down in front of his quokka.

A soft melody started filling the room, completely unprompted. It came from Jisung’s direction, the song immediately recognised by Bae as a Howl’s Moving Castle OST. It gave his mind something to focus on, instead of his spiralling thoughts that were eating him alive.

Han Jisung knew him too well, to a scary amount.

To the point where he took Bae into his hold without missing a beat the moment Bae moved towards him. He also knew of that specific motion that calmed him down, his touch soft and gentle. He also knew not to pry, not to shush him or whisper sweet nothing into his ear. No, he knew Bae merely needed to be held, to be hummed to softly.

Han Jisung knew him too well, but he cherished it.

Lee Felix:

They had a rough day, filming shot after shot, busy making the new MV for their upcoming album. This time Bae had a bit more role than the others, being the one who was put into the spotlight. He himself wasn’t sure why, because usually it was Felix or Hyunjin who got this role.

But, he wasn’t about to complain, so he just quietly did as he was told, following the instructions quietly and cursing silently when something wasn’t right and they had to reshoot it.

He was on his last thread, ready to roll over and die when the staff members announced that they were done, telling him he did a good job and everyone was ready to go home. The other members were already gone, having finished an hour or two ago, no doubt already ready for bed and relaxing -except Chan, he knew how the man could get-.

Bae collected the remains of his strength and said goodbye to all the staff, wishing them goodnight and helping a bit where he could. They only let him linger for a few minutes, soon shooing him away with gentle smiles, no doubt seeing how tired the idol was.

So, he changed clothes and went on his merry way to his dorm, the ride silent and never ending. But eventually, he was in the elevator, the little ding letting him know he was ready to step out shortly. His long legs carried him to the correct door sluggishly, his body feeling heavy and useless.

Bae only wanted to take a hot shower and fall into his bed, but his plan failed before it could even take form.

The moment he stepped foot into their dorm, Felix was there, greeting him with a gentle smile and a gentler voice. The younger took his bag and put it away, leading him to the bathroom after he took his jacket and shoes off.

A steaming bath awaited him, the water smelling sweet and heavenly. Felix didn’t say a word, just pushed Bae into the room and closed the door. Now, Bae was confused, never doubt that, but he was also too tired to question anything, so he just accepted it and took off his clothes. The water was just the right temperature, relaxing his sore muscles and lulling him into a blissful state.

When he caught himself slightly nodding off, the scent of rose and hibiscus like a lullaby, he got out of the bath and dried himself. His fluffy pyjamas were already there, no doubt the work of the young aussie. With a smile on his face, he put it on, the plush fabric engulfing his form comfortably, like the hug of a pillow.

Sauntering out, he was quickly led away by Felix once more, this time towards their living room. Everyone else was there, already piled up on the couch and seats. The young boy led him to an empty space, sitting down and urging him to take a seat next to him. Bae obliged, his tired mind not even thinking about the prospect of arguing.

That was why he even let the freckled boy make him lay down, leading his head into his lap. Nimble fingers immediately tangled into his hair, playing with the strands and massaging the skin. A blissful sigh left Bae’s form, his eyes closing in delight. There was a movie going on the TV, everyone watching it, but he didn’t care at that moment.

Felix’s touch was too relaxing, lulling him into a tranquil headspace, soon plunging him into the land of dreams.

Kim Seungmin and Yang Jeongin:

Bae was obviously frustrated with himself that day, it was written in the slight dip in his brows and the forceful moves he kept repeating in front of the wall-sized mirror. Nothing was good for him, even though to the naked eye, he had already perfected that same move 2 hours ago.

At least that was what Jeongin thought, his gaze plastered on his hyung’s agitated form as he watched the man restart the song yet again. It was an endlessly repeating hellish cycle, one that increasingly worried the maknae.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he stepped away from the windowed door and walked a bit further down the hall, taking out his phone and calling someone. It didn’t take long for the other to pick it up, groggy voice greeting him from the other side.

“Hey, you need to come back to the company. Dal hyung is still practicing.”

That was all it took for the other to understand the severity of the situation, his voice perking up in alert.

“I’ll be right there, don’t go in alone.” - the call ended, Jeongin pocketing his phone and anxiously waiting around.

He never liked when this was happening, it always felt like playing with fire. His hyung would never intentionally hurt any of them, but he could get so consumed by his own self-hatred and perfectionism that it would be impossible to get him to stop.

Not without someone getting hurt, albeit not physically.

But Jeongin didn’t need to ponder for much longer, Seungmin’s form approaching his in the corridor. They nodded at each other and back to that door they went, the only one that had light and music pouring out of it still. With bated breaths they opened it, walking in until Bae noticed them.

But even then, he didn’t stop.

“Hyung, you need to stop.” - it was Seungmin, the braver of the two.

Bae merely shook his head, carding a hand through his hair in frustration.

“No, Hyung, really, stop for today, please. Your form is already perfect, please.” - Jeongin pleaded with him, desperate for this to come to an end.

Their pleas hit deaf ears, their hyung ignoring them and starting the choreography all over again. Seungmin had enough. He walked over to the sound system and paused the music, disconnecting Bae’s phone from it in the process.

Now that got his attention.

“Fuck, Seungmin, I said no!” - his voice was raised, his shoulders raising up and down as he was desperately gasping for air.

The room was silent, neither of them saying anything. It took Bae a few seconds to realise what he had done, regret immediately swallowing him whole.

“Shit, no, sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, Minnie, forgive me. I–” “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” “No, I’m so sorry, to both of you.” - Bae’s voice cracked at the end, his form engulfing Seungmin’s. “Ew, no, you’re all sweaty and gross!” - the younger playfully yelled as Bae merely laughed, going over to hug the maknae as well, no matter how much he protested. “Sweaty hugs aside, will you come back with us now?” - Jeongin asked, using his puppy eyes to make sure he would win.

With a silent sigh, Bae nodded, knowing he wouldn’t win against these two anyway. After he quickly packed his stuff together, the three were on their way back to the dorms.

“Dal hyung, you’re too harsh on yourself. I saw you perform that choreo 6 times back to back and there was nothing wrong with it, and I’m not saying this only to make you feel better. You’re blinded by your chase for perfection, missing it when it’s right under your nose.” - Jeongin’s confident words were loud in the quiet halls, robbing Bae’s attention away. “Sometimes you have to let up and take a step back, Hyung. There are times when the solution is that, to just take a rest. If not for yourself, then for us.” - this time it was Seungmin, the puppy’s words filled with emotion.

Bae just walked with them silently, but their words cut deep. He didn’t even realise that they were already at their destination, the two youngest already out of their shoes.

“You can crash at us tonight, I already told the old man. Take a shower and sleep, Hyung. We’re watchin’ you.”

The oldest couldn’t help but laugh at that, ruffling his maknaes hair as he walked by them, uttering a silent thanks.

He was truly blessed to have such attentive members by his side.

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cherrybunniesposts · 1 month

Text

Cup O' Coffee

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Hi lovelies! This is a soap×ghost×roach× reader fluff mini story. I know Captain Mactavish would probably make more sense in the context of these characters specifically- but truthfully I'm more familiar with our seargent Johnny boy from MWll so I went along with that personality instead. Thank you to @codsimp4life for the idea!!

Content Warning: swearing, mentions of drinking, immature behavior, reader is very sarcastic/enjoys teasing soap and ghost for being so close. Roach uses sign language to communicate, and reader is hard of hearing! Reader wears hearing aids, but also can communicate in and understand sign language (think that's it)

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"Watch your mouth, johnny"

Simon's large hand gripped the back of Johnny's neck, pushing him through the front door of the small little coffee shop while Johnny whined and grumbled something that sounded like 'yer always so demanding, L.T.' under his breath.

You trail behind the two brutes, arm intertwined with roach's arm. You all were part of the same task force and had an unbreakable bond.While you had a love for both the brooding lieutenant and the chipper scott always two steps behind him, roach was always your other half. Roach was good company,and often a nice break from the chaos that seems to follow every room Johnny walks into (must be why he's so good at demolition) or the old man grunts of acknowledgement you got from ghost when talking to him.

All four of you walk up to the counter, a sweet barista with a warm smile greeting the group of misfits that just entered. You glance over in time to see that familiar cheeky grin forming on Johnny's face and an exasperated sigh falls from your lips- already knowing exactly what was on his mind.

You and Roach sign complaints back and forth while Johnny attempts (key word: attempts) to flirt with the barista for a few minutes until your patience wears thin, signaling for ghost to step up and order instead while you turn your attention to Johnny.

You give Johnny a pointed look before wrapping a hand around his bicep, grumbling in his ear as you lead him away from the counter (this poor barista)

"Johnny, how about we try and practice not flirting with every woman within a 15 mile radius, yeah?"

Johnny allows himself to be lead over to an empty table, lips turning down into a pout as he shakes his head.

"I dnnae what yer talking about, lass. Hardly ever flirt with the pretty birds 'round here"

You hum alittle in agreement, one hand pushing his shoulder down to force his body into a seat. You sigh and slump into the seat across from Johnny, roach settling into the seat next to you.

"Probably because you're too busy flirting with the lieutenant, Johnny. You're already halfway up his ass at this point-"

Johnny is quick to flick your arm in rebuttal at the implication and Simon simply leans closer in his seat once he returns with everyone's orders, arm brushing against Johnny's as he looks into your eyes.

"Your poor mum, hope you don't kiss her with that mouth o' yours"

You scoff slightly before shaking your head in amusement- shooting Simon a sickly sweet smile before taking a sip of your coffee.

