#i need so much money. i might actually just. get another job. while doing my first year of teaching. my mental health will be fine. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lolabangtan · 1 year

Text

sideshow | jjk

You’re a successful cam girl in need of a hot guy with a big cock, and you think you’ve found your match.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: smut, dub-con fantasy.

# cam girl!reader, coffee shop AU, mutual pining, hand job, oral sex (female and male receiving), squirting, face sitting, restraints, unprotected sex, face-fucking, dacryphilia, overstimulation and post-orgasm torture, teasing/degradation, cream pie, cum play, recording kink, dub-con role play, they’re so cute *sobs*

A/N: let’s not ask about this and enjoy it without wondering where the inspiration came from.

You’re always staring at him. When you’re in line waiting for your order, chatting with someone else when he’s nearby, or even when you secretly spot him working as you pass by the window – you’re always staring at Jeon Jungkook.

Your friends mock you for it whenever they get the chance. It’s almost as if you, the sexy, mysterious girl who records herself for a living, having such a silly, wholesome crush on someone was the most amusing thing they’ve ever heard. But a guy like him, so kind and hot and funny, is worth it, and you won’t deny it.

But being honest, they’re right by showing their surprise. You just don’t come off as the kind of girl who’d fall for a guy like him.

Apart from being kind, hot, and funny, Jeon Jungkook is also extremely popular while still being down to earth. An endangered specimen – if there’s ever been one before. He’s got his tattoos, and his adorable dog, and his decent schoolwork managing skills, and his outstanding talent at any sport to ever exist. And in the meantime, you sometimes catch him staring back, so your mind has to work twice as much to fish for an excuse. You just think it’ll be better in the long run.

Because honestly, people always talk. They point at you, make comments, or ask creepy questions. Surely Jeon Jungkook, with his brilliant future, doesn’t want that just because his cock might get hard with one of your videos.

In a way – a stupid, pointless way – you’re always staring at each other.

“You could try and talk to him one day, you know. Maybe then you’ll see there’s literally not a single thought behind those silly doe eyes.”

You can’t help laughing at Seokjin’s words, almost choking on your coffee. “Isn’t that a bit mean? I thought you liked him.”

“And I do!”

“Hm, look at the time.” You check your phone before putting it back into your purse. “I’d better hurry if I don’t wanna keep my sister waiting. We’ll talk later, okay? And I will not approach him just because. I really don’t need any gossip about me.”

Well, you’re just stressed. You need some money for your Spring break trip to the beach, but you aren’t exactly thrifty. Actually, you’re quite the opposite.

So, you’ve come up with an idea: charging for requests and uploading them to your website. The answer from your subscribers was immediate and increasingly positive, with only one problem.

The most voted idea was a POV, which sadly required another person to join you. Someone with a big, nice cock if it’s possible. You’d ask Seokjin, but he’d never let his almost little sister-like friend suck his cock and give him four orgasms in a row. And it’s not something you’d do either in a world where you weren’t desperate.

You’re not going to lie, there’s only one person you’d want to do that video with – and he’s walking out into the backbar right now.

The two of you stop at the same time as you walk past each other. Not noticing his presence next to you, you keep looking at the poster with the newest sweet additions to the menu and sigh with satisfaction at the fact that you’ll be able to keep enjoying your good old butter croissants.

Then you turn around.

“Oh, shit— sorry! God, I’m so clumsy! Let me help you.”

You squat down to pick up the broken pieces of glass scattered on the floor. When you look up, you’re met with the sight of a staring Jeon Jungkook bent in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to repeat.

His lips twitch as if he wanted to say something, but the man keeps quiet as you hand him back his stuff. You can’t help looking down at his muscular arms, covered in black ink. Although Jungkook remains impassive and cool, here you are, practically malfunctioning – while he’s probably wondering why the cam girl hasn’t left yet.

“Just— be careful. Don’t cut yourself.”

He does look like a bunny, now that you think of it. A really hot bunny.

Fucking shit, you can’t help it, can you? To stare, to drool, to picture your hands stroking down his chest, kneading the flesh. You love ripped guys, especially when it doesn’t get over their heads. You’d eat him up in a second, pinky promise.

“Sorry,” you say again, standing up. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Y/N! Are you okay?”

Namjoon rushes up to you, breaking the strange silence between you and Jungkook. He sees the mess and starts to pick up the broken pieces, asking you to step back just in case. With a nod, the youngest offers to go and fetch a broom, and Namjoon thanks him.

Your friend lets out a laugh. “Only with my homeboy, huh?”

“Hm?”

“You only get like this with Jungkookie,” he explains. “The rest of the time, you’re a merciless succubus.”

“Shut up, he’s gonna hear you,” you groan.

Namjoon starts wiping the floor, and you help him by picking up the plastic bag.

“Do you think he likes you back?”

You shrug. “I guess he might be attracted to me, but I don’t think he likes me... in that sense. I don’t care, though – it’s not like we’re a match or something. I’m probably just attracted too.”

Jungkook comes back with the broom and cleans the floor while you look around in a poor attempt to avoid his eyes. You don’t notice the way he looks at you, nor the pent-up frustration with which he grips the stick of the broom, his lips twitching again.

“Well, I, uh— I’ll leave you to it. And sorry again, I wasn’t looking.”

With that, you rush out of the coffee shop and run down the street until you reach the number you were looking for. Taking out your keys, you open the door and walk in, going directly to the second floor.

When you get into the flat, the storm unleashes:

“God, I was so worried! You should’ve told me you’d be running late.”

Like always, visiting your older sister comes with a nagging and a steamy cup of coffee. You’re enjoying both of them sitting in her kitchen.

“You’re exaggerating,” you groan.

“Yeah, sure, it’s not like any of your creepy fans could ever doxx you or something and kidnap you.” With a raised eyebrow, you stare at her over the mug. “Hm, okay, just build the habit of telling me if you’re gonna be late, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So” – she turns around with a grin and leaves her mug in front of you – “who is this Jungkook guy and why haven’t you asked him out already?”

Your face turns a bright red. “How do you know about—? Fucking Jin...”

“Come on, you’re usually bolder. You really like him, don’t you?” At your shrugging, your sister chuckles. “You’re entitled to like people, you know that, right? And hit on them, and ask them out. Just because you had a few bad experiences—”

“It’s just not gonna happen,” you blurt out. “You know why? First, because he’s not remotely interested in me. And second, because I know, I just know how this is going to end if I do,” you continue, your face growing warmer. “And I don’t care about all the nice guys out there because, in the end, they’re all the same; dicks with an excuse of a brain.”

“You want to have sex with him, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah?”

She laughs again. “Then try the opposite! You think he’d only be interested in the shagging? Go shag. And then see if he stays.”

You bury your face in the palms of your hands, thankful for the chilly contact. The skin cools down, and a sigh escapes from your lips.

“What if he says no?”

“Then he doesn’t want to fuck. That’s uncommon for a man so, one point for him.”

Ah, yes, your sister and her logic; it’s utterly stupid and yet, you always fail to rebuke her absurd reasoning. It’s almost a talent, you think. Maybe that’s why she’s a lawyer.

“Well, I do have a plan,” you murmur.

Her eyes brighten immediately. “Then go for it, tiger! He’s super cute, and super hot! Better get your heart broken by a ten if all men suck.”

The coffee shop is almost closing when you arrive; you had asked Namjoon who was closing tonight so, when you heard it’d be him, you rushed out of your sister’s place to get there in time. This is a one-time chance.

You spot him behind the window, wiping a cup.

There’s a sigh coming out from his mouth when the door jingles open. The common frustration of having a last-minute customer.

“Hey.”

“Ah— it’s you,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, and you frown. “I-I mean, I thought you were some annoying random, sorry… I don’t mind making you a coffee.”

Oh, that was nice. Very nice.

You quietly take a seat at the counter. “Thanks.”

“Uh, so…” You’re lucky Jungkook isn’t facing you, turned from you instead as he turns on the coffee machine. Otherwise, he’d notice your red face and the eagerness with which you listen to him as he stutters, “I-it’s pretty late— for a coffee. Do you have to stay up late tonight?”

“Not exactly.”

Finally, Jungkook turns around and hands you the coffee, looking pretty much puzzled.

“I was wondering if you’d like to work with me,” you finally let out, and your chest feels weightless for a second— until you come back to earth and realise that you’ll have to hear an answer.

He’s looking at you in complete silence.

Maybe he really doesn’t know that you’re a cam girl? Maybe he’s just thinking about what your job could be and how could the two of you possibly work together. Or maybe he’s just zooming out, who knows? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Do you want me to, uh, e-edit a—?” Jungkook gets cut off by his own coughing as his cheeks turn red. “Sorry, edit a video... for you?”

Ah.

Of course he knows.

He knows, so there’s a chance he might have watched one of them. Maybe all of them. Perhaps Namjoon told him about it, or perhaps he thought you looked familiar and asked him. In his mind – and that’s what makes it awkward, and not the fact that he’s probably watched you naked or touching yourself – he knows what you work for, and every single interaction is stained with that.

“Uh— not... Not really.” You don’t notice, but Jungkook holds his breath, and his heart starts beating faster. “It was more along the lines of making one together.”

Your heart is beating fast too.

“Me?”

Well, I’ve been told that you’ve got a big cock, oh, and because I have a crush on you.

You shrug. “Thought you could use the money, and you do have a nice body— your face wouldn’t show, though.”

“I, uh...”

“Just asking if you were down!” you blurt out then, stepping back. “Of course, it’s up to you. I understand if you’re not comfortable with us, uh, having—”

“I-I get you,” he laughs. Now his face is as red as a strawberry.

In silence, you stand there, waiting for an answer. However, it seems like neither of you is functioning properly at the time, so you clear your throat with your heart clenching painfully in your chest and let out a shaky laugh:

“Of course, it’s too weird, so, uh— forget I said anything. Thank you for considering it, have a nice day!”

You rush out of the café, but his voice stops you:

“Wait!”

You turn around and look at him; he looks positively embarrassed, even more than you, although it’s understandable – probably due to the circumstances – so, you wait, breath hitching, for him to continue.

Jungkook looks away. “I— I didn’t say no.”

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” you rush to clarify. “That’s my number.” You hand him a business card, which he seems too afraid to check. “Call me… if you’re interested. I’ll leave now, thank you for your time. And— uh, nothing. Bye.”

“Bye…”

By the time you leave the coffee shop, your heart is beating so hard that you think it could be a stroke. Your cheeks are boiling hot, and you struggle to walk down to the bus stop while your legs wiggle. You did it, it’d done – you’ve already asked Jeon Jungkook to film an erotic video with you for your page.