"Nah, only mum that I kiss with my mouth is Johnny's"

Your cheeky comment earns a small rumble from Simon's chest in amusement, and Johnny shoots you a quick glare- one that only gets more aggravated when he sees roach miming a..."childish" gesture with his fingers slipping into a hole he makes with his other hand.

"You two cut yer horseshite, that's my mam you're talking 'bout"

Roach simply shrugs and signs a quick 'I didn't say a word' which promptly results in groans from all around the table. You roll your eyes at Roach but passively allow him to take your coffee from your hand and take a sip for himself.

"Do you always have to make that joke? it's getting old-"

Roach decides signing was too much work when a simple gesture would get his point across far easier- and promptly flips you the bird with his free hand while sipping on your coffee. You flick the side of his head when you see how quickly he was draining your fresh cup of coffee and duck when he tries to tug at your hearing aids. (dirty move roach, dirty move)

"You already drank half of my coffee, don't drink the rest-"

Simon watches the whole interaction with a raised brow under his mask, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair- the usual condescending tone falling from his lips again.

"Settle down, settle down. You two bicker worse than a married couple, need to learn how to have fun"

His comment results in a temporary truce between you and roach, both of you turning to exchange a look. You reach over and sip Simon's coffee instead before recoiling away at the bitter taste and sliding it back over to him.

"Because you of all people know how to have fun, lieutenant?"

Simon simply stares you down in response, looking you up and down slowly before responding in a defensive gruff.

"I know how to have fun."

You raise a brow at his response, sharing a look with the other two sergeants at the table with you. All of you were well aware of the fact it took Johnny two hours of pleading and whining before Simon finally agreed to come out with you all today for coffee, grumbling about how he would go if it would get Johnny to stop begging at his feet like a dog.

"Lieutenant, your definition of fun is filling out a crossword puzzle in the newspaper over a morning cup of tea. You don't know how to have fun, and that's okay. Acceptance is the last step-"

Your arm moves with the shaking from roach's silent laughter jostling his body at your comment, while Simon is far less amused. You meet his glare with a cheeky grin of your own and Johnny perks up when he gets an idea on how to enjoy the day off with you three.

"how 'bout we go out tonight to the pub? Drinks on me?"

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

that's it lovelies! I hope you all enjoy ♡ should I make a part 2 to this? Maybe with them out getting drinks, or just how they interact together during missions?

#fluff #writing #mini story #new writter #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod ghost #cod soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #roach cod

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eggymf-archived · 10 months

Text

of paper planes and wildflowers; 12

ft. ominis gaunt with f!reader (series)

chapter warnings: duncan hobhouse, just chaos all around, warranted assholery?, a slightly unhinged author? (lmao idk y’all decide that for yourselves), idiots in love

chapter summary: subtlety was necessary to preserve one's reputation, and in this case, to keep your lives trouble-free from nosy little bastards. alas, a certain bespectacled male is threatening the peace with his desire for vengeance after facing the biggest humiliation in his entire life.

word count: 5.8k

a/n: haven’t written for this series in a hot minute, but yolkie is back with more chaos.

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

Etiquette — the unspoken, number one rule that every person of eloquence swears to like a lifetime oath. To a young woman such as yourself, it was necessary to exercise restraint and prudence all in the name of preserving your own dignity. Any acts that will make a lady lose her composure are to be avoided, and she must maintain an iron-clad will capable of resisting the most entrancing of charms, especially from men.

Unfortunately for you, your pen pal was insanely lethal with his well-thought execution of words, and you’ve never gone through a week without at least screaming into your unfortunate pillow once for the past few weeks. A sharp wit alongside his innate gentlemanly ways? It truly made you weak at the knees, and you didn't bother denying it at this point.

Ominis Gaunt was indeed a formidable force to be reckoned with.

My Dearest, (Y/N) The wintery air is getting rather brutal as of late, and I couldn't help but overhear the chattering of your teeth whenever I'm near you. As much as I'd love to whisk you away just to warm up by a fireplace wrapped with warm blankets or, dare I say it, in each other's arms, we are unfortunately in different houses with different common rooms. Instead, I took the liberty of going to Hogsmeade to buy you some Pepper Imps from Honeydukes and Pepperup Potions from J. Pippins. Be careful not to consume either one of those too much lest you aspire to be a fire-breathing dragon or another Hogwarts Express with all that steam coming out of your ears. May this warm you up despite my physical absence. With everlasting devotion, Ves P.S. I mean it, by the way. As to which part of my letter I'm pertaining to, I shall leave it up to your own assumption.

Your lips were tightly pressed together, desperately suppressing your series of snorts and giggles as you inhaled sharply in hopes of maintaining your composure. The piece of parchment was neatly folded in half and kept securely within your inner coat pocket while you placed the box of Pepper Imps and Pepperup Potions atop your small stack of books. Much to the chagrin of your rational side, (who was being a complete spoilsport by vehemently reminding you of how a lady should act) your cheeky little eyes decided to sneakily glance towards the Slytherin table, only to find that your beloved sender isn't there.

“Hello there.”

The sound of cutlery rattling against ceramic cut through the otherwise peaceful ambiance as you instinctively turned towards Ominis, your hand hitting your plate accidentally.

“Oh! Erm… Hello,” you coughed, clearing your throat, and moving your things aside so that he could take a seat beside you. He gratefully accepts, his perfume wafting to your nose, smelling absolutely divine as usual. Nothing that your self-control couldn’t handle, though.

“I need your help with this part of the essay that's due next week. Merlin, Transfiguration can be rather vexing at times,” he groans.

“Is this about what you wrote to me via owl the other day?”

Ominis nods in response with a sigh, handing you a piece of parchment, your eyes instantly scanning over his written words speedily.

“Seems a bit lacking, but it's fixable. I could help you with this if you'd like,” you suggested with much enthusiasm.

“Thank you, truly. I'd gladly take up on that offer,” he smiles while you grinned in response, happily chattering away with him as you ate the remnants of your lunch.

Truth be told, this whole request of his was merely just an excuse for him to spend more time with you aside from your usual obligations. There was really not much the both of you could do within the Great Hall or anywhere within the castle grounds for the sake of following proper decorum: the both of you had to be careful from prying eyes to save yourselves from the terrors of gossip or anything that will put your images on the line.

Reputation — arguably the most shallow yet still the most important to any young witch or wizard who wished to be respected by their fellow peers. Despite its fragility, it was the root of many beginnings within a social circle, especially as someone who was in the process of making a name for themselves.

But how far were you exactly willing to go for how the public eye perceives you? Surely no one's insane enough to fabricate their own image with the threads of lies. With how fast news travels within the walls of Hogwarts, deceptions of the sort would crumble down in a blink of an eye; like lightning smiting a spire with its unbridled force, resulting in its untimely destruction despite its fortified state.

Such is the case with Duncan Hobhouse, who was moments away from experiencing what the mystics know as “The Tower” moment: a point of sudden upheaval— an inevitable crisis.

As to how it all began, it was ironically brilliant yet stupidly careless all at the same time: while you and Ominis were in your happy little bubble, a 6th year Ravenclaw student, who happened to be sitting beside Duncan, had mistakenly grabbed her secret vial of nearly-perfected Veritaserum instead of her specially-made Gillywater from her satchel. Before she could check the labels, she had already poured out the contents into her cup, only for Duncan to mistakenly drink the cloudy liquid whilst in a fit of coughs from his food going down the wrong pipe.

Needless to say, things went downhill pretty fast.

“Oi, Hobhouse! Pass me the pudding, will you?!” Andrew Larson called out, only to be met with an uncharacteristically bold and snarky reply from the fuller-bodied male.

“How about you get it yourself, you blonde-haired, scrawny little prick?! The last time I checked you have a pair of functioning hands and legs!”

Who would've thought that a slightly botched Veritaserum could have a similar effect to a Befuddlement Potion?

Andrew stared at him dumbfoundedly with the most incredulous expression on his face while Eric Northcott and Leander Prewett, who were seated and standing near him respectively, had their mouths ajar out of shock. Duncan was no different from the three— his eyes wide as he slapped his mouth instinctively after spewing out a set of brutally honest words for once.

The 6th year seated beside him visibly paled, hurriedly rummaging through her satchel, only to find her vial of Gillywater within it before checking her own cup, which was now nearly empty.

“Oh no…” she whispers while Duncan whipped his head towards her direction in evident panic. “I think you drank from my cup….”

Duncan whips his head in her direction, giving her a panicked yet furious glower.

“Well go on! Tell me, you foul insect! What was in your blasted cup?!” he hissed, much to her fright.

“I… I have to go!” She cries out, collecting her things in a fit of distress as she makes a beeline for the Great Hall’s gargantuan doors for the sake of self-preservation. It was, after all, against the school rules to use Veritaserum on a student, and she had done just that albeit accidentally.

However, she ended up leaving the empty vial with a written label adhered to its surface, the bottle rolling from underneath the wooden bench. Duncan reaches for the bottle, only for another hand to grab it away from him. Eric Northcott smirks at this, both Leander and Andrew crossing their arms with smug grins on their faces as Eric read the label before dangling the bottle in front of Duncan's visibly terrified face.

“I believe we've struck gold this time around, my fellow lads! Hobhouse is under the truth serum! ”

A chorus of ooooohs soon followed, garnering the attention of students from the other tables as well. You and Ominis, who were both quietly minding your own business, paid close attention to the scene nearby.

“Wait! Shouldn't we report this to a professor—” Amit Thakkar attempts to intervene, only for a piece of bread to be stuffed in his mouth by Everett Clopton, who shot him a glare. You glanced around, expecting at least a prefect to jump in to intervene, only to find none. Hell, even the Head Girls and Boys remained seated, watching the whole scenario unfold attentively.