You don’t get any signs of life from Jungkook until two days later, at two in the morning.

Namjoon told you that they had met some friends for a drink after closing time, so you’re not surprised that he’s up so late. He also tends to go to bed late when he stays up playing console games.

[Saturday, 2:17 AM] Unknown: Hello, Y/N.

[Saturday, 2:17 AM] Unknown: It’s Jungkook.

[Saturday, 2:18 AM] Unknown: I have been thinking about it and, if the offer still stands, I accept.

Your heart immediately somersaults the glowing letters on your screen. Reality fell on your shoulders, and you finally understood that you would be filming that video with Jeon Jungkook. Maybe you could ask him out on a date later, but it’d be tomorrow’s you’s nuisance to worry about rejection. For the time being, you’re going to get on with the script so that you can send it to him as soon as possible.

[Saturday, 5:43 AM] You: Cool, I’ve attached the script. Just let me know if there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable with or want to change. When are you free?

[Saturday, 5:44 AM] You: Of course, we’ll go through your limits before filming.

Jungkook’s reply doesn’t arrive in time for you to read it; as soon as you’re done with it, you plummet into your bed and fall asleep, totally exhausted.

[Saturday, 5:49 AM] Jeon Jungkook: Looking forward to it!

[Saturday, 5:49 AM] Jeon Jungkook: I mean

Jeon Jungkook has deleted this message

The bell goes through your head like a nail. Your mouth is dry and your body trembles, but you get up to open the door in the hope that it’s not Jungkook behind it.

After you had sent him the script, it took him a while to answer. Then, after three hours, he only answered ‘okay’ and asked you when you would be meeting. You agreed on the day and time, and here you are, turning the doorknob with your heart beating through your chest.

“Hi, come in.”

You step aside, and Jungkook walks into your small flat; it’s cute and cosy, with the golden light coming in through the windows. His black clothes soak in it as you watch him get comfortable and, for a second, it feels like he’s coming over for a date, just to hang out. It feels nice, that small, minute, short second.

“Want anything to drink?”

“Yes—” Jungkook clears his throat. “Yes, please. Water’s good.”

You come back with two glasses of water and sit in front of him on the couch, determined to calm down your nerves.

“Okay, so, I understand that you read the script, right?” you ask, and he nods instantly, perhaps too quickly. “Uh, so… is there anything you’d like to change? Anything you don’t feel comfortable with?”

Jungkook glances at you only to look away in the blink of an eye. He’s biting his lip again.

“No, hm, everything sounds good so far. I mean— t-there’s nothing I don’t like, like… there’s nothing that turns me… off.” He eventually gets discouraged to keep talking and gulps down the glass of water in front of him. “Sounds good, you know, with the angle you suggested.”

“Nothing at all? Are you sure? I wrote a lot of things.”

He keeps avoiding your eyes. “Yeah, I’m cool with it… And I brought the test results.”

“Good,” you murmur and take the papers as he hands them out to check them. “All clean, that’s good. I’ve got mine too, and I’m on birth control, obviously.”

“Cool.”

“I liked your suggestions for the plot, by the way.” Maybe it’s better to give Jungkook some praise for his effort, that way he will relax a little around you. “A bit wicked— but in a good way. Did you get it from a movie?”

He turns red in a second, and you have to press your thighs together. “N-no, I— it just came to my mind. I can add the effects later.”

You nod slowly and clear your throat.

Once the both of you have gone through every single detail of the script, you’re half turned on, half mortified. It’s almost as if your brain hasn’t fully processed that you will be doing all of this with Jungkook in an hour, or maybe even earlier.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t come off shaky. “And, well, we can stop at any moment, okay? We’ll just stop everything, no hard feelings.”

“Thank you…”

You give him a robe and show him the bathroom, where he gets changed and washes up only to return to your bedroom; that’s where you record everything, but there is a tarpaulin covering the whole wall, including the window. This way, and with a VPN, you make sure you keep your affairs decently hidden.

You’re also wearing a robe when Jungkook walks in, revealing the sight of your cleavage.

You walk up to him. “All good?” you ask. “Do you want anything? A glass of water? Viagra, or an energy bar?”

Jungkook stares at you, a bit surprised, or taken aback by the joke. You turn around in shame, with an apology on your lips, before you notice the way his cheeks turn red and an amused smile creeps to his own.

“A glass of water’d be great, thanks.”

When you return from the kitchen, you’re also bringing along a bunch of papers. “Here are the test results, I’m all clean. Thank you” – Jungkook hands you his own results, and you skim-read them – “I’m also on birth control, in case I didn’t tell you already, so feel free to, uh…”

“O-okay, gotcha.”

Luckily, he doesn’t make any faces as you shut up, discouraged; why are you acting like an idiot who has no idea what she’s doing? He’s probably regretting it already.

You have prepared the props for filming in your room; your bed, which you insisted on buying with a bar headboard, is already set with the ropes, so all that remains is to tie the victim with them. You’ve done the same with the foot of the bed, as well as the POV camera that’s fitted just above his head. He’s wearing a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and you’ve put on a shirt that shows your nipples through and a pair of panties that are a bit too small so that your folds are marked.

What can you say: you consider yourself a meticulous creator.

“Okay, so I think everything’s ready. You can lie down now; I’ll take care of the rest.”

When Jungkook is finally lying on the bed, you straddle him to fasten the ties around his wrists and ankles.

It’s weird to feel his warm body beneath you after pining for him for so long; you can feel his thighs tensing and flexing under your ass, how he shifts on the mattress, looking down at your hands and how they skilfully tie him to the bed headboard. His eyes burn wherever they land, you fear you might be getting a bit of stage fright.

“How are you doing?” Jungkook murmurs a ‘good’, looking up at you. “Cool… Then we can get down to business.”

Holding your breath, you lean into him to turn on the camera and, as soon as the red light appears, you realise you’ve been holding it for too long and let out a deep sigh. Time to get into character. Don’t think about it, Y/N.

You look down at him; Jungkook stares back, waiting for you to get on with the script.

Faking a wicked smile, you bend over him and dive on his neck for a kiss, being as loud as possible, slurping and groaning. He shivers beneath you, and you feel yourself already getting turned on just by having him at your mercy like this. After all, this is supposed to be erotic.

Suddenly, Jungkook fixes your knee on his crotch and moves it a bit to the left, taking you by surprise.

“Are you awake, sweetheart?” you ask, pretending you aren’t surprised.

As you wait for a response, you bend down to leave a trail of pecks down his jaw and neck, peppering kisses on his shoulder now, as Jungkook stirs beneath you again.

“Uh… w-where am I?” he asks as he stares down at you with a pitiful frown. “Who are you?”

You let out a giggle. “I was hoping you’d recognise me, but I guess I need to be humbled… I’m the girl of your wet dreams, baby.”

“I-I don’t know what—”

You attack his lips this time, delving for a deep kiss. Jungkook eventually closes his eyes and gives in to your kiss, uttering a meek whimper against your lips and pulling at the ropes to no avail. When you move away, you sit on his crotch, happily surprised.

“Oh, what do we have here? Someone’s waking up, look.”

Before he can say anything, you pinch his tip over his trousers. He twitches again, leaking precum, as you can tell from the way a wet patch appears in the fabric.

“I’m sure it’s small, so tiny I wouldn’t even feel it,” you snicker, “but I’ll use it anyway, maybe as a plug for my butt.”

Jungkook whines, feeling himself getting even harder. “I-it’s not small—”

Honestly, when you dropped by the coffee shop and asked him to work with you on a video, he couldn’t believe it. It had always remained a fantasy, and he feared for a second that someone had ratted him out about his crush on you. ‘Someone’ as in ‘Kim Namjoon’, of course.

Jungkook has spent many hours thinking of different ways to ask you out on a date. Ever since he met you, he’s grown obsessed with you and your personality, charm, beauty, and confidence. When he started to notice you getting shy around him, a small flame of hope lit up inside of him, but why would you be into a guy like him? Yes, he isn’t bad looking, but surely, you’d be more into big, strong, sexual guys, wouldn’t you? Real men who had lots of experience in bed.

On the other hand, Jungkook becomes such a mess every time he’s around you; he drops things, he’s unable to form a coherent sentence, and you never seem to be too interested in talking to him for more than five seconds.

Now, is Jungkook in love with you? Before, he would have denied it, that this was just another crush. But now that he’s so close to you, that he can feel the sweat on your skin, that he’s one with you, he has to ask you out. Otherwise, he’ll never be happy again.

Especially now that the feeling of you straddling his lap and playing with his cock is ingrained in his memory.

“Let me go,” he barks, suddenly remembering that he has a script to follow. “I— I won’t tell anyone if you let me go now.”

You lean into him and stroke his cheek. “Why would I?”

Sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, you silence any possible reply from him and kiss him hard against the mattress. Your ass ruts against his cock mercilessly, almost by instinct, eager to feel his whines die in your mouth.

Your hands find their way beneath his shirt. With eager fingers, you brush his nipples and, hearing him whimper, keep pinching them as he stirs, fleeing your touch but at the same time seeking it. You chuckle and tease him for it, and Jungkook can only close his eyes with the genuine wish that he won’t come too soon, or at least before you get the footage you want.

You keep humping his clothed cock, now visibly hard and standing proudly against the fabric of his sweats. Between kisses, you tell him how well he’s doing.

“Let’s make a deal, shall we?” you suddenly say.

Jungkook struggles to peel his eyes open. “W-what deal?”

“If you manage not to cum before me, I’ll let you go,” you continue. “You will be totally free.”

“And— if I do?”

Shit, you forgot about this part. What happened if he came…? You can think of the paragraph and the page, but you really can’t remember the rest of the lines, shit. You totally suck at this—

“I’ll milk your cock dry until you beg me to stop – and only then will I think about it.”

Jungkook stares at you in shock, and for a second, you fear that your impromptu response has gone too far. But then you feel something hard rubbing against your pussy, and you realise that he is unconsciously humping you, twitching and getting bigger and harder.

“You’re fucking nuts,” he cries out.

But you only giggle in response, shoving your hips together as if you were actually riding him. You let out a loud moan, too exaggerated to be true. The constant pressure of your pussy against his crotch makes him arch his back, desperately trying to hold his own whines and grunts to save you the satisfaction of proving you right.

“Look at you! You poor thing,” you exclaim in laughter. “I’m gonna fuck your virgin cock until you pass out.”

Jungkook goes still.

“Oh, thought I didn’t know?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“I—”

You bend down and bite on his neck only to soothe the sting with your tongue. “You thought I didn’t know you’ve never been touched before? You’re popular, but women terrify you, don’t they? You see them and only notice their hard nipples through their shirts and their tight pussies peeking from under their short skirts, and that makes you nervous; if they’re nice to you, you’re not interested. If they’re mean, you spend all day imagining them spanking you or sitting on your face… Don’t lie, you’re a sicko who wants a woman to spit in your mouth and fuck your cute little cock. Do you call them mommy in your fantasies? A mean mommy with a fat ass to hump your pathetic dick and huge tits to suck on.”

“S-shut up,” Jungkook cries out. “Shut up, shut up— you have no fucking idea, y-you don’t know shit—”

“I’d show you my tits and you’d come on the spot,” you laugh.

“S-stop lying!”

“Jesus, you’re gonna burst your pants from how hard you’ve got, sweetheart. And I’m nuts? At least I’m not getting hard just because a girl is making fun of me.”

You start bouncing on his crotch, laughing. The constant pressure of your ass against his cock makes him squirm, spilling out an amusing mixture of insults and plaids for mercy. His cheeks are warm with a blush of embarrassment and arousal.

“No wonder no one has ever touched this cute little cock!” you chirp, finally shoving your hand into his pants. “I bet you spend all day locked in your room, watching porn or hentai or whatever losers like you are into. Fucking into your own hand like a bitch in heat. Thank goodness you live alone, because you would live in constant fear of your mom finding your dirty comics or the huge amount of dry jizz all over your plushies and pillows.”

“I— I always clean up after myself,” he whimpers in the sweetest voice possible, and you wonder if he’s actually being honest.

Time to find out. “Yeah? You don’t fuck into your pillow thinking it’s your crush’s wet pussy and leave it full of your cum with the pathetic feeling that you’re filling her up?” you grunt, getting riled up. The thought of Jungkook wanting to do it to someone else makes your blood boil.

“Y-yes!” Jungkook finally cries out. “Shit, shit— I always fuck my pillow thinking it’s you!”

The woman was too stunned to speak.

“Fuck, it— it always leaks out, I’ve always got so much cum saved up for— for you, mommy. I imagine it’s your pussy I’m filling up, want to milk my cock into your cunt until you’re happy.”

The ache between your legs worsens, and you have to rub your thighs together to ease the pent-up arousal; you’re dripping, could simply sit on his pretty cock and ride him until he’s a crying mess – but this has got way out of hand, you need to get the video back on track.

And you shouldn’t think about why he immediately thought of you when you brought up his crush.

You lean on him and spit on his lips, making him yelp. “Yuck.”

“M-mommy, please—”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Raising your hips off him, you take off your panties; indeed, they are ruined and soaked with your juices. Their only use is to gag Jungkook, and there they go, straight into his mouth.

He has to close his eyes when the scent of your arousal reaches his nose.

It takes him a couple of seconds to process that you’re naked now, at least from the waist down. Only your breasts are covered behind the thin white fabric of your tank top. It’s too small, so the sides of your tits stick out, and the neckline is too wide and barely covers your nipples.

Now, his eyes wander down to your pussy; glistening and dripping wet, Jungkook notices the way you rub your thighs together from time to time.

Kneeling over him, you sit on his chest and lift up your shirt, trying not to care that you’re leaving a trail of your juices across his skin. You’re right on top of the camera, and it really looks like Jungkook’s point of view. So, you grab his head and push it between your tits.

“Slow, dummy babies don’t get to suck on mommy’s boobs, darling. Hurry up.”

His eyes locked with yours, Jungkook opens his mouth to suck on your left nipple as you cradle his head. The contact sends shivers down your spine. Still bound to the bed, he struggles to turn his head and reach closer, eager to flicker his tongue around your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, baby, so good,” you groan.

He shifts to your other breast, and you allow him, too hooked on the pleasure to question his intentions.

Jungkook flicks his tongue with eagerness, hunger, almost desperation. His hips buck into the air, and his restrained cock keeps leaking precum, a wet patch appearing on the fabric. He sucks on your nipple like his life depends on it, unhinging his jaw to reach what he can’t touch.

Shit.

You’ve gone off script enough as it is.

You push him away, and he whimpers. “Well done, sweetheart,” you groan, “but mommy has other plans for you.”

Taking off your shirt, you’re now fully naked on top of him. Jungkook’s eyes roam around your figure and drink it up the sight of your bare body on top of him like it is water and he’s dying of thirst.

It’s time for the good shots, so you turn around so that your dripping folds are right in front of the camara – and right on top of his face, but that’s just a little gift for you. You’re facing his crotch, and with eager hands, you pull down his pants and underwear at the same time, letting his big, red, leaking cock spring up against his stomach. It’s the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, and your mouth waters just at the thought.

Meanwhile, Jungkook has been struggling with the tempting sigh of your pussy right above his head. It tickles his tongue, makes his lips twitch; he can only think about ravishing your cunt like a madman.

It’s practically instinctive when his neck is stretched upwards. You said you were okay with oral. In fact, you enjoyed it. The script is just something to guide you as to the plot; the rest, it can go as it comes up. That torture you promised him wasn’t scripted either, but it’s made his cock hard as if he was in heat. And, if you don’t like it, you can use the safeword too.

Just a bit more while you keep playing with his cock in your hands.

His tongue is already out, like a dog. That’s pretty much what he feels like right now, desperate to fuck your pussy with his mouth.

Shit, you’re dripping.

“I wonder if you can get even harder,” he hears you ramble.

As you get comfortable on top of him, your hips are getting closer to his reach. Your ankles rest under his forearms, you didn’t notice he could lick you for at least a few seconds.

Jungkook doesn’t stop to think and delves his tongue into your pussy, proceeding quickly to suck and lap at your clit. Your juices soak his face, but that only makes his erection grow. Your clit reacts instantly, throbbing between his lips.

“What the— s-shit, Jungkook, what are you—” you manage to moan.

Your first instinct is to push your legs away, but Jungkook is pressing down with his forearms and, by the time you think of moving your hips away, you’re already melting with pleasure. His tongue is quick to lick your clit over and over, relentlessly, as you thrust back. Using his forearms again, he pulls you by your legs so that you’re practically sitting on his face, bent over him, grunting his name.

Saliva runs down his chin. Your taste on his tongue has shoved him into a thoughtless state, he’s only thinking about making you come. His tongue parts your lips and fucks into your entrance with wet, sloppy strokes.

Jungkook lets out a whimper. “Fuck, as good as I thought it’d be,” he cries out, his voice muffled by your folds. “Mummy got dripping just from playing with me, so fucking m-mean—”

You arch your back and thrust back against his tongue, feeling the tension in the pit of your stomach.

He’s got your ankles well locked, and you’re still torn between control and pleasure, so you simply squirm on top of him while Jungkook keeps ravishing your pussy now that you can’t close your legs – nor do you really want to.

But shit, he’s going to make you come if he keeps this up. And, if you do, the deal is off, and the video is over. You’d love to squirt all over his face and force him to drink it up, but you’ve got other plans for him and for you so, as much as you’re loving getting tongue-fucked by this bratty little shit, it’s time to stop him.

“My baby really wanted to lick mummy’s pussy, didn’t he?” you blurt out with a laugh, and his cock twitches, a drop of precum rolling down from his tip.

“W-what?”

“How was your first cunt, sweetheart?” you continue. “Better than your hand, huh? Better than the sad, pathetic hole you make in your stuffed animals to stick your dick in and think it’s me.”

A tear of embarrassment rolls down his cheek. “T-that’s not—”

“Let me return the favour.”

While Jungkook, in a desperate attempt to make you cum, keeps licking and sucking your pussy, you keep yourself decently composed and let a trickle of saliva drip onto his tip. Before he can say anything else, you’re engulfing his cock until your nose is pressed against his pubic bone.

“F-fuck!”

You try to fight a wicked smile with his cock around your lips.

Jungkook’s hips twitch, but that only makes the tip of his cock bump into your throat, ripping a sob from him.

You start bobbing your head up and down; he pulls at his restraints, his head turning to his sides as two thick tears of pleasure roll down his cheeks. Guess this probably is his first time being deep-throated, so better ruin it for everybody coming after.

Fortunately, his bratty tongue is too busy crying and moaning to pay any attention to your pussy, so you sit on his chest and get momentum.

His cock feels hot in your mouth, leaking precum. It’s salty as it mixes with your own saliva running down his shaft. Jungkook is sweating all over, his head spinning like he’s having a fever; after all, the wet heat of your mouth around his cock is too much to handle. It’s coated in your spit, sending waves of pleasure down his spine, making his toes curl, his throat sore from grunting and sobbing. You hollow your cheeks and swallow around him, the vibrations of your moans only worsening the pleasure pooling in his lower back.

“Fuck!” he cries out again. “Of fuck, p-please—!” Jungkook can’t even properly thrash with his feet as they’re tied to the bed as well. “So good, so fucking good!”

You pull the foreskin back to expose the head and dip your tongue into the slit, savouring the taste of his arousal. For a second, you wonder if he’s never really got proper head or if he’s just very sensitive, but you shove the thought to the back of your head and keep going.

“Got anything to say about that misbehaviour from earlier?” you ask, licking down to the base.

“Dunno—”

“Ah, yes, you do.” Your voice comes out soft, too soft. It sends chills down his back. “You grabbed mommy’s ass and ate her pussy without permission, remember?”

Leaning on his thighs, you manage to turn around to face him. You notice his red face and dilated pupils, and he notices your slick, swollen lips.

To your surprise, Jungkook smirks. “But mommy loved it, didn’t she? I almost made her cum—”

You shut him up by swallowing down his cock again, even if he is right; only a couple of minutes more and you would have come all over his face. But you haven’t, and that’s all that matters. Now you have to make him cum so that you can start torturing his spent cock until he’s crying for you to stop.

Jungkook may be used to keeping it down at his shared flat and know how to be quiet, but you can always tell when a guy is close, and you’re surprised at how much he’s been holding it. From how swollen and purplish his cock looks, how much he’s leaking, and the way it reacts, throbbing and twitching at your touch, he must have been on edge for a while.

“Are you a masochist, perhaps?” you ask, rather to yourself.

Your hands find his base again and start pumping him, both of them. The contact feels kind of dry, though, despite his arousal dripping through your fingers, so you bend down and spit on the head again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, really,” you continue, jerking him off like it’s just one more chore. “A crazy chick ties you to the bed to fuck you and the first thing you do is get a hard-on. No wonder only your plushies are willing to let you hit it— though they can’t really say anything, can they?”