Exactly how horrible is this person to the point that no one's bothering to stand up for him?

“Goodness. Hobhouse is so unlikable even the prefects aren't bothering to help at all. Not sure if I should be impressed but that's quite a feat, I suppose?” you commented with a grimace, much to Ominis' amusement.

“And not a single professor in sight too. Go on, Andrew. Do the honors,” Eric snickers, much to the said male's delight.

“Let's test it out first with a simple little question, shall we? I'm feeling rather merciful today, anyways,” Andrew began, pacing back and forth before leaning towards Duncan. “Is it true that you're afraid of Puffskeins?”

Duncan's lips quivered, attempting to suppress the potion's effects, all to no avail.

“... Y-yes.”

Giggles and chortles erupted from the others around him while Andrew snorted in amusement, patting Leander's shoulder who immediately sat beside Duncan, his hand pressing over his shoulder harshly as soon as he attempted to escape.

“Hey, Hobhouse. Is it true that you wrote a love letter to Imelda Reyes?” the lanky ginger-haired male asks.

“... Yes.”

Wolf whistles soon erupted from the Slytherin table, much to Imelda's chagrin.

“So what did she say?” Andrew queries.

“... She… Didn't reply.”

Guffaws of laughter immediately followed his answer, much to his painful embarrassment.

“You're not my type, Hobhouse!” Imelda hollered from the Slytherin table, causing another round of ooooohs to erupt from the crowd as they all grimaced at the blatant public rejection.

“Hey, Northcott!” Ominis shouts, beckoning the Gryffindor to come over before whispering into his ear. Duncan became as white as a sheet upon realizing who Eric was talking to. The said male came jogging back towards him with an evil grin plastered on his face.

This was the perfect opportunity to expose him for his cowardice once and for all.

“So, tell me, Hobhouse. That gigantic Venomous Tentacula leaf you showed all of us a week or two ago as proof of your courage — who got it for you?”

Duncan grits his teeth, beads of cold perspiration running down the side of his face.

“...S… Skylar… Evans…” he admits through clenched teeth, ending with a sharp gasp. Murmurs soon filled the Great Hall after this revelation followed by a series of jeers.

In a fit of rage, Duncan shoved Leander off him, falling ungracefully off the bench before scrambling to his feet and running towards the exit of the Great Hall. The faint sounds of snickers from his fellow peers pricked against the skin of his ears spitefully, reducing him into a seething, fiery red mess in the face as he attempts to run away from their mocking gaze.

His life, as of that moment, was over.

His reputation, the sole thing that he had desperately tried to fix after that embarrassment he faced during Defense Against the Dark Arts classes a while back, was now irreparably ruined no thanks to all that had happened beforehand during lunch break.

Stupid Boggart. Stupid Puffskeins. Had Professor Hecat decided not to push through with that bloody lesson then perhaps he wouldn’t be in this mess. It was all their fault: Eric Northcott, Andrew Larson, Leander Prewett, and last but not least, Ominis Gaunt.

Duncan's blood boiled at the mere notion of the Slytherin student's name, gnashing his teeth in silence while clenching his pudgy fist as he made his way to his next class. Ominis Gaunt was a thorn that was permanently embedded into his flesh — the bane of his entire existence. Had Ominis just chosen to zip his mouth about the matter of their long, petty feud regarding his clear lack of courage, then perhaps he would be at peace at this very moment with his pathetically glued-up reputation still intact albeit barely.

But of course, Duncan, at the end of the day, was a big fat liar and not the best egg around with his innately horrid attitude that is well-known, especially amongst his Ravenclaw housemates, and Ominis had no qualms with putting such people rightfully into their places. In fact, the young Gaunt thrived off the chaos of well-deserved misery.

To Duncan Hobhouse, this was war. Ominis Gaunt will pay for this great humiliation dearly— an eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth.

Thus, his grand plan for vengeance begins.

It has been a few days— two painful days to be precise. Duncan had been watching Ominis like an ever-vigilant Augurey within the shadows, peering from a relatively safe distance as he attempted to observe the misty-eyed male. Gathering information, after all, was necessary in executing his dastardly plans of exposing his top tormentor once and for all. Surely the Gaunt has at least one weakness that he could use as ammunition to snipe him off his back for good.

Initially, the greasy-haired male had thought that spying on the blind student would be an easy feat given his disability. He has (and rather oafishly at that) always viewed Ominis as vulnerable despite his snark— the type who would be alone most of the time with no one to fend for him other than his sharp tongue. To further fuel his shallow inferences, Sebastian Sallow, Ominis' own best friend, hasn't been loitering much around his presence as of late. His plan was assumed to be nearly “perfect” based on his own standards until it wasn't.

Aside from the Gaunt constantly either sleeping, reading the same poem book in a corner, occasionally having small talk with his fellow 5th years, or studying with you in the library, there was nothing noteworthy that can be used to clang the bells of shame on him. To make matters more unfavorable for the bespectacled male, you had been accompanying Ominis for the majority of the time even during break times, much to his utter confusion.

Duncan's eyes, ridden with suspicion, squinted accusingly as you and Ominis loitered at the fountain of the currently not-so-crowded Central Hall, seemingly in good spirits with your little interaction. You were attempting to pry a book from his hands, only for the taller male to merely raise the book out of reach from your smaller stature. He had an amused expression plastered on his face, his lips curled into the faintest of smiles with pink tinging his cheeks.

The whole sight of the young Gaunt's evident happiness annoyed the male Ravenclaw to no end. In the sea of his own inner bitterness, there was, however, a small little question that was begging to be addressed albeit its irrelevance to the matter at hand.

Since when have the two of you been this close?

At the sound of the several shuffling footsteps nearby, he instantly retreats behind the wall, glaring at whoever interrupted his momentary pondering session.

“You know, Natty. I know that she's a Ravenclaw, but bloody hell she's really quite daft when it comes to romance, isn't she?” the faint voice of Garreth Weasley groans. “They've been at this for weeks now. I'm going mad!”

“Oh, stop being dramatic. All that matters is that they're happy and aren't getting into trouble,” Natsai dismisses while Garreth sighed woefully.

“I suppose you're right. Ominis can't be that bad. Though I wouldn't mind if he was— ow! What was that for?!” Garreth winces upon getting elbowed rather sharply by his fellow Gryffindor, their footsteps fading as they sauntered through the nearby hallway.

Duncan furrowed his eyebrows in further bemusement, heading to a better spot where he could observe the situation from a much better angle. Surely someone was pulling his leg right now. There was no way in hell that the assumption that had been injected within his head upon eavesdropping on Weasley and Onai is correct.

Ominis Gaunt and you? It simply doesn't make sense.

He leans casually against the wall with eyes zeroing on his sole target, only for his concentration to be interrupted once more by yet another pair of people who were merely passing by: Poppy Sweeting and Skylar Evans.

“... Is there something going on between them? Never expected them to become this close,” a rather inquisitive Poppy muses, which was met with a cheeky little giggle from Skylar who merely raised her eyebrows. Poppy's eyes widened.

“There is?!” she mouthed silently while the taller Hufflepuff nodded in response. The duo were soon out of sight as they headed up the main stairwell that leads to the exit.

A flabbergasted Duncan glances at you and Ominis once again, his mouth hanging open with pure shock. So it's true then: something is going on with you and Ominis. But unfortunately, this wasn’t the information that he needed. Thus, his impatience eventually got the best of him.

“Oh, to hell with it all!” he seethes, stomping towards the library while throwing a hissy fit like a sweet-deprived petulant child. This was hopeless— utterly nonsensical. He was a complete fool for even thinking that this ploy would work. The bitter taste of defeat flooded Duncan's mouth, and he was ready to just lash out at the nearest Muggleborn who dared to cross his path.

That is until he was finally graced with an opportunity as he overheard your conversation with Ominis as he walked by.

“...Precisely why it shouldn't be handled carelessly,” Ominis hums, tapping the book that was still held by his pale, veiny hands.

“Oh? And this book contains some sort of secret that I'm not aware of?” you curiously inquired. Ominis smirks.

“Certainly. That's why I urge you to not open or even touch it for your own sake. It may seem like an ordinary book but really, it's not. My father will be livid once he finds out about the contents. You could say it’s… A dirty little secret of some sort.”

Alas, a boy's broken ego holds no bounds, and his level of futile pettiness outweighs his sense of sound rationality, clamoring at every opportunity no matter how dodgy it seemed— an accurate depiction of Duncan Hobhouse at this very moment as delusions of victory filled his thick skull once again.

It was a pitiful case of selective hearing fueled by desperation. Oh, when will he ever learn?

Subtlety— the art of using indirectness with graceful tact; a simple strategy that avoids any unnecessary trouble while also featuring one's own wit. There were two cases of the particular day that embodies the essence of the word, which shall unravel itself within the four towering walls of the library— one depicting the daintiness of a maiden and her heart's desire, and the other featuring the mind of a tactful strategist who's currently under the watchful eye of an enemy spy.

There was a certain stillness within the place at this particular time of the day along with it being nearly deserted, which was perfectly conducive for studying. You had promised to help Ominis with a particular assignment, and both of you were in the presently deserted Transfiguration Section, searching for several specific books that he needed for his write-up. Your eyes scan the book spines with your study buddy following you closely, enjoying the present tranquility.

However, the ever-fleeting peace soon disintegrated as soon as you witnessed a certain Ravenclaw male peering from a distance, his determined eyes fixated on a certain foggy-eyed male before instantly darting back behind a nearby bookshelf. Your lips curled downwards, turning to Ominis.

“Say, Hobhouse has been rather weird today. I think this is the 6th time I’ve seen him loitering around us,” you pointed out. An aggravated exhale escaped his lips.