With a shaky gasp, Jungkook bites his lip and closes his eyes; he needs to stop either seeing or hearing you if he wants to hold on any longer, but your breasts are right in front of him, covered in a glistening layer of sweat, your erect nipples that he just had in his mouth, your pussy radiating heat and dripping down your inner thighs. If only you would sit on his cock and ride him until you cum and scream with pleasure, choke him, spit in his mouth, use him like he uses his poor childhood stuffed animals.

Then this torture would be over, he would climax inside you and stuff you with his cum, til it’s dripping. And the next torture would begin.

“Come on, the last test. If you pass it without cumming, I’ll let you go, okay, sweetheart?”

Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts; suddenly, you’re straddling his lap, the tip of his cock brushing against your folds. The brief pleasure, more like a feeling-induced fantasy turned into a touch, makes him shudder and take a deep breath.

“This” – you yank off his shirt, buttons popping out – “off.”

Raking your nails through his hair, you yank it and force him to look at you in silence. His chest heaves and falls as he stares into your eyes.

Your thumb strokes his bottom lip. “It’s a pity that such a pretty face belongs to a pervert like you.”

“I’m not a pervert!”

“Yadda, yadda,” you mock him, tilting up his chin to get access to his jaw and bite him. “Whatever, I have no interest in your pathetic excuses – if you weren’t a pervert, you wouldn’t be hard right now.”

“I-it’s a biological response!” Jungkook insists.

“Hm, yeah, sure. Then you won’t mind if I don’t fuck you, right—? What’s more, you’ll be glad.”

To add weight to your words – and torture him a little in the process – you start moving your hips up and down against his cock, rubbing him with your folds. He twitches between your inner thighs, and you keep circling and undulating your hips over his tip, every now and then pretending you’re going to finally sit on him. His head penetrates you for a second, and you fuck yourself on it, one, two, three thrusts until you decide to press your ass against it.

“Just imagine if I let you fuck my ass,” you laugh. “Just think about it, sweetheart.”

“It’d be s-so tight,” he blurts out, “around my cock! Shit, I wish I could— I wish I could eat your ass, and then your pussy, and then fuck you open with my cock—”

“Fuck—”

You find yourself grinding on his swollen tip, rubbing your clit against his sensitive skin, too turned on by his words; yeah, you’d like him to eat your ass as well. Jungkook is trying to muffle the whimpers coming through his lips, but the pressure is getting heavier.

Moving in a quick thrust, you sit down on his cock. He works you open as it disappears into your body, a moan leaving your lips. Your fingers dig into his shoulders for leverage, hips setting a pace as you bounce on his cock. It massages your inner walls, with sounds of smacking flesh, working thigh muscles as you melt at the shocking waves of pleasure.

“Ngh—” Jungkook lets out a whimper and pulls at the restraints. “Fuck! Oh, fuck—”

Your skin prickles, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone. It’s dripping, the ache between your thighs expanding while you chase your climax.

Jungkook pants, head bumping against the headboard, victim to the rolls and thrusts of your hips. Your tits are bouncing right in front of him, their round shape and hardened nipples so, so tempting, making his mouth water while his cock throbs and twitches between your walls. You clench around him, and he whines again. His nerves feel on fire, and the sight of your bare figure fucking yourself on his cock only worsens it.

Your hand slithers to pinch one of your nipples. Playing with it, arching your back, you let out a huff and roll your hips in undulating waves, cunt engulfing him over and over and soiling it with your juices.

You feel his tip bumping against your sweet spot when Jungkook suddenly cries; two thick tears roll down his cheeks, and you bend over to kiss them clean.

“Slow, s-slower, please, go—” he sobs, face red. “Shit! I’m— fucking hell, go slow! G-go slow!”

As he pulls at the restraints in pure desperation, his hips buck into you, jerking and trembling like he’s got no control over them. Jungkook is begging you to slow down, but the blazing way he’s fucking up into you, trying to reach your breasts and suck on your nipples again, wanting to get rid of the restraints so that he can grab your ass and pound into your dripping pussy only fuels him.

“Shut up, little bitch,” you grunt.

Before he can say anything else, you shove your nipple into his mouth and hover over him, your core aching at the wet pressure of his tongue around your hardened buds. You pull at his hair, and his eyes suddenly roll back.

He grows harder inside of you. “Oh fuck, oh, n-no, fuck, stop!” he cries out. “Shit, stop! Slow, slow down—!”

Only when you feel him going still on the mattress and the sweet feeling of hot cum filling you up do you understand he just came inside you.

You keep bouncing on his cock, and Jungkook’s seed eventually gets pumped out of your insides by his own cock. It leaks down your inner thighs and pools on his lower stomach, but you only lean onto him to bite on his neck while he sobs at the painful yet glorious feeling of your pussy milking every last drop of his yummy cum.

“Oh, baby,” you coo with amusement, scratching down his chest, “you just made this so much easier.”

Overstimulation kicks in when you resume bouncing on his spent cock, careful not to let him slide out of your cunt; Jungkook sobs and grunts as he writhes on the bed, pulling the restraints.

You grab his chin and spit into his mouth before you kiss him hard. Your teeth leave small bites on his lips and chin, peppering short kisses to swallow his sobs, embracing him to restrict his squirms. He’s crying so prettily into your lips, you want to eat him up.

“Please, p-please—! Hurts!”

Sucking the flesh of his neck, you let the red mark blossom. “A deal is a deal, sweetheart.”

Deal or no deal, you ride him chasing your climax, sweating and melting into him. Your clit rubs against his pubic bone, and the coiling tension in the pit of your stomach tightens. Jungkook writhes beneath you, and his toes curl in a poor attempt to let out a little of the pleasure that pushes him towards another orgasm. The sight of his cum dripping down your legs mesmerises him, your pussy engulfing his cock over and over again.

Fuck, you look so hot right now; he’s going to explode in a heart-shaped puddle of pleasure, he can’t stop the tears either. It’s torture, the best kind, how you’re touching him, stroking his skin, licking down his lips to his sweaty chest, playing with his hair. There’s almost a certain sense of affection in the ways of your hands.

“Please,” Jungkook cries out.

“Fuck,” you moan, closing your eyes. “Baby, you’re gonna make me come~“

Your words make his heart stop for a second. They fuel a fire in his abdomen and raise goosebumps all over his skin, and Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath as the pain starts to mix with the tortuous pleasure.

You keep bouncing on him, ass striking against his hips at a brutal pace. “God! Shit, shit, baby, I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

“Please!” he begs.

The ache between your thighs makes your core tighten, your muscles burn, your sweat is boiling on your skin, dripping down between your breasts.

With one last powerful thrust, the tension snaps, and suddenly you’re bursting out in an explosive orgasm, squirting all over him. You scream out, squishing his cock with your dripping walls, moaning his name and burying your nails in his chest. The shockwaves grip your body, and you ride out your orgasm with slower rolls of your hips.

“Fuck, baby,” you let out in a weak breath, “you made me spill myself all over you.”

When you finally peel your eyes open, you notice Jungkook staring down at the pool of fluid on his lower stomach. His pupils are so dilated that they merge with his irises. You can feel his cock twitching inside you, and his hips are bucking into you subconsciously.

“M-mommy—”

You’re too exhausted to be careful not to drop on top of him and leave a feverish trail of kisses down his neck, holding his face and brushing your lips together, swirling your tongue around his.

“Mommy,” he calls again.

“Yeah…?”

“I’m—” Jungkook lets out a whimper when you shove your hand between his legs. “I’m c-close.”

“Again?” you ask with a hint of mockery in your voice.

He pouts and closes his lips in embarrassment, but the way his cock throbs and twitches as you circle the tip of your index finger on his cock feels too good to stifle his noises. You have such cute hands; he’d die just to see them covered in his cum.

You move down his body in a trail of kisses and nibbles, enjoying the smell of his skin, so warm and intense. The room smells of sex, and it turns you on so much that your mouth salivates.

“Let me take care of you.”

Scooting between his legs, you stroke up and down his Apollo’s belt as he arches his back into the touch, desperate to come. His cock pressed against his tummy, you grab it and spit on it right before dipping your tongue into the slit. Jungkook pants in surprise and squirms and, making eye contact, you part your lips around his cock and swallow around it.

Jungkook whines and tries his best to hold his hips still, but the feeling of being engulfed in your wet heat only engorges the tension in the pit of his stomach. Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, not yet, he chants in his head.

Sucking and bobbing your head on his cock, you enjoy how he responds to your touch; Jungkook is burning all over, writhing, twitching between your lips at the suction.

“Fuck,” he gasps, “y-your mouth—”

You don’t bother to reply and simply hum around his cock, and the vibrations send shivers of pleasure down his spine. His eyes stare at your lips, darkened and wet with saliva so, using hands and lips together, you start sucking his tip with sloppy strokes of your tongue and suction from your lips as your hands play with his balls. Jungkook lets out a breath moan, increasingly agitated and desperate.

Then you slide him out of your mouth, and he stares at you a bit confused – until he sees the way you just hover over him with your mouth wide open above his tip and gets it. Shyly, Jungkook bucks his hips into your wet heat, letting out a muffled moan.

“You— you can’t be for real—” he whines.

You tilt your head in silence, waiting for him to shove his cock into your mouth again.

He starts fucking your mouth with desperate thrusts, hitting the back of your throat. Tears make his vision blurry, and a wave of heat spreads under his skin. He’s half ashamed, half turned on just at the very thought of him having to fuck your face to cum while you stay there, hovering over him with your mouth open. The grip of your tongue around his cock is heavy and wet, you’re so mean to him, just letting him jerk his hips like a bitch in heat.

“I’m gonna— fuck!” Jungkook lets out a grunt and a desperate gasp, fighting the restraints and fleeing your mouth; but you grab his ass again and bury his cock into your mouth until your nose is pressed against his pubic bone, and you hollow your cheeks, fucking him between your lips. “C-coming! Slow, s-slow down, I’m— oh fuck, please!” he sobs.

His hips stutter, and suddenly he’s spilling himself into your mouth, dissolving into pleasure with a choked sob and your name on his lips. It’s bitter, but Jungkook’s contracted face, with two thick tears soaking down to the corners of his lips, and red cheeks makes it all worthwhile.

You help him ride out his climax with your hand wrapped around his cum-stained cock, but soon Jungkook is writhing beneath you and bursting out in tears of actual pain, and you let go of him.

Lying eye to eye, he watches you lean onto him and open up your mouth; a pool of cum rests on your tongue, and he doesn’t hesitate to open his mouth and lets you kiss it back into the source system, massaging your tongues together and rolling them over each other. A drop of white cum rolls down the corner of his mouth, but you’re both too busy making out naked on top of each other to care about it.

“We’re gonna have so much fun tonight, sweetheart,” you whisper.