“He’s been stalking for days, actually. It’s getting rather annoying.”

“Days? Oh dear. Is this about the whole fiasco in the Great Hall earlier this week? I could tell him to bugger off if you want. He's known to be quite insufferable when he's crossed.”

“I’d rather not dwell on it too much, really. It’s better to bore him to death than give him another reason to yap about how I’m the villain in his delusional scenarios,” Ominis yawns, to which you chuckled whilst nodding in agreement.

Duncan did have that gnarly reputation of wallowing in his theatrical self-pity, and you had witnessed it many times before the incident. Ominis brushing him off though? It was both respectably mature and amusing of him all at the same time, given his blatant record of dragging the ebony-haired male to absolute filth with his sassy quips and haughty remarks.

Unbeknownst to anyone other than Ominis himself, however, he was far from taking the high road this time around. It wasn’t difficult to sense that Duncan was truly out for his blood with how incessant he was for the past few days. Truth be told, it left an unsettling feeling within the Gaunt’s gut. For his own safety, he had laid out a fairly simple trap.

A famished animal was bound to do whatever it takes to get its food no matter the cost, and all Ominis had to do was wait for it to take the bait.

“Well, if you insist. The offer still stands if you change your mind. Though I have to admit. Your… Omniscience is quite impressive,” you mused. “For someone who lacks the sense of sight, you’re surprisingly more aware of your surroundings than most people with the complete set of five.”

“Omniscience? I'm not a deity, you know,” he chuckles. “I can just feel it when someone is looking at me. I think you of all people should be most aware of that. How many times have I caught you staring at me again?”

“Oh, wipe that smirk off your face, Gaunt,” you rolled your eyes in jest at his question, a reddish hue creeping up your cheeks as your voice dropped into a mumble. “It's not my fault you're so… Easy on the eyes.”

Now, it was his turn to blush while the corner of his lips twitched upwards ever so lightly. “... Easy on the eyes, eh? So you're not denying it anymore.”

“That I look at you from time to time? Maybe.”

“Time to time is a bit of an understatement, don't you think?”

“Not really. Unless you're insinuating an invitation of some sort. Perhaps you want me to lay my eyes upon you more?” you raised an eyebrow nonchalantly. An amused chuckle rumbled from his chest as he leaned against the bookshelf while crossing his arms.

“I’m not opposed to that, but I’ll leave it to your own assumptions, my dearest.”

Upon hearing his words roll out from his tongue, you swore you felt time stop as realization dawns upon your unsuspecting little head. There it was— the sole proof you've been waiting for all this time.

It really was him, after all.

You paused, letting out a shaky exhale as you gazed longingly into his unseeing, milky blue eyes, shutting the heavy book in your hands with a soft thump. Verbally-said words aren't the form of concrete evidence that you had been seeking, but could you really lie to yourself at this point when the truth is already right in front of you this entire time? Perhaps throughout your pining, you were just being a coward towards your ever-growing feelings for Ominis Gaunt— the thought of a painful ending had caused you to overanalyze the entirety of the situation, merely looking at it from a lens of rationality instead of emotional intelligence.

Alas, your foolishness has to end at some point, and you could only hope that you weren't too late.

“We both know it’s not an assumption at this point,” you stated with your fleeting newfound confidence surging through your veins. Ominis raised an eyebrow, his lips curling upwards.

“Oh? Getting bold, are we?”

“I believe “truthful” is the more accurate term. I'd much prefer to think of it as being honest with myself for once,” you sighed, turning towards him with your heart beating wildly within the confines of your ribs.

“Ominis, my beloved evening star, the man of my affections, the keeper of my heart. Perhaps it's time that we finally stop this little game of cat and mouse?”

Ominis froze, his breath hitching at the specific endearment that spilled from your lips. Her beloved evening star — her Vesper.

Words failed to come out of his mouth as he stood there, stunned by your sudden heartfelt confession. He was an utter mess deep down, your words successfully obliterating his remaining brain cells into oblivion. His heart was deliriously hammering within his chest and his entire being felt absolutely featherlight— as if he could soar above the skies out of sheer bliss without a care in the world. For what seemed like an eternity, he finally let out a relieved exhale, gulping to soothe his parched throat.

At long last, this day has finally arrived, and it was a lot more heart-stopping than he’d ever imagined it to be.

The pregnant silence that loomed between the both of you sent your mind into a flurry of nervousness, hopefulness slowly morphing into a sense of dread. To you, his deathly silence meant rejection, and you’d rather not crumble in front of anyone in your present increasingly vulnerable state.

“I… I'll just be on my way…” you muttered, tears stinging your eyes as you inhaled a lungful of air in hopes of maintaining your usual calm demeanor. You promptly returned the book you were previously flipping through before scampering to your belongings.

Your dejection jolts him from his love-filled, hazy train of thoughts, his hands instinctively reaching for your smaller frame. You let out a small squeak of surprise as you were spun around, your face now pressed against his chest as he embraced you securely within his arms.

“Took you long enough…” he murmurs against your hair, relishing in the warmth of your body and your distinct floral scent— the scent that drove him nearly mad yet provided him with a sense of comfort and relief every single time it wafts up his nose. He was still in a state of disbelief, holding you with a hint of desperation as if you'll slip away from him once again the moment he lets go.

Inhaling deeply once more, you succumb to your heart's desire, reciprocating his gesture with just as much fervor, tears of relief welling up in your eyes.

“... I was terrified you’d stop if I said yes," you admitted.

“And why is that?”

“You know how the tales of old wives go— things go stale after a while between couples and all that. And then there are novels depicting the same thing and I…” you trail off, bemoaning your worries. “Truth be told, I know nothing about this. I've never felt all of this before. I'm spewing out nonsense, aren't I?”

He lets out a deep hum, rummaging through his presently hopeless little brain for any words of comfort, all to no avail.

“If it helps, I haven't the slightest clue on how to handle this either.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

Ominis snorts at your deadpan response before erupting into a peal of mild laughter that instantly dispelled all your present worries. You joined in, bursting into a fit of giggles. He gently releases you from his hold, his hand cupping your cheek.

Your face was warm to the touch and he groaned lightly the moment he felt your pillowy lips brush against the skin of his palm. He never would've thought that it would come to this point— him needing to kiss someone so badly to the point where it hurts.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he uttered his plea with a slight tremor in his voice, the pad of his thumb caressing your lower lip.

“May I?”

Ba-thump... Ba-thump… Ba-thump…

“... Yes.”

The gap between both your lips was finally closed, your eyelids fluttering shut as he tenderly placed his lips upon yours. His hand wanders from your heated cheek to your nape, gently pulling you closer. He began to move his lips slowly, eliciting a soft whimper from you. A faint growl rumbled from his chest as he scooped you closer to him, placing his hand against the small of your back.

This was bad. Your self-control was slowly whittling away no thanks to the heady scent of his perfume and minty breath after eating that Peppermint Toad earlier. And for such sacrilege to occur in the Transfiguration Section again? The realization on its own would’ve made you laugh if it weren’t for Ominis pushing you against a bookshelf, mindlessly bucking his hips against yours as he darts his tongue within your cavern to savor your taste.

The increasingly steamy moment was unfortunately cut short as a book was dropped unceremoniously on the wooden table at the opposite side of the bookshelf, a loud thud thundering across the library. You immediately pushed the lithe-framed male off you, instinctively fixing yourself while he turned away, pretending as if nothing had happened as he held his breath out of shock. The sound of Madam Scribner grumbling away was heard, and you could only heave a sigh of relief at her lack of awareness about what you and Ominis had done.

Ominis cleared his throat, his breathing less erratic as he clutched the books that you’ve picked out for his assignment.

“We should probably get started,” he mumbles while you nodded in response, scuttling away to your table. You were chewing on your lips this entire time as a way of containing yourself either from letting out a screech of sheer delight over the fact that you had finally done something right for your poor maiden heart, or a wail of horror after almost tarnishing your reputation by engaging in unsavory acts in a public space.

Either way, it was a happy ending for you and Ominis— for now, that is.

Upon sitting down at your seats, Ominis immediately reached for the short stack of books that he had left atop the table while the both of you were in the Transfiguration Section, only to find that there was one particular book missing. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards before reverting to its usual calm and collected state, scribbling away on his parchment.

And just like that, the prey fell into his simple little trap hook, line, and sinker.

Surely he'll learn his lesson this time, right?

Karma— the summation of one’s actions; the most efficient teacher even to those who had been cursed with the thickest of skulls. The crippling lack of self-awareness is undoubtedly the greatest comedy of mankind, and oftentimes it was the main cause of one's own stagnancy in the development of the self. As long as one's ill will alongside actions prevails, one shall not roam free without paying the price of their actions.

Such is the case with Duncan Hobhouse— again, but unsurprisingly so.

You watched in amazement as the fourth, fifth, and sixth consecutive misfortune befell him on this particular day. First, he had tripped on flat grounds before he could give his potion to Professor Sharp for inspection, causing his vial to shatter in the process. Upon going back to his station to refill another, his potion had solidified within his cauldron due to him forgetting to turn the heat off. Finally, as he was about to inform Professor Sharp of his plight, he slipped on the puddle of his own brew, hitting his head against the stone floor as he landed on his back with a pained groan.

The classroom buzzed with snickers and murmurs at the poor lad's plight, but it was soon silenced as Professor Sharp slammed his palm on the surface of his table, the rest of the remaining 5th years immediately focusing on their tasks at hand. The ex-Auror pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience progressively getting thinner and thinner at every mishap that had occurred within his classroom. It was only the first period, and he wanted to retire to his quarters (or better yet, from his job as a professor) as soon as possible.