After a pause, you get up and reach the camera to turn it off; suddenly Jungkook snaps out of something like a dream, and he remembers that you’re actually working. A feeling of shame and sadness washes over him, and he's so exhausted both mentally and physically that he feels the urge to cry.

“Okay, I turned it off.” You rush to undo the restraints on his wrists and massage the red marks with your thumbs to get the blood circulating again. “Does it hurt? I’ll get you something for the marks.”

In a thoughtful silence, he shakes his head.

“Good.”

You turn around and lean on his legs to undo the knots of his ankles as well, and Jungkook closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. His heart is still trying to burst his ribcage open and get out of his chest, and now that the frenzy of the video is over, a dread falls over him; what is he going to do about you now?

“Uh, Y/N?” he asks, unsure.

Smiling, you look up at him with the rope in your hands. “Yes?”

Courage.

“Can I… take you out to dinner some day?”

“Don’t laugh!” you exclaim, laughing. With a napkin, you wipe away the milkshake foam that stains your chin and the corners of your lips. “It’s not funny, you should have told me earlier. I’m sure everyone has noticed.”

The terrace where you are sitting is practically deserted except for a few tourists and a couple of birds circling over your food. With the sun shining brightly above you, you prop yourself up on your elbows as your tummy aches from laughing so hard, and Jungkook glances at the menu with a growing smile.

“I didn’t know you cared so much about the opinion of three people and seven birds,” he jokes.

“Hey, it’s eight birds, sweetheart. And the tourists are carrying a camera,” you insist, grabbing the menu from him with a playful frown, “what if I come out in the background looking like Father Christmas? I’d never get over it.”

“Then Father Christmas had a glow-up – when he was a kid, he’d just eat the biscuits and leave. Anyway, should we order to share or is it every man for himself?”

“We’d better share, I want to try it all,” you murmur as you take a sip from your drink.

Jungkook frowns. “You’ll get a tummy ache like last time.”

“You don’t have to remind me!” With a giggle, he takes the menu again. “It was so embarrassing, on our first date on top of that.”

He scoops to the other side of the table and steals a kiss from you, letting you cup his face and deepen the contact. “Okay, just order anything you want,” he says, sliding the menu back to you. “I’ll eat what you can’t fit in your tummy.”

You thank him with a short peck on the lips, and Jungkook returns to his seat.

“Oh, by the way,” you say casually, stirring your milkshake with your straw, “I have some good news and some bad news, which one do you want first?”

He frowns. “Well... The bad one, I guess?”

“The bad news is that I can’t use the video we made because you can hear us saying each other’s names. The good news is that it means we can make it again.”

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

Note

I’m so sorry for this guys but

AITA for telling someone their horse was masturbating?

Basically does what it says on the tin. For those of you who don’t know horses can masturbate. It’s most common in male horses under the age of three who have not had their testicles removed and who are confined to a stall or small pen and get really bored. They typically grow out of the behaviour once they’re older or given more freedom. Some owners try to train them to stop it from happening but most just ignore it because it’s better than other boredom behaviours like cribbing and wind-sucking (both are SFW to Google btw).

Anyway, I’m a groom and stable hand, mid-twenties now but been working at my job since I was fifteen (part-time then, now full-time). The stable I work at boards horses and gives lessons but also offers training for young horses, so we get a lot of OTTB here – that is “off-the-track Thoroughbreds”, so ex-racing horses that people typically buy cheap and then retrain to be show jumpers or dressage horses or whatever. One such horse is Bert, who is the horse in question in this situation.

Bert has excellent bloodlines but he sucked as a racing horse so he was sold OTT. The man who bought him, I’ll just call him John, knows nothing about horses – he’s a total beginner in every way, has never ridden and pays other people (including me) to take care of Bert, but claims to be an expert in everything equine because Bert cost him so much money (I don’t know the actual amount but he’s in the section of the stable where the $20,000 Warmbloods are boarded so I’m assuming around that amount which is a lot yes but also not the most expensive horse we’ve had here).

Anyway the actual story – I’m at work cleaning out stalls when John walks past, he completely ignores me as he always does so I do the same and get back to work. A few minutes later he goes sprinting back in the opposite direction which I thought was weird but whatever, I kept mucking, until I heard him shouting for help. I went out into the aisle and he’s there shouting at another groom and demanding to know the emergency vets number (it was a weekday morning btw, so he didn’t need the emergency vet, he just needed the regular vet but that’s meaningless anyway). I went over to see what was happening and he tells me his horse (Bert) is ‘acting weird’ and needs a vet immediately, so I offer to go see Bert for myself and then call the vet if necessary.

So basically yeah Bert was masturbating. Had an erection, was rocking about rubbing it on his tummy, and did NOT want anyone going in his stall or touching him. John points at Bert and says something like “see, he’s sick!” and then tells me Bert tried to attack him when he entered the stall and I just, I dunno, I cough and say that Bert is fine and just wants some privacy right now, figuring that the obvious erection might be a giveaway as to what’s happening? But John turned to me and blurts out word for word “are you an actual retard” and then starts cursing at me and telling me I know nothing and Bert needs a vet etc and so on. I kind of blanked on everything else he said after he called me a retard to be honest because WTF? I don’t really know what went on in my brain in the next few seconds but I ended up shouting – yes, shouting, extremely loudly, it fucking echoed in the stable – “he doesn’t need a vet because HE’S JUST MASTURBATING” in John’s face and then walking back to the stall I’d been mucking.

As I got back to the stall I heard laughter from a couple of aisles over. Apparently my co-workers and some riders who were there had all heard me shout and found it hilarious, and that made me laugh too because it was so freaking ridiculous. I honestly kind of forgot the entire encounter afterwards because we had a horse who actually needed a vet a little while later and yeah, John and Bert just slipped my mind.

I didn’t remember until that afternoon when my boss came to see me and said he’d had a complaint from John who wanted me fired. I did not get fired but I did get ‘warned’ (just a formality, my boss didn’t actually punish me but wanted me to act like I had been if John questioned me later, which he never did). John complained that I’d treated him like an idiot, spoken down to him, and “acted above my position” (those were the exact words he used) causing people to laugh at him. I explained the entire situation to my boss, who also laughed, and that was that, nothing else ever came of it aside from my co-workers telling the story of me shouting HE’S MASTURBATING so loudly it scared a pony into jumping so suddenly that it farted to everyone they possibly could.

Since then John has ignored me even more than before which I honestly consider a blessing, and I would leave this situation thinking I’m NTA except that one of my co-workers brought their boyfriend to the stable recently and when they introduced us the boyfriend said something like ‘oh right, you’re the asshole who talks down to people who don’t know everything about horses’ and yeah. My co-worker was blindsided by that as well and we basically both said you don’t have to know everything about horses to know what an erection means, but since then I’ve been wondering if I am TA in this situation? Like, clearly there were better ways to tell John what his horse was doing, but he called me a retard and also I get paid to take care of horses not to teach the birds and the bees to fifty year olds so I don’t know. I’ll let Tumblr decide.

So, AITA for telling John his horse was masturbating?

Additional info: I'm on a rota with other stable hands so I sometimes groom Bert, muck his stall, attend to his vet/farrier appointments, give him worming paste, etc and so on. I am not his trainer and have no input into when he gets to leave his stall. I've mentioned to my boss a couple of times that he boredom stims and should be in a paddock with other young horses, but John refuses to agree to that for reasons I don't know. My boss has since spoken to Bert's trainer who is now trying to convince John to let Bert have more time outdoors.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #slur cw

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montrealmadison · 5 months

Text

in your palace warm, mighty king

okay i’ve recently found myself on angel tree tiktok. if you’re unfamiliar with the concept, basically, some stores will put out a tree around the holidays with gift tags for anonymous local kids, and people coming in to do their own shopping can take a tag off the tree and buy kids gifts off their wishlists for the store to pass off to them. (the linked video shows it in action!)

anyway this got me thinking about jack zimmermann at the beginning of his career. he has been fabulously wealthy and privileged for his whole life, but he’s only recently started earning a massive salary of his own and has no real idea of what to spend it on. he’s comfortable. he has a car and a nice apartment and an engagement ring hidden somewhere in said apartment. he knows he should probably donate to a worthwhile cause, but he hasn’t figured out what.

one day, though, bitty’s visiting for the weekend and comes to the store with him, and right there in the entryway, he just… stops. jack doesn’t notice and consequently almost runs him over with the cart.

“you alright? careful, eh?”

bitty does not respond, because he’s looking at the tree.

“bud?”

jack follows his gaze. it really doesn’t look like much. it’s fake, unlit, and has seen better days if the way it’s a little flattened on one side is anything to go by. there is an equally squashed-looking stuffed snowman sat on the floor next to it. it’s the kind of thing your eyes slide over easily, hurrying from one place to another. blink and you’ll miss it.

bitty isn’t blinking.

“lord, i haven’t seen one of these in years,” he says. his voice is soft. he still isn’t looking at jack. “do you know what it is?”

jack doesn’t, so bitty explains. and when they inch closer, jack sees that all the ornaments he thought were plain paper before are actually printed with ages, shoe sizes, requests for warm coats and toys and cute jeans and deodorant. here and there is a specific wish—a bluetooth speaker. a particular board game. one kid, age eight, is fervently hoping for a bike.

and—okay. here’s the thing. they’ve been together for more than a year, and bitty is pretty willing to go along with jack’s desire to spoil him. but although he’s so open and accepting when jack wants to kiss him, or cook dinner for a change, or lay him out on their bed and make him feel good—he will always, always get uncomfortable where significant amounts of money are involved. it was the subject of the one and only fight that sent them to bed still heated. the fundamental difference between their upbringings is the hardest for them to grasp: jack has never known a life without plenty. and bitty—

“i think my parents put me on one,” bitty says. “the year we moved back to madison, after—”

the closet looms between them, black and yawning.

“well. you know. coach had to leave a good job in lawrenceville. took us a while to get back on our feet, i think. and that year, they couldn’t—i mean, i heard them talking at night about how we might not be able to make christmas work, when they thought i couldn’t hear them. but i still wrote my letter to santa, and there were a couple presents when i woke up christmas morning, so.” he scuffs one shoe on the industrial carpet. “maybe an angel sent ‘em.”

the words make something sizzle down jack’s spine and settle low in his gut. he steps forward, reaches out, turns over the nearest tag.

boy, age 11. shoe size: 8. wishlist: sneakers, earbuds, basketball, patriots merch, chapter books. loves fantasy and mythology.

once upon a time, jack spent three months in a rehab center designed specifically for the privacy needs of celebrity clients. his parents footed the bill, had the windows on all their cars tinted for him to hide behind when he got out. at the same time, thousands of miles away, bitty sat at the top of the stairs in his parents’ house and listened to them wonder if they could afford to keep the magic of christmas alive another year.

people are stepping around them to get out of the cold, now, their eyes skipping right over the tree and the boys in front of it. once upon a time, strangers on the street picked apart jack’s overdose like a piece of tabloid gossip. strangers on the street made sure a thirteen-year-old kid had something to unwrap with his family on christmas morning.

“bits?”

bitty sniffles, swipes at one eye with the sleeve of his sweater. “yeah?”

jack lifts the tag gently off its branch, catches bitty’s gaze. bitty’s intake of breath is so sharp it’s audible over the music playing overhead. do you see what i see?

“what do you think? wanna go get us another cart?”

#and then they buy those kids presents like it’s NOBODY’S BUSINESS #sorry this really got away from me but like… come on #my teeth are rotting out of my head jack zimmermann you’re a dingdong a gentleman and a scholar #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #omgcp #omgcheckplease #my writing

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acescorazon · 5 months

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Crocodile x Mihawk x Buggy fic idea for you: Mihawk and Crocodile are stunned when they each discover both Yoru and Crocodile's gold hook missing. The both of them immediately suspect that Buggy did something. Pissed six ways to Hell they go looking for their "fearless leader". They find him in one of the workshops and all anger is replaced with astonishment when they find Buggy polishing Yoru to a radiant shine, while Crocodile's hook hand is already gleaming like it's been kissed by the sun itself. When they get closer, Mihawk is quietly stunned to see that Buggy has gone so far as to rewrap the hilt of the strongest blade in brand new gleaming white leather. Buggy does his best to be non-chalant as he explains that he simply wants his " Lieutenants" looking their best as he hands Crocodile his hook and assures Mihawk he's almost done polishing Yoru. The gesture actually shifts Mihawk and Crocodile's attitude towards Buggy after that. Before he knows it, Buggy is the one getting stunned when he winds up with the world's strongest swordsman and the former but still formidable leader of Baroque Works declaring that they are both in love with him and mean belong to him just as much as he does to them. Cue the absolute chaos that somehow becomes a genuinely loving throuple and a true for to be reckoned with in the pirate world.

IK WE'VE ALREADY TALKED BUT HI AGAIN POOKIE LOL. Anyways this is going to be another one of the requests i turn into a little series, if you didn't see the post where i went into more details click here. (That's if you want to, you don't have to LOL.) ALSO PT2 this is going to be the series i was talking about where i'm going to try and experiment with alternating POVS as mentioned here.

Anyways i hope everything goes well, and i'm going to debut the first three chapters before we get into anything serious, (but again, as mentioned before, i want everyone's feed back please so i know this is something yall might want again in the future. ((OR MIGHT NOT LOL) ) ) I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS THO POOKIE AND ILY MUAHHHHH.

AWYWHOREEEEEE LETS GET IT.

Title: Buggy's guide to bagging boyfriends

Ch: 1/?

Rating: PG-ish for now ig (But let's talk later about it.)

Word count: 2835

Chapter except:

The room fills with tension as the two other members of Cross Guild glare at him, and Crocodile is the first to speak up, “Where’s my damn hook?!” He asks, and even though it's first thing in the morning, his voice is still, loud, deep, and intimidating, and he doesn’t sound like he’s in a good mood… but, then again, Buggy doesn’t think he ever is. Mihawk follows suit, asking his own question afterwards in a significantly quieter, yet equally as intimidating voice, “...And why do you have my sword?”

Well, so much for the surprise...

It’s not like Buggy’s a workaholic or anything like that, he’s far from it actually. It’s just that even after he’s done doing his duties for the day, he often finds it hard to shut his brain off at night. He often tosses and turns in his bed, thinking about what he has to do in the morning or for the week, and sometimes finds himself wanting to get a head start on things. Tonight, he finds himself in another one of those situations, unable to sleep no matter how hard he tries because he keeps on thinking about Cross Guild and all that he has to do.

He has to have new weapons and medical supplies ordered, and he also has new men to welcome into the crew, each of whom he has to find a job for because Mihawk and Crocodile, while skilled in many things, aren’t big fans of doing the more simple tasks; like assigning their men jobs or giving them pep talks, or sending their families money after they’ve made an enemy out of themselves for attacking the marines. Damn, he has more bounties that need to be made too, and he has old ones that need to be taken off the market.

There’s so much to do, and part of him wants to go to sleep, but another part of him also wants to get back up and get right back to work again. It’s weird.

Two, three, and then four o'clock, quickly passes him by as he continues to think about all that he has to do. He feels full of energy right now despite the fact that prior to lying down, he felt exhausted. He kept yawning and could barely keep his eyes open, but now, as he lies in his bed, it seems like he can’t fall asleep no matter how hard he tries. It seems like his previous exhaustion was just a sick prank his brain played on him. Thanks, brain. He continues to think about Cross Guild, he wasn’t exactly serious about it before. He was more or less just in it because he needed to repay his debt to Crocodile, but now… Well, he can’t say it’s the worst thing in the world.

It has its cons of course: Mihawk and Crocodile are always bullying him, plus they make him run around like a chicken with its head cut off, doing what could only be considered more of a manager role than the big boss role, but Buggy kind of enjoys it actually. It makes the days go by a little quicker because he has so many things to do and men to look after these days, and he thinks his responsibilities are only going to grow in the future.

His thoughts shift slightly, and he goes from thinking about all the things he needs to do to thinking about his ‘subordinates’ and his relationship with them. Buggy’s always had a rather rocky relationship with Mihawk and Crocodile but…It’s not like he would be opposed to being their friend or anything like that, the two just never seemed interested in anything other than a work relationship (or beating him up.) But maybe if Buggy actually put in an effort to be their friend, they could fix things and this Cross Guild thing could really kick ass! Perhaps if he did something nice for them, they’d stop hating him and see that Buggy’s not that bad of a guy after all.

Should he do that?

He finds himself wondering if he should just give this whole Cross Guild thing his all, you know, make the best out of a bad situation because he’s not going anywhere any time soon… Maybe there are ways to make his, Mihawk, and Crocodile’s relationship better, like, maybe he could get them all matching red cloaks, that’d make them look like a flashy team, right?? Okay, they’d probably kill him on the spot if he did something like that. Oh, uh, maybe he could gift them some sake! Wait…They’re kind of snobby and only drink aged wine or some crap. Uh, uh… what could he do for them?

A sudden idea pops up in Buggy’s mind and he glances over at the clock by his bedside again, wondering how in just a few short seconds it went from four in the morning to almost six. Gah, time doesn’t make sense, but that doesn’t matter right now.

What are the most important things to Crocodile and Mihawk? Why, it’s their hook and sword of course! Well, actually, he’s pretty sure the most important thing to Crocodile is money and power, but that doesn’t matter! What if he shined their things for them!! That would be nice, wouldn’t it? And then they would definitely stop hating him and being mean to him, right? They’d have to! They’ll want to be his best friend if he does something that nice!! Buggy will give Crocodile’s hook and Mihawk’s sword a nice shine, and then they’ll be all like, ‘Oh, my god, Buggy. You’re so amazing, you’re so wonderful, you’re so sexy and smart, we love you!!!!’ Okay, wait, they probably won’t do the last thing, but Buggy can hear their praises now.

God, he’s so smart.

Buggy hops out of bed, quickly gets himself dressed, and then makes his way out of his tent. The island feels so calm and peaceful right now as his men continue to sleep in the early morning hours. Everything is deserted and quiet, and Buggy enjoys the scenery, finding Emptee Bluffs island the most beautiful during early summer mornings such as this. Buggy just so happens to notice that the sun is just barely beginning to peek over the horizon as he heads to Crocodile’s tent first, and he takes a moment to admire its beauty before continuing on with his tasks. He's so excited for this! He’s going to have two, not one, but two, super cool best friends!

As Crocodile’s tent comes into view, Buggy’s heart starts pounding in his chest because, despite knowing he has nothing but good intentions, he knows that if Crocodile were to discover what he plans on doing, then he’d wring his neck for sure. So, he quietly sneaks into Crocodile’s tent, and in his room, he can just barely make out the soft sounds of snoring coming from over at his bed. Perfect, Buggy thinks, hoping that there might be a chance that Crocodile doesn’t sleep with his hook on, and as he crouches down and makes his way slowly across the dimly lit room, he notices the object of his desire lying right on top of Crocodile’s nightstand.

Perfect. He’s going to be so surprised! Buggy’s going to just take this for a little while, but he’s going to make sure he returns Crocodile’s hook, and of course, Mihawk’s sword, before either of them realizes that their belongings have even gone missing!

Buggy quickly snatches up Crocodile’s hook, clutching it close to his chest, and then goes after his next target: Yoru. He thinks things might be a little more difficult considering that Mihawk may very well be awake at this time since he seems like an early riser, and Buggy has often seen him taking morning walks around the island or getting a cup of coffee from the cafeteria. It’ll be alright though, maybe he’ll be asleep or out of his tent. Buggy wastes little time making his way over to Mihawk’s tent, peeking his head in first to see if he’s awake or even inside, and when he realizes that his tent is empty, but Yoru is resting against the side of his bed, he grins, grabbing Mihawk’s beloved sword and quickly making a run for it.

Buggy can try to hide Crocodile’s hook but, obviously, it’ll be a little hard given its size, but there’s no way that he could possibly hide Mihawk’s sword, so he makes a quick run for it towards one of the island’s workshops, grunting on the way there from the sheer weight of both items. He looks around the shop once he’s inside, searching for some polishing cream and a rag, and struggling for a moment because he doesn’t usually come to this place. Usually, he just stops by for a few minutes to check up on his men, so he doesn’t know where anything is. Everything is so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time, but he eventually finds what he needs and begins working on his surprise, having a seat on a stool and polishing Crocodile’s hook first.

He grunts again as he holds the heavy metal in his hands, wondering how Crocodile can even use this as a prosthetic with how heavy it is. He thinks it has to be at least a good thirty pounds alone, but that’s none of Buggy’s concern, he just took it so that he would be able to give it the shine it needs. Not only does giving this bad boy a good shine seem nice, but wouldn’t it be cooler if Crocodile engaged in battle with the Marines or even one of the mighty four emperors (not Buggy though.) and he had the coolest, most shiniest, most bad ass hook the world’s ever seen?!

Hell yeah, it would be! Crocodile is going to look so freaking cool thanks to Buggy!!!