The visibly stressed-out Potions Master could only take so much tomfoolery from a bunch of oversized infants, after all.

Professor Sharp glanced longingly at his bottle of Firewhiskey at the corner of his classroom before reluctantly tearing his gaze from his coping mechanism, instructing Adelaide Oakes to bring Duncan to the Hospital Wing. Duncan hobbled towards his table, grabbing his Potions textbook along with a particular book belonging to a certain man named Ominis Gaunt who was in the same table as you were. Duncan glowered at poor Adeleide, who immediately slinked back to her station as he stormed out of the classroom on his own.

Peace soon looms over the Potions Classroom once again, the sound of faint bubbling concoctions and sparky mini explosions filling the room, only for it to be short-lived once again as a high-pitched scream echoed throughout the nearby hallway.

And thus, you witness the seventh misfortune as Duncan ran past the classroom entrance with Peeves tailing him whilst cackling, armed with one of the decorative axes from the castle walls, ready to give him a good thwack.

For the first time, a part of Ominis relished in the outcome of his seemingly diabolical deed, the reverberating screams of fright belonging to his Ravenclaw nemesis sounding like the sweetest tune he had ever heard. He never expected that the hex he had placed on that book would be marvelously effective, and he made a mental note to safeguard his prized possessions with the very same spell — he had invented it himself, after all.

Contrary to the rather brutal display of its effect courtesy of Duncan Hobhouse, it wasn’t an insidious spell as one would think once its true nature is understood. In fact, it was merely a hex that would only be triggered if an object were to be used for ill intent. With that notion in mind, Duncan’s intentions must’ve been utterly horrendous for the hex to be extremely potent, which was far more concerning than Ominis using the spell as a means of protection.

But then again, the crisis was successfully averted with impressive efficiency, and that alone was a source of pride for Ominis, who had a faint smile upon his thin lips. It was a rather productive day for him: successfully getting Duncan off his back, finishing his potion for Potions Class earlier than usual with you, and most of his assignments were already done in advance, leaving him with two options on what he shall do on his free time: studying with you somewhere within the castle grounds despite his reluctance, or convincing you to take a nap with him in a more secluded place.

Either way, he already knew it was going to be a great day ahead.

< chapter 11: the duality of man

chapter 13: a hideout within a hideout 🔞 >

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sailorgoon13 · 3 months

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MY FICS LIST

Thicker Than Blood Volume One & Two

Athena Knightly and Sebastian Sallow embark on a daring journey to save Anne, despite her initial resistance. As their bond deepens, Sebastian confesses his love to Athena, setting the stage for a magical adventure.

Unraveling the mysteries of their lineage, the duo discovers surprising connections - Athena is revealed to be distant cousins with Ominis, and her father's roots trace back to the prestigious Peverell family.

The quest takes an extraordinary turn as Athena and Sebastian uncover the legendary Deathly Hallows. In a tale of courage and magical prowess, Athena evolves into one of the most formidable witches of her time. Join them in a spellbinding narrative where love, lineage, and the pursuit of power converge in the realm of wizardry.

(Volume One a slow burn romance, Volume Two SMUT/ NSFW)

The Serpent and the Eagle

Josephine Blanchet, the transfer student from Beauxbatons, brings a dash of French flair to Hogwarts. Her dad's got a new job with the British Ministry, and Josie’s now navigating life at Hogwarts with her cheeky and rebellious younger sister Chloe, who's wears the Hufflepuff colors.

In the midst of magical mischief and Quidditch drama, Josephine and Sebastian start weaving their own story in their sixth year. Sebastian, now rocking the Slytherin Quidditch team, finds his biggest cheerleader in Josie.

But life isn't all enchanted broomsticks and laughter for Josephine. Traumas from her fifth year at Hogwarts haunt her – Rankrok, Rookwood, watching Professor Fig meet his end, and the shadow of Solomon. To cope, she makes a bold choice: Sebastian, her confidant, is tasked with erasing those painful memories. Yet, magic being unpredictable, the spell goes haywire, forcing Josie to grapple with rediscovering their relationship, the closeness they shared, and her friendships, all over again.

(SMUT, NSFW)

The Gunslinger

Dive into Josephine's magical journey during her seventh year at Hogwarts, where an unexpected twist unfolds with the arrival of Vash Stampede, a muggle-born wizard from the gritty streets of New York. His twin brother, Nai, stays behind, but the real surprise lies in the shared magical ability between Josie and Vash.

As they explore their unique connection, Vash, more at home with his silver revolver gun than a wand, adds a distinct flair to the magical mix. Meanwhile, Nai's ambition takes a dark turn as he seeks to harness the untapped potential within their shared ability, aspiring to become the most powerful wizard.

Now, Josephine and Vash find themselves in a high-stakes race against time. Navigating the challenges of their newfound connection, battling against a looming threat, and facing the comfort Vash finds in his unconventional magical tools, they must work together to prevent Nai's dangerous plan from unleashing chaos upon both the magical and muggle realms.

(Smut)

The Road Back to You

Embark on a tale of love, loss, and rediscovery with Anastasia Sprout, a once-sweet Hufflepuff who has matured into the head Auror at the Ministry. Anastasia and Sebastian were inseparable during their Hogwarts days, but life pulled them in different directions after graduation.

Seven years have passed since Sebastian's abrupt departure, leaving Anastasia's heart in pieces. She held onto the hope that one day he'd return, and just as she began losing faith, he reappears in her life. Now, they must navigate the complex journey of reigniting a love that time and distance have tested.

As they come face to face after years apart, the question looms large: Are they still the same people who once shared an intense connection, or have the trials of life shaped them into different individuals?

(Still a work in progress, will be smut)

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farfromstrange · 2 months

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Austin: Chapter 1 [Owen Sleater x F!Reader]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Atlantic City!

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read Me on AO3

Chapter Summary: You make your way to Atlantic City, and things do not go as planned from the moment you step off the train to meeting a very handsome but also very cheeky Irishman at Nucky Thompson's estate.

Chapter Warnings: foul language, mentions of murder, illegal activity, plot, Owen being a cheeky bastard, Season 2 spoilers, foreshadowing, slight angst (?), kind of a "I hate him" situation (enemies to lovers *cough*), mentions of misogyny

Word Count: 7.2K

A/n: This chapter is longer than the first, which was not planned, but the juices were flowing. The meeting was originally planned for Chapter 3, but then I realized that Nucky Thompson was no longer at the Ritz at this point in the show, so I had to improvise, so yeah. Anyway, first meeting, and it even made ME blush. But then again, I had to add a little bit of angst for the slow burn. (I'm always so scared of inaccuracies because the 1920s were very complex, so if you find any, just ignore them.)

Set from Season 2 episode 9 onward!

This series is rated E for explicit! 18+ only!

The train ride from Austin to Atlantic City takes you two days. You’re no stranger to long-distance traveling, but being stuck in a carriage with strangers for hours on end would never be your first choice for an adventure.

You’ve been to Canada and Mexico; you have made a deal with the Italians on the West Coast, and you have conspired with the Russians in Coney Island. You hold friends in high places all over the world, but not once have you been to Atlantic City.

It’s not that you don’t love the beach—you have quite the affinity for the ocean, actually—but you told yourself that you were better off not messing with the powerful forces that have owned the Boardwalk ever since liquor first became an object of illegal trade. As feared as you are in Texas and all neighboring States that profit from your work, Nucky Thompson is—well, used to be—equally as feared in his part of the criminal underworld.

The times you have shown your face in the past, the people present have not lived to tell the tale. If someone shouted from the rooftops that Mr. Austin is, in truth, a woman, it would cause quite an uproar. Your spite is not the only factor in this equation because you’re not the only person who has something to lose. You’re not like those you despise; you care about what happens to those who work for you, knowing that they are risking just as much in this business as you are every day.

If someone told your name and spread the news that you did not die in the fire you set that night eighteen months ago, the connection could bring on a myriad of consequences. You would have nowhere to run but to prison. You killed a man, and justice has a way of kicking criminals in the ass. You know that very well. When you disappeared though, you swore to do whatever it would take to keep the walls around you stable enough to survive, and you have been doing well so far.

Nucky Thompson’s letter was the Trojan Horse that has now forced you out of your shell. You are far too exposed—far too vulnerable here, even though no one knows who the woman with the red cowboy boots sitting on the back of the train is or where she’s from, and they don’t seem to care at all either.

You care though. And you know the truth. You care too much about what other people think. If you want to be able to stand your own against them, you have to be more confident, but you always find yourself held at gunpoint by your insecurities.

You won’t know what more could happen until you confront the man who chose to throw very lively bait at your feet that you couldn’t help but dig your teeth into. Now, you’re being pulled toward Enoch Thompson and Atlantic City instead of away from the chaos that has erupted around him.

If you had sent your right-hand man—if you had sent Anthony, out of all people—you fear that he might have come back to you in a box, but he has a hard time acknowledging the fact that you are far more dangerous than you let on.

“I can’t believe you left!” his voice is so loud you have to take a look around the small phone booth to see if anyone on the outside can hear you.

“I had no choice,” you snap back into the receiver. “You read what he wrote. If there is even the slightest chance he knows who I am, we’re in a lot of trouble.”

Anthony sneers. “You really want to believe a guy who’s on trial for several crimes and is about to lose everything he worked so hard for just because he sent you a letter out of desperation?”

You imagine his green eyes glaring holes into the atmosphere. His bottom lip must be swollen from how many times he gnawed on it, and his dark hair is probably disheveled because as he told you once before, you make him want to rip his hair out. One by one. He tends to be quite dramatic.

“You’re smarter than this,” he says. He utters your name, and his voice takes on a softer touch.