He polishes the hook once, but it honestly doesn’t look shiny enough the first time around, so Buggy decides to polish it again, and then actually a third time because he wants that bad boy to shine like a diamond…even though it’s gold. It doesn’t matter, he just wants it to look pretty. He wants it so shiny that light will bounce off it and blind people, that’s how shiny he wants Crocodile’s gold hook to be, and as he finishes polishing it, he smiles to himself, now a little sweaty because of the poor ventilation in the workshop.

Buggy moves on to Yoru next and as he holds the sword up, he once again takes the time to mentally complain about the pure weight of the object alone, wondering how Mihawk carries the damn thing on his back all the time without having any problems. He must have a spine made out of steel.

(Buggy wishes he could say the same.)

Buggy stares at the sword, admiring its beauty for a moment before lying it down on the workbench in front of him, he notices as he begins to polish the blade that the bandages around the hilt are a little ragged and dirty now, most likely from how much its owner uses it, and Buggy gets another idea in his head at that moment, wondering if there’s anything that he can rewrap the hilt of the sword with. He figures that he’ll worry about that a bit later though as he begins to polish Yoru, and just like with Crocodile’s hook, Buggy can’t help but think that the sword would look so much cooler and prettier if it was shinier. Like, yeah, it’s already stunning, but it just needs that extra layer of flashiness to really make it stand out, and so he takes his time polishing the blade, shining it until it’s bright and pretty, and so dazzling it makes Buggy’s eyes hurt, and once he’s done he looks for something to rewrap the hilt with.

It takes him a little while, but he does eventually find some white leather that he thinks could probably be used to wrap the hilt with, and he begins to unwrap the bandages from around the sword, which, by the way, takes a whole lot longer than Buggy thought it would. He eventually manages to get the bandages wrapped around the hilt off though, and then proceeds to wrap, and unwrap, and then wrap the sword again. He does this several times because this too, isn’t as easy as he thought it would be, but he slowly starts to figure out how to make the leather around the hilt look juuuust right...When all of a sudden, he hears loud, quick footsteps coming from the outside of the tent, but he figures it's just his men ready to start their day.

How long have I been here? Buggy wonders as he continues to wrap Yoru’s hilt. He doesn’t have a watch on him, but he doesn’t feel like he’s spent that much time in the workshop, maybe because he’s genuinely enjoying himself and likes the idea of possibly making Mihawk and Crocodile happy?

“Hey, Clown, you in there?!”

Buggy pauses in an instant. Crocodile…? He wonders, taking a moment to figure out who the gravelly voice that just called out to him belongs to. Oh no! The surprise, it’s going to be ruined if he doesn–

Too late.

Mihawk and Crocodile come barging into the tent, both red in the face and looking like they want to snap Buggy’s neck but to be fair, they always look like that. Buggy pauses for a moment and stares up at his two chief officers, unsure of how to explain himself now that he’s been caught. Damn it, he really thought that he could get everything done before they realized their stuff was missing!! Seriously, how long has he been in the workshop?!

The room fills with tension as the two other members of Cross Guild glare at him, and Crocodile is the first to speak up, ��Where’s my damn hook?!” He asks, and even though it's first thing in the morning, his voice is still, loud, deep, and intimidating, and he doesn’t sound like he’s in a good mood… but, then again, Buggy doesn’t think he ever is. Mihawk follows suit, asking his own question afterwards in a significantly quieter, yet equally as intimidating voice, “...And why do you have my sword?”

Well, so much for the surprise...

Buggy places Yoru down for a moment as the other two former warlords approach him, and he notices how their expressions go from unbridled rage to pure confusion in a moment’s notice as soon as they get a little closer to him. He stands up and picks up Crocodile’s hook first and hands it to him, “I know I shouldn’t have taken your stuff,” He admits, and both Mihawk and Crocodile’s confusion only seems to grow, “But I just suddenly thought to myself: ‘Wow, i want to do something nice for them so that maybe we could be friends…and that you guys would look so cool if your weapons were all clean and shiny…” He chuckles lightly for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain how he got ahead of himself, but everything was all out of the goodness of his heart.

“Seriously, guys, i was hoping that i could get everything polished before you even noticed your things were gone, but obviously that didn’t happen…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his head, “But, yeah, i wasn’t trying to make you guys mad or anything, just wanted you to look cool and to be friends!”

There’s absolute silence after Buggy’s explanation. Crocodile looks down at his hook, twisting and turning it in his hand as he examines it, and then suddenly he mutters a quiet, “Whatever, just don’t steal it again.” before he makes his leave, and honestly… Considering this is Crocodile we’re talking about, Buggy feels like things went a lot better than they could have… but still, he’s a little disappointed at that reaction. Was Crocodile’s hook not shiny enough? Or is he just really upset that Buggy stole his hand in the first place? Ah, shucks… Maybe he messed up. Maybe he should have done something else for him instead…Is his relationship with Crocodile going to be even more strained because of this?

Aw, man. He hopes not!

Buggy turns to Mihawk next, who is still staring at him speechlessly with wide eyes. He gives him a small, little smile, hoping that he hasn’t screwed things up with Mihawk too, “Uh, no offense, but the bandages around your sword were a little worn out, so uh, i thought i’d rewrap your sword too. I’m almost done, just give me a second,” Buggy tells him and then sits back down on the stool he was using, quickly finishing his job and wrapping Yoru’s hilt tightly, and afterwards he stands back up and gives Mihawk a proper grin, hoping that he might be a little more appreciative of his gift. “There! All done,” He says, handing the sword back to its owner.

Mihawk continues to just stare at him even after he gets his sword back, and honestly, Buggy didn’t do any of this for a thank you or praise, even though that would be nice, he did this because he genuinely wanted to change things between him, Hawkeye, and Crocodile…So, he’s a little shocked when Mihawk simply sighs before quickly leaving the workshop too, not even saying another word to Buggy.

…So, are they not going to be super cool best friends?

((A/N: Hopefully this isn't ASS.))

#one piece #cross guild #REMEMBER THIS IS A FUN LIL TEST #A TRIAL AND ERROR IF U WILL :)#yall are free to give me the feedback you want lol #my writing #asks

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mrsnancywheeler · 2 months

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Okay the same reader as the fight one but imagine if someone in the band sees how much they fight and offers to take her off his hands…or goes to her about it

long blurb with mentions of drinking, drugs, smoking, and nsfw topics

me about to write another long ass blurb, but thinking about eddie pining after reader and always watching, thinking about how she could do so much better then billy fucking dunne

you're always fighting and leaving until billy calls you back or you get bored again so you show up. rarely is there apologies, sometimes he tells you that your his muse and he needs you around as some sort of half apology to say you're not replaceable with just any groupie. but you let it work on you because when things are good, they're good, he's kind, and loving, so sweet, but the bad is the worst it possibly could be. and for how you tell yourself you've always known he wouldn't pick you forever, wouldn't settle down and that you were okay with that, you just know you're lying to yourself. because when you find out that last fight you had where you stomped off afterwards and spent a couple of hours sitting in a diner crying, billy was busy getting sucked off my some other groupie, you think this might be your limit. for all you've said you'd never actually even dreamed of even looking at anyone else and the pain in your chest is so immense. it only gets worse as you listen to billy and the rest of the band perform some song her wrote about you, a confirmation of his feelings without him having to commit face to face with you. it makes your blood boil when he's singing about how regardless of everything he'll always pick you, always want you.

so when everyone finishes and he's smiling looking over at you with a, "so, what'd you think, baby?" and you pull out that slow clap you hope he knows he's done fucked up because the rest of the band sure does. and he doesn't ask if you're okay or look too concerned, just annoyed, scoffing slightly, "what now?"

"I think you're a liar and the whole thing is fucking bullshit!" You announce

"don't do this right now, we're trying to rehearse." his frustration only serves as fuel to your fire, and you look around the room to see the awkward glances around the room, eddie glaring holes into the back of billy's head.

"what? do you want me to say you did a great job, give you a kiss and hug, and then scamper off so some other girl can suck you off? is that what you want billy?"

"not right now. if you're not gonna sit there and do what you're good at, then get out of the studio. go spend some of your daddy's money, you'll get over it."

his dismissivness makes you want to scream. how dare he. why did you have to fall for someone like him? "like you've said, I'm sure you can find some other groupie to give you praise and attention. you're the fucking worst, billy."

you're storming out of the room, followed by his voice, "you're not the only pretty girl! one of so fucking many!"

you don't know how long you've spent sitting on the cold cement, back up against the building as you smoke a cigarette. trying desperately not to cry because you just want him to love you the way movies told you men loved. but this wasn't a movie, he was a fucking rockstar and you were in fact just another groupie who he was sick of. the way you wanted to cry was embarrassing and you quick wiped away any stray tears when you heard footsteps approaching.

"mind if I join you?" and there was eddie, trying to give a comforting smile. you shook your head and he sat down, your offered him a cigarette which he took, for a while it was silent. "you deserve better."

you laughed, "yeah, maybe." no, you knew you did, but you didn't want better. you were too attached to billy dunne. "did he call some kind of break or did you just storm out? bet he'd love that."

eddie chuckled, he loathed billy, so the latter would've been just fine with him. "called a break." you thought about how right now billy was probably busy getting fucked by some other girl, some other groupie who had patiently waited her turn. you didn't mean to sniffle, but you did. suddenly eddie's lips were on yours, you wanted to lean into the soft, loving comfort but you couldn't. it felt wrong.

"eddie-" you muttered as you pulled away.

"he doesn't see you like I do, you deserve to be treated so much better, and he's stupid for not being able to see that. just because he's the lead singer doesn't mean you have to be stuck as his groupie, especially when he treats you like you're disposable."

"eddie, I can't do that to him. it's wrong."

"he does everything he can with other girls except fucking them, you're allowed to have something."

"well, I'm just me and he's billy goddamn dunne."

"he's just billy dunne, and you're strong, perseverant, beautiful, funny, compassionate, the whole damn package." you snort through the laughter which makes him smile, and you feel bad because he's sweet, you like him, but you've had a taste of billy and are desperately trying to hold onto ship. "he's too lucky, let me give you what you deserve-"

"what's going on?" billy's voice interrupts the rest of eddie's speech that you honestly might have fallen for, if you focused on the actually being able to constantly feel appreciated by some someone. eddie glares at the other man.

"we're talking." you say softly as billy walks closer. he holds a hand out to you expectantly.

"come inside with me, baby. let's talk in private." eddie's eyes are urging you to refuse, to stay with him, but you don't heed the look. so you take billy's hand a and let him lift you off the ground.

and it's hard to miss the way eddie gazes at you after the that, the way he comforts you post arguments and reminds you not to take it to heart, and you feel bad that the way you burn for billy is a forest fire compared to the way you burn for eddie. and he spends his days waiting for you to realize billy was never worth the struggle and to have him instead.