A train horn blares in the distance, but your focus remains on the man on the other end of the phone line.

You sigh. “Because I’m smarter, I had to go,” you try explaining. “You can’t deny that a man who has everything to lose is almost as dangerous as one who has nothing to lose. And if Nucky has everything to lose, so do I,” you say. “He has the power to take everything away from me, and I have to make sure he doesn’t know the truth. And if he does, I have to find a solution. Me. Because he wants to see me, not you.”

“He wants to see Mr. Austin,” Anthony corrects you.

“Exactly. And who’s he?��

“A name on paper. A myth.”

“No, Anthony. Who is Mr. Austin?” you ask.

The pause is filled with a heavy silence. Then, he opens his mouth, and he murmurs into the telephone, “You are.” He acts as though it hurts him to admit it.

It hasn’t always been like this.

You nod, but his reaction doesn’t sit right with you. It may not be audible through the phone, but he knows you well enough by now to read your body language even from miles away.

“That’s right,” you say. Your voice remains calm, though your words do not. “I’m your boss. I own this fucking business, and I know what I’m doing. I know you always attend these kinds of meetings for me, but this is an emergency, and I had to leave without dragging you or anyone else into it until I’ve found a solution.”

“You’re insane.” It is less of an accusation than it is a statement.

“No, I have to make sure that a man my father once considered a friend doesn’t burn his legacy to the ground. He already had one shitty friend try it, and we both know how that turned out. I saved his legacy from certain downfall. I killed for it. And I intend to protect it with my life, no matter what it takes.”

In the background, music overlaps with the distinctive sound of voices and the clinking of glasses.

Anthony sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. “No matter what it takes, huh?” he asks, and it leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. “Even if it means revealing your face, your identity, even your name to a stranger? No matter what it takes?”

“Don’t patronize me!”

The fury tugs at your heartstrings, tearing a hole into your soul. What started as a bout of frustration is starting to turn into an inferno of anger. It consumes you, threatening to set you on fire. The beast inside of you begs to be set free.

“You do realize that if you go there and he doesn’t know who you are, he may as well connect the dots and then screw you over anyway, right?” He doesn’t stop. “You’re serving him the gun on a silver platter, Jesus fucking Christ!”

When he yells at you, you see red. “He already has it!” your voice bounces off the glass around you. “He already has the gun, I’m sure of it,” you tell him. “I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about this, and I have to burn this son of a bitch out before it’s too late. Before—before he can burn me. Us,” you emphasize. “He is in an impossible situation, and that makes him a million times more dangerous. But that also makes him valuable, and if I can talk with him—figure out what he meant and talk some sense into him—I can come home and we can forget this ever happened. But for that, I have to give him what he wants first.”

Again, Anthony seethes, “Nucky Thompson is not a man you can trust.”

“I don’t trust him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do business with him.”

“Is that what you think?”

“The better question is, do you think I’m less capable than you because you’re such a strong, invincible man?” By saying it out loud, you have found a way to spit him in the face.

His hand grips the receiver so tightly that the line crackles. He exhales a growl. “I think that you should have thought this through and discussed it with me,” he says. “You should have called a meeting with the rest of the team, and we could have talked about this.”

“I discussed it with you in great detail, but you wouldn’t listen,” you counter. “Now, I’m here, and I won’t stop until I get what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Control.”

He calls your name. “That’s it. I’m taking the next train to Atlantic City.”

“No!” you stop him. “I need you to keep things going in Austin. Make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll call you when I find out something new.”

“Not happening. That man is too dangerous for you to deal with alone. Even with half his empire gone, he still holds too much power. I’m coming. End of discussion.”

You chuckle, but it lacks amusement. It’s a dry, empty, and entirely emotionless chuckle that matches the look in your eyes. “You underestimate me, Anthony,” you say. “May I remind you that I’m in control here? You are not in charge. I am. I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in Nucky Thompson’s head if he decides to stab me in the back. And I won’t hesitate to do the same with you or anyone else who dares to cross me. So don’t ever fucking underestimate me again. Your responsibilities are back home, so that is where you are going to stay or I swear to God I’m going to make you regret it. Are we clear?”

“I’m not undermining you, I’m just concerned—”

“No, fuck you!” This time, one of the women passing by the telephone booth, stares at you, and she seems utterly appalled at your language. You tilt your head. Her eyes widen, but before you can yell at her to turn around and walk the other way, her husband pulls her away.

“I’m not listening to this—” You place your lips close to the speaker, “Stay where you are. Do as I tell you to, and wait for further instructions. Do not come to Atlantic City, and don’t ever fucking doubt me again,” you spit. “That’s an order!”

The line clicks, and the entire booth vibrates at the force with which you hang up the phone.

You take a deep breath to calm the erratic drumming of your heart against your ribcage. You need to slow the adrenaline in your veins before it melts you from the inside out. Your knuckles crack when you stretch your fingers, smoothing out the fabric of your dress. You take another deep breath in, then exhale.

The clock strikes noon. You reach for the suitcase you managed to cram into the small telephone booth. The sturdy leather feels slippery on your sweaty palms. You always travel light; you don’t plan to stay for much longer than a week, anyway. One suitcase of clothing should suffice plenty. At least that was your train of thought before you arrived at the bustling train station of Atlantic City.

A soft, salty breeze brushes your cheeks when you step outside. You can hear the rushing of the ocean in the distance. Children run along the pavement, followed by their parents. Everyone is dressed so much differently from the fashion you see every day.

The South isn’t New Jersey though, and you should have figured that styles may vary over thousands of miles apart. You receive a few curious glances; is it that obvious that you don’t belong here? A group of women passes by you, and you swear you can hear them giggle when they are a few steps further away. You wonder if it’s the red boots that are made for farming rather than a city close to the coast, or maybe it’s the way you carry yourself, wearing your uniqueness on your sleeve like an elegant piece of jewelry.

You came here with one suitcase and a clear mission; you won’t let anyone ruin that for you. Not Anthony, and surely not a group of strangers who are probably more prone to gossip than you ever were in your lifetime—and probably ever will be.

When you left early that morning, you tasked Beth with calling Nucky Thompson. She is responsible for all of your appointments, but when she heard his name, she was rightfully hesitant. You didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you left her with an excuse and a pile of guilt in the pit of your stomach.

At three o’clock, you will face him, and you will pray to a God you don’t believe in that it will all be over after that. One night of rest, and you will be on the same train back home. That is what you are hoping for.

You heard that Nucky lost his suite at the Ritz-Carlton after the charges were filed against him, and he retreated to the comfort of his home. You can’t say that you have a lot of empathy; you would prefer a room at the Ritz over one at the Marlborough any day anyway.

Hopefully, the small glimpse of the Boardwalk you get as the cab pulls up to the hotel will be the last you see of Atlantic City for a very long time.

The car comes to a halt, and the driver curtly tells you, “We’re here, Miss.”

You nod, then reach into your coat. “What’s your name?” you ask him.

He frowns at you through the rearview mirror. “Carter, Miss,” he stutters. “Ben Carter.”

“Ben. Carter.” You retrieve a stack of money. “I like you. I could use your help.”

His entire body stiffens. “M-my help?”

“Mhm.” You lean forward. “I need someone to drive me around the city today.”

“I’m a cab driver. I—”

“I’m aware, but tell me, is there anything you wouldn’t do for money?” The bills rustle next to his ear as you hold them up.

“How much is that?” Ben asks breathlessly.

“500,” you answer. “Although I’m open to giving you more if that’s what it takes.”

“For a day?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a–a catch?”

You chuckle, placing the money in his shaky hand. “All I ask is for your driving skills and your discretion. Can you do that for me, Ben?”

The wheels turn in his head. He’s considering your offer. That much money isn’t so easy to come by, especially not for a cab driver. You’ve learned over the years that if you play your cards right, you can get just about anything.

Ben stares at the dollar bills for a few more seconds before he meets your eyes. Sweat drips down his temple. “Where do you need me to take you?” he asks.

Your lips curl into a smirk. This poor man doesn’t know a thing and yet you are playing him like a fiddle. But he doesn’t need to know the truth. To you, he is only a means to an end. You will pay him, and he will give you what you need in return for a reward. After your stay in Atlantic City, he will never have to see you again.

The small piece of paper is tucked safely into your shirt. You retrieve it, still neatly folded, and hand it to him. “I need to be at this address,” you tell him. “Three o’clock.”

He glimpses down at the note. “Nucky Thompson,” he reads aloud. “Isn’t he–”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t ask questions. Discretion, remember?”

“Yes, Miss. I’m sorry. I was just wondering—”

You cut him off once again. “Why don’t you wonder in silence while you help me carry my bag inside? Answers are earned, and it is my choice whether to answer or not.” You smile. It appears as sweet as sugar, but even the deadliest poisons smell deliciously of almonds. “You can still opt out, but I’d be taking the money back,” you add. “I would tip you nicely for the ride, of course, and I would let you leave without a word, but you wouldn’t get more than that.”

The man considers your words for a moment. You’re giving him a choice, but he isn’t quite sure which one would be the right one.

“Tick tock, Ben,” you purr.

He clenches his fist around the money. “I can be discreet,” he says.

You chuckle. “That’s what I thought. Now, about my bag–” You hand him another bill, not paying much attention to the amount. “It’s rather heavy, so I would appreciate it if you could carry it to my suite for me.”

The look in your eyes is destined to turn him into stone if he were to make the wrong move. As Ben looks at you, he swears you resemble Medusa, an ancient goddess in the back of his cab who is as dangerous as she is powerful. He has no other choice but to cater to your every need.

When you get to your suite, you notice instantly that the windows open toward the ocean. Beth was gracious enough to book you a room with a beach view, and while you appreciate her thoughtfulness when it comes to your comfort, you don’t plan on extending your stay, no matter how nice the view may be.

Yet again, you find yourself staring at the Boardwalk, watching the people pass by. They all have a story of their own to tell. They all have their own set of opinions and values, some of which no one will ever know about. You could be an expert at reading human behavior and still be wrong in your interpretation. In the end, most people are experts at shapeshifting to fit into whatever category they want you to think they fit into, and trustworthiness isn’t just black and white; you have to be prepared to get disappointed.

Elegant houses with high walls, porches, and front yards pass you by as Ben drives you to Nucky Thompson’s home. Children are playing by the side of the road. You would consider this neighborhood one of the wealthiest you have seen today. And probably one of the safest, too.

“We’re here,” Ben says.

You look up from your fidgeting fingers. “Thank you, Ben,” you reply.

Time to walk into the lion’s den. The only thing you have on you is your wit and what little research Leo conducted for you. That has to be enough. You just have to be smarter than the smartest man in Atlantic City. How hard can that be?

You knock on the door. You expect his secretary to answer. Maybe a maid or a butler, but when you look up, your shoulders straightened and your face blank of emotions, you are met with the face of a beautiful woman. Her hair is tied up, her dress flows effortlessly down her frame, and she’s wearing a delicate pair of heels that add a few inches to her height.

Your brain takes a moment to reload. Nucky could have at least created a professional atmosphere, but this woman does not seem like she works for him. Every person in Nucky Thompson’s life could become a threat to you. Every person you meet that you have not intended to meet brings you one step closer to irreparable damage. But perhaps that has been his plan all along.

“Hello,” the woman greets you. Her eyes are wide with bewilderment.

You stutter. The blood rushes to your head. “Um, good afternoon–”

“May I help you?” The Irish accent starts to come out, and you put one and two together.

Leo told you about Mrs. Schroeder. Margaret. You were right to assume that she isn’t one of Nucky Thompson’s goons. Far from it.

Inhaling a deep breath, you gather your thoughts to form an appropriate answer that won’t give you away entirely. “I’m here because I have a meeting with Mr. Enoch Thompson. I’m sorry, am I at the right address?” you ask.

“Oh!” Her face lights up with realization. “No, yes, of course. You are at the right address. Mr. Thompson just isn’t home yet.”

“I am a few minutes early, I’m afraid.”

Five minutes. It isn’t all that much. You try to be nice, but inside, you’re fuming. Not at this poor woman, not at all, but rather at Nucky. You haven’t even met him yet, but you already feel a deep disdain for this human being. How your father managed to consider him a friend is beyond you. Perhaps he was different back then—it has been a few years—but you highly doubt that.

You clear your throat. “I take it you’re the lady of the house?”

Margaret blinks, then smiles. “Yes, I believe that would be me. I’m Margaret Schroeder,” she says.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Schroeder. Or is it Mrs.?”

“It’s Mrs., actually.”

“Apologies, Mrs. Schroeder.”

“No apologies needed.” She curtsies, which is endearing, in a way. Her eyes roam your body from head to toe. She’s trying to figure you out; you can’t blame her. “And who might you be?” Margaret asks. There is a hidden pressure to know the nature of your appearance hidden behind the niceties.

You can’t blame her for not wanting to let a stranger into her house, but the question leaves you grappling with the possible answers that could keep her off your back while still sounding truthful enough for her to believe you.

“Austin,” you blurt out. It wasn’t well-considered, but you couldn’t think of anything else.

“Austin?” she questions.

“Yes, ma’am. My parents didn’t know what to name me, so they considered all cities in the State of Texas before settling on Austin. I’m aware it isn’t very conventional, but they liked to pride themselves on being free spirits,” the lie flows past your lips effortlessly.

Using your alias while at the same time branding yourself as another character entirely is risky. You shouldn’t rely on your gut feeling. Margaret may seem innocent, but there is always a certain risk. You can only hope that she will buy it. If not, you have yet another bridge to burn.

Margaret gasps softly. “You came all this way from Texas?”

Thank God it is the only thing she took away from your explanation.

“I represent Mr. Austin in his business,” you state. “Mr. Thompson will know what that means.”

Her reaction tells you she doesn’t know what you mean, at least, and it takes an ounce of the weight off your shoulders.

“Well, Austin,” Margaret says, still suspicious of a stranger in her home but less tense, as it seems, “Would you like to come inside? I’m sure my—Mr. Thompson will be back any minute. He probably just got caught up in some business.”

You nod. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

She steps aside. You take in the spacious entrance hall. It is bathed in soft sunlight, filling the entire house with life. A set of stairs leads upstairs. The property is nothing short of extravagant, and you wonder how far the walls reach.

Your eyes meet those of a brunette standing in the doorway to what you assume must be the living room. Her hands are crossed before her, fingers tangled in the white fabric of her apron. You suppose she must be a maid, or at the very least a housekeeper.

Margaret nods toward her. “Katy, would you please take Miss Austin’s jacket?” she asks.

The woman—Katy—steps toward you with a curt smile. She opens her arms. “May I?” she says.

You take a moment to process the clear power dynamic, then quickly slip out of your coat. It’s not too cold outside—you wouldn’t even consider it hot, just comfortably warm—but you hardly ever wear jackets out of practicality. You wonder if any woman does. Your sleeves are short, barely covering your shoulders. The first time you wore what you wanted without care was simultaneously the last.

Showing your shoulders is considered preposterous, but only if you’re a woman. That isn’t different in Atlantic City. You could get fined for wearing a skirt that is a few inches too short in a public setting, but only if you’re a woman. You can’t wear your hair down if you have long hair or you will get scrutinized, but only if you’re a woman. What doesn’t get scrutinized is the fact that men can’t keep their disgusting fingers to themselves. They don’t respect the word ‘no’ as a full sentence. They wouldn’t even let women vote until they started fighting back.

Men have the right to make rules about how you, as a woman, are supposed to present yourself as an individual. If you don’t follow the rules, you are immodest and impure. You’re not a woman if you don’t bow down to a man. Perhaps it was the way you were raised but it has always felt so wrong to you to allow the supposed superior sex to play with you as if you were a toy and set rules for all women just because they are secretly afraid of the power they hold.

As infuriating as it is though, you wouldn’t want to be thrown in jail. You were threatened once with it, and you decided that you can’t fight back if you’re constrained. Instead, you conform, and you bottle up the rage that has consumed you and your ancestors since the beginning of time. You pour it into fragile glass bottles and place it on a shelf, but that very shelf is about to break under the weight, and God knows what may happen then.

One day it will be different, you wish. But that day is not today, and perhaps it won’t be for centuries.

You want to tell Katy that you can take care of your coat yourself, but this isn’t your home, nor is it your family. The last thing you want is to come off as rude. You don’t want to overstep or appear in a negative light.

“Thank you,” you say, and her smile becomes more genuine.

You turn back to Margaret. “I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Schroeder.”

She shakes her head. “Nonsense,” she says. “Punctuality can be quite the curse when you’re meetin’ with an unpunctual person.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true.”

Children’s laughter sounds from somewhere to your left, and you peek around the corner to see a little boy and a little girl sitting on the floor.

“Are they yours?” you dare to ask.

“Yes. That’s Emily, my youngest,” — she points to the girl — “And her brother, Teddy.”

“They’re adorable.”

“Thank you. I’m quite proud of them.”

You watch the two kids play under the watchful eye of another maid. They’re still so carefree; safe and sound under their mother’s wing. Things were easier when you were their age. When you still had hope. You enjoyed sitting on the floor of your childhood home and playing with your toys just as Emily and Teddy are doing now. Sometimes, you miss being a child who only knew what she wanted to know; a child living in her fantasy world, far from any kind of illicit affairs.

Then again, rumor has it that Margaret lost the father of her children to Nucky Thompson, and even though he was a bad man, it was a huge cut in their lives that affected everyone in the family. It will get easier to deal with, maybe, but they won’t forget.

She utters the name you gave her, and you instantly tear your eyes away from the little humans in the living room. “You can settle down in the conservatory,” she tells you. “It’s a lot more quiet there.”

“Of course,” you answer. Margaret guides you down the hall and through another doorway. You try not to stare too much as you pass the lavish decor.

The sunlight hits your face as you come closer to the well-lit conservatory that stretches out longer than you expected. “Would you like some tea?” she asks.

You wave her off. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly accept that.”

“I’m sure Katy wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m good, honestly, but thank you.”

“Very well then.” She smiles, but the more she does so, the more you start to believe she is forcing her reaction. The tension in her shoulders is palpable. You wonder if it’s because of you, but it couldn’t possibly be; you don’t pose a threat. Maybe it’s the connection to her partner that concerns her, and you can’t blame her for that.

The conservatory is filled with green plants and colorful flowers. They seem to shimmer under the natural lighting. It’s cozy, you have to admit, and certainly a lot more comfortable than waiting outside the door on the front porch in a neighborhood you don’t belong to.

“Feel free to, uh, take a seat,” Margaret says, pointing toward the table. “I will be taking the children to the beach in a few minutes, but I’ll make sure someone fetches you once Mr. Thompson is back. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let the maids know. They’re at your service.”

You offer her a disarming smile. “I appreciate it.”

She bids her goodbyes, wishing you a good day, before she turns on her heel and leaves you to your own devices.

The big windows are calling for you. You inhale the oxygen that has been purified by the greenery. For the first time since your train rolled into Atlantic City, you feel a little lighter. You don’t feel like the reality of the situation is pressing down on you and drowning you in misery. You can breathe again.

You dare to step closer to the flowers. The red of the petals offers a stark contrast to the green. You play with the sunlight on your fingers, then gently move the tip over one of the delicate blossoms. Your heart jumps with the sudden realization that you could easily break or injure it.

The floral scent fills your nose, but it isn’t too overwhelming. Unlike roses, while looking beautiful with an intense shade of maroon, this flower is rather shy. It may look like it would smell like a thousand gardens all at once, but it’s treacherous.

“I didn’t realize Mr. Thompson hired a new gardener,” the Irish accent makes your head whip to the doorway.

“Excuse me?” you blurt.

Gelled-back dark hair and hazel eyes that rival the plants in the conservatory. The man is clutching his hat to his chest. A gray jacket covers his stoic frame, but it’s the way he carries himself that catches your attention the most. He exceeds the kind of confidence that he hides behind a shy smile.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he says, “I was only joking.”

You scoff. “I’ll have you know, I was merely admiring the flowers, not tending to them.”

Who does he think he is, you ask yourself, that he believes he has the right to look the way he does—act the way he does—and talk to you like that? It’s outrageous.

His plump lips part and the only words he seems capable of uttering are sickeningly cheeky. Whoever he is, you want nothing more than to turn around and leave. Because this man is too young to be Nucky Thompson, but he has more than enough audacity to pass as someone in his position. Or someone working for him.

When Margaret said she would have someone fetch you, this is not what you expected. Young, tall, and handsome as hell. Your stomach curls into a tight coil. No, you don’t like him. You can’t like him. You swore yourself you would never stoop this low, but one look into his eyes, and the blood pools in your cheeks like scarlet mountains.

The stranger chuckles as he approaches you. “Of course. A lady of refined taste, I take it?” The glint in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

With every ounce of blood your heart pumps through your body, heat fills you from the inside out, threatening to melt you into a puddle—an annoyed puddle.

“And just what would you know about my taste?” you challenge him.

He shrugs. “Only that a woman as lovely as yourself must appreciate the finer things in life.”

You want to burst like the ticking time bomb people have told you that you are.

You clear your throat. There is a slight edge of flustered uneasiness to your voice. You try to swallow it, but the smirk on his lips tells you that he must have heard it loud and clear. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mister…”

“Sleater, ma’am,” he interjects. “Owen Sleater. I work for Mr. Thompson.”

He’s smooth, and God, he knows he is smooth. It’s written all over his face, those defined cheekbones, and his sharp jawline. It’s like he has been painted by a Greek God. Or he is the Greek God. Either way, this Irish—your first instinct was to call him a fucker when you first laid eyes on him—is getting on your last nerve.

He’s clean-shaven, but the shadow of a once-there beard is visible. He’s a beautiful man, stunning even, and that annoys you even more. With his fake innocence and his desperate attempts to come across as a pure gentleman while he is teasing a total stranger into oblivion for a probably very sadistic purpose. You should not allow your mind to even go in that direction. Not when he makes you so nauseous.

“Well, Mister Sleater,” you find your voice again, “I have to disappoint you,” you say. “I’m not easily swayed by a smooth talker.”

Owen—his name suits him, you have to admit—raises his eyebrows. His forehead wrinkles a little as he does so. “What are you swayed by then?” he inquires.

“Not you, that’s for sure.”

You can see your reflection in his eyes; his color blends with yours, drawing you in. Owen chuckles, probably to save some time to gather himself.

He stutters. “You have quite the sharp tongue, Miss…” he trails off, waiting for you to fill in the gap.

Once again, you stare into the face of a very big problem. You shouldn’t be here. You consider the possibility that Anthony may have been right, just for a moment; maybe you should not have come on your own, and maybe you should have taken him with you because everything suddenly feels like it’s falling apart.

You push the thoughts away. “You may call me Austin,” you say.

“Miss Austin, ma’am.” A flicker of recognition crosses his face. “Are you, by any chance, related to one Mister Austin?” Owen asks.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I do, ma’am.”

“That doesn’t mean you are entitled to an answer.”

“Trust me,” he chuckles, “I’m well aware of that.”

He exposes you with his gaze. You’re standing in the eye of the storm with nothing to protect you. Even in your best dress, you are naked and vulnerable. You cave when you meet his eyes. You try to be strong, but it’s useless.

Self-awareness is a virtue not many possess; Owen is aware, but he chooses not to care. There is a difference that exceeds worlds in distance.

The only way for you out of this is to change the subject. “Would you happen to know your way around botany?” you ask. The subject isn’t entirely different; it was Owen who started the conversation with a similar context.

“I know a thing or two, yes,” he answers.

“Can you tell me what kind of flower this is?” You trace your fingertips over the red petals of the flower before you. “The color’s lovely.”

“I believe these are Alstroemerias, ma’am.”

His way of saying it melts like butter on your tongue. “Alstroemerias,” you repeat. “Quite a beautiful shade of red, isn’t it?”

You don’t care about his opinion, at least you don’t think you do, but the conversation is flowing and you can’t possibly stop it.

“Very much so,” Owen says. His lips break into another smile. “And they suit the color of your eyes.”

The addition makes your head spin. You swallow, and you brush off his words with a scoff. “Are you always this cheeky, Mr. Sleater?”

“Only sometimes, but it’s been known to get me into trouble.”

“I’ll have you know that confusing me with the gardener does not help your case.”

There it is again, that glint. The mischief. “Not appreciative of my jokes, I see,” he muses.

Your jaw clenches. “I can appreciate a joke when it’s good. Have you seen me laugh since we met?” The words come out a little harsher than planned, but he takes them with the same lightness he seems to take everything with.

Owen chuckles. The sound rumbles in his chest. “I, uh… No, I haven’t.”

Your body reacts to the sound of his voice in a way that makes you angry at yourself. “Checkmate,” you say. You beat him, and that’s all that is supposed to matter.

Owen though? He just won’t stop.

“Consider me beat,” he retorts.

“And yet you’re still talking.”

The distance between you shrinks with each passing moment. Owen takes a step closer. You can feel his breath on your skin. He smells of Whiskey and gum.

“Perhaps I just can’t resist a challenge,” he says.

“Is that so?” you ask.

He brushes lightly against the back of your hand, reaching for the flower. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you pull away instantly at the shiver that rolls through you. It’s a tidal wave.

He chuckles as if he knows that he is overstepping, but once again, he doesn’t care. Owen wraps his hand around the stem. The other slides into the pocket of his slacks to retrieve what seems to be a pocket knife. He drags it just a few inches below the flower’s petals, and it falls into his palm. He’s so gentle one wouldn’t think his fingers are calloused and his knuckles are cracked until they have felt them on their skin.

You tilt your chin up defiantly. “Now look at what you did—” You point at the broken stem, “You violated the poor flower. Don’t you have any regard for Mother Nature, Mr. Sleater?”

Owen leans in, his chuckle only another breath on his lips as he slides the flower behind your ear. The smell is a lot more dominant now that it is touching you.

“It’ll heal,” he states. He says it as though he knows exactly what he’s talking about, and he is probably not wrong. You wish he were, but he isn’t.

Flowers and plants heal. They grow back. They bleed—sometimes they even make human beings bleed—but they often grow back. Nature is a lot more resilient than humans could ever be.

You should pull away and put an end to this dangerous game before it goes any further, but at that moment, with this stranger placing a flower he has claimed goes beautifully with the color of your eyes behind your ear, all rational thought flees from your mind because you can’t quite comprehend what is happening. What has this day turned into? He’s rendered you speechless, shaking in your cowboy boots, and the blood in your veins freezes even as it is boiling.

You’re too close to losing your composure.

The floorboards creak. You turn to the doorway for what seems like the millionth time. Katy looks between you and Owen, and something static crackles in the air. Her kindness from before has disappeared behind an iron wall.

“I’m sorry,” she says curtly.

You look between her and Owen.

Oh.

“Miss, Mr. Thompson wanted me to tell you that he is ready to receive visitors now.”

Finally. This is what you came here for. You touch the flower behind your ear, and when you look at Owen who looks almost guilty, his affection that has melted like butter before is starting to grow over with toxic mold.

“Thank you,” you tell Katy. Reaching for the flower, you remove it.

“He said he is supposed to have an appointment with a Mr. Austin right now,” Katy adds. “I’m not sure if that is important.”

She is avoiding Owen’s eyes like the plague. You can’t blame her. Now that you have made the connection that this Irish fucker flirted with you even though he had a thing or two with his employer’s maid… You grab his hand and place the Alstroemeria in his hand rather roughly, closing his fingers around it.

“Mr. Austin,” he murmurs.

You should panic, but there is nothing but emptiness in your dead expression.

“He couldn’t make it,” you state.

“Could he now?” Owen is slowly but steadily connecting the dots.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Unfortunate, isn’t it?”

He scoffs. You turn away from him, the flower now squished in his hand. Katy looks like someone just kicked her, and you wish you could put that smile back on her face. Of course, Owen Sleater has to be a player. You should have figured as much. He can’t possibly keep his hands to himself.

On your way out, he calls out to you, “Mr. Thompson doesn’t like it when people waste his time.”

You stop on your way to the stairs, following behind Katy who is showing you the way even though she has no obligation to. A smirk grows on your lips. You have the upper hand now, and he has no idea.

“I’m not wasting his time,” you say.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” You look over your shoulder. “Because I’m his appointment, and Mr. Austin doesn’t like to be kept waiting, especially not by inappropriate flattery,” you tell him. “Have a wonderful day, Mr. Sleater.”

His fallen face is the last thing you see before you turn around and make your way upstairs to the office, hoping that it will all have been worth it once this day is over, and you can finally forget it ever happened.

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