@nomorespahgetti

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #billy dunne x reader angst #billy dunne angst #billy dunne x reader #billy dunne #djats x reader #eddie roundtree #anon

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pensat-i-fet · 9 months

Text

Too good for you (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**Welcome to an imagine that wasn’t requested but that was inspired by one of my dreams (but then I really only kept a tiny detail from the dream). This is a bit spicy, a bit angsty, also slightly toxic and everyone (but Kepa, who has a little cameo because the one in my dream was Juan Mata and how random is that?) is an asshole. But I think it’s fun! It was one of those where I let the story go where it wanted to go. I didn’t choose any of this. The story chose its own path and that’s cute. Enjoy! ❤️**

Word count: 4030

Masterlist

Wattpad

Another day, another photoshoot. But this one was pretty special. You had worked for Armani before, walking their show and doing some catalogue work for them. But this time it was a campaign they wanted you to be a part of and that was huge for your career. And the paycheck was going to be pretty decent too.

Also, you were shooting with a football player so you knew that your work was going to get a lot more exposure because of his presence. And it was a player you actually knew, which could make the shoot pretty interesting. Whether it’d be in a good or a bad way was to be determined.

"Come here for a sec so we can double-check it all fits nicely".

"Sure", you said, following the stylist. "Is the player here already?"

She looked at you with a knowing look. "No, he's a bit late. Traffic is pretty bad".

"Cool. We'll wait then".

Fittings were done quickly and so you moved to hair and makeup. The look was pretty natural so that was done quickly but with it being an underwear shoot, the makeup artists had to make sure to apply makeup all over your body. And it was while they did it that Rúben showed up.

"Hello everyone, sorry I'm late".

His voice made you look up from your phone. Rúben looked you up and down and for a second you felt a bit self-conscious standing in front of him, and a crew of 20 people, in just a thong and a bra. As if he hadn't seen you in less.

While he was getting ready for the shoot, you put on a robe and sat down next to him.

"I thought you wouldn't make it".

"Bad traffic. I wish I had gotten here early. I might have volunteered to do your body makeup".

"Of course you would have".

"Do you want to do mine?", he whispered.

"I want to be home before midnight so hurry up".

"By home, you mean your place or mine?"

Rolling your eyes, you got up to check if there was something nice you could eat. Catering at these shoots was usually pretty good if you got to the table before all the good food was taken and only the dry carrot sticks were left.

"You didn't tell me you knew him", said your agent.

"I don't know him. I know what's in his jeans. It's different".

"Is it going to be an issue?"

"Why should it be?"

"I don't want you to mess up this big opportunity. Who knows how your career could develop after this".

Yeah, and you want the commission that comes from big-money jobs like this one.

"I won't mess up".

"How did you even meet him? I thought your friend played for Chelsea".

"At a party. It doesn't matter".

Yes, your friend played for Chelsea. But he had nothing to do with you meeting Rúben. As you said, that happened at a party. You didn't even recognise him at first. You just noticed a hot guy approaching your friend group and decided to start dancing with him before Gina, who had been staring at him all night, could do it first. Your friend group also consisted of people you didn't like that much. It was a fashion industry thing.

"Do I look good?"

Rúben was now next to you, wearing the underwear picked for the first few photos you needed to take. And yeah, he looked alright.

"As if you need me to tell you how good you look. You already tell yourself every morning when you look in the mirror".

"Is being confident a sin?"

"No", you said, getting closer to him. "Being arrogant is".

"Then we're both sinners".

"Sinning can be fun".

"It's fun when I do it with you".

That last sentence was whispered in your ear and you had to try hard not to blush. So you left him to go get changed into your first outfit.

"Wow! You don't need me to tell you how good you look either but I will".

You turned your hips slightly, letting him see how good you really looked while you pretended to adjust your panties with one of your hands, making sure Rúben's eyes followed your movements. "I mean, anything is an improvement from the skin colour thong I had to wear for fittings and hair and make-up. Least sexy piece of underwear you'll ever see. This", you said, pointing at your current outfit, "is a lot better, right?"

The way Rúben stared at you gave you all the answers you needed. "Believe me, seeing you in your underwear is always a pleasure. No matter the colour or design. But this…", he was now touching the little piece of lace that adorned the sides of the panties you were wearing. "Can you keep the clothes you wear at shoots?"

"Not usually but I think with underwear is different so maybe I get lucky".

"I'm feeling very lucky at the moment", he muttered, still staring at the fabric he had touched.

The photographer interrupted the moment, asking you to actually do your job. How inconvenient. And so you and Rúben moved to the shooting area and listened to the ideas the photographer had for the shoot.

You had actually been excited to shoot with Rúben. First, because you thought his look complimented yours really well. Sometimes you were paired with male models that looked so odd next to you but you and Rúben looked great together. Then there was the fact that you already knew him, which meant you were a bit more comfortable doing a more intimate shoot like this one. And of course, you wanted to see him. He mentioned you texting him if you visited Manchester but you had been travelling a lot and didn't get to see him in person ever since that party in Lisbon.

You also expected your chemistry to be good. At the party, you two connected immediately and felt incredibly comfortable in each other's company the whole night. So this should have been the same. But Rúben seemed to be struggling a bit.

"What's wrong?", you asked him during a small break.

"Well, it's a bit challenging to be this close to you while you wear almost nothing, you know?"

"Control the hormones, Dias. You're acting like a horny 15-year-old. Though I guess men never get over that stage. At least not mentally".

The pieces from the collection were stunning but a few were very impractical. Putting them on felt like you were doing a puzzle. And you could only imagine how difficult it would be to take them off, especially in specific situations where you'd be in a hurry to get rid of the underwear. But they did look good.

"Can somebody help me?", you called and heard the curtain move just seconds later.

You didn't even turn, used to random people helping in those situations. "I can help with that".

"Rúben, you shouldn't…".

"Shh".

You could feel his finger untangling the straps and doing the clasps. But before you could turn to face him, he bent down to kiss the side of your neck. When his hands went to your hips, you forgot for a second where you were and just leaned back into his touch. But a noise made by the crew startled you and you separated from Rúben quickly.

"We're working. We can't…".

But he wasn't listening anymore. He just grabbed your face so he could kiss you and you barely allowed him to touch your lips.

"My makeup. How am I going to explain it being smudged?"

"Are you wearing any?"

"Are you serious? Of course I am".

He leaned forward, impossibly close to you, and stared at your eyes. It was hard to keep eye contact but you managed. He then moved to your lips and smiled. "Yeah, I guess I can see a bit of product there. But it can be reapplied, right?"

"Stop it", you said, pushing him away from you and leaving the changing area.

Yeah, you could understand now what he meant by the shoot being challenging. But you were professional and a couple of hours later, you heard the magical words it’s a wrap.

“Where are you staying?”

The voice startled you and you held onto the shirt you were buttoning up for dear life. “Rúben! You can’t come inside. I’m getting changed”.

“I just spent 3 hours with you by my side wearing the smallest underwear I’ve ever seen in my life”.

“Really? You need to go out more”.

He rolled his eyes, before staring at your bare legs. “Besides, I’ve already seen everything there was to see”.

“It doesn’t mean you can see it again”.

“Not even if I say please?”

This time, you let him get closer and kiss you. And of course, you left with him. Much better than going back to the hotel.

Back in London, you continued working non-stop. The Armani campaign was about to be released and some other brands wanted to work with you before that.

And for the second time in a month, you got to work with someone you knew well. But this time it wasn’t Rúben, but your friend Andrea.

“I love your hair”, she said the moment she saw you.

“Thanks. I had to cut it for a job but I’m really into this style”.

“Looks amazing on you”.

Catalogue shooting wasn’t the most thrilling part of being a model but it was pretty simple. And the crew you were working with was always fun to be around. So when it was time for a break, you all ordered food and chatted about everything and nothing while eating.

“Are you free this weekend?”, asked Andrea while you were getting ready to carry on shooting.

“I think so. Why?”

“Kepa has this event and I can’t go so we thought you could go with him. It’d be good for networking and all that”.

You met Kepa after working with his wife Andrea and became really good friends with both of them. It wasn’t the first time he had invited you to an event but…it was usually events that Andrea was attending too.

“I don’t know if it’s the best idea. I’ll be there as what? Your husband’s companion? What if people start to make up rumours?”

“It doesn’t have to be weird. Plus, it’s a very informal event. There might not be any press there at all and there is no need to dress up. It’ll be fine”.

“I’ll think about it”.

And that you did. Andrea kept sending you info and it really was a great opportunity to network. Also, the topic for the event sounded very interesting so you really wanted to go.

That’s how you found yourself arriving at the venue with Kepa by your side.

“Are any of your teammates attending the event too?”

“Why? Are you interested in any of them?”

“Kepa…stop. We’ve had this conversation before and no, I don’t like any of your teammates. None of them is my type”.

“You’ll break their hearts”, he laughed.

Kepa was busy talking to some people he knew so you decided to walk around saying hello to everyone. And that was when you saw him.

“What are you doing here?”

Rúben turned when he heard your voice and a big smile appeared on his face when he saw you standing in front of him.

“I was invited to the event. You?”

“I’m here with my friend”.

The word friend made him frown. “Another model?”

“No. Actually, another footballer”.

Rúben started to look around until his eyes fell on Kepa, the only other player that was currently there. “Him?”

“Yes, he’s my friend. Any problems?”

“You can do better than him”.

You laughed, not believing what you were hearing. “He’s married to my friend. We’re just friends, you idiot”.

“Is she here too?”

“No, she’s busy today. That’s why I’m here”.

“Big boy Kepa can’t go to places alone? Does he need you to babysit him?”

“Have you always been an asshole or am I just noticing? Don’t speak like that about my friend”.

Spotting Kepa, you left Rúben standing alone, staring at you while you walked towards your friend. His eyes never stopped following you around the venue and you could tell. But you avoided him.

Rúben kept trying to get your attention but you pretended not to notice and it was driving him insane. So when it was just you and Kepa standing next to the food, he decided to go introduce himself.

“Hey there, mate. Nice seeing you here”.

Kepa stared at him. They had never interacted outside of the pitch. “Sure. This is my friend…”.

“I know who she is”.

Kepa looked at you, frowning. So you had to clarify the situation for him. “Rúben and I did a shoot together recently. You’ll see it soon”.

“Right”, laughed Kepa. “Well, good to see you too. We gotta go…”.

“Maybe we could chat for a second”, he said, looking at you.

“Maybe I want to go with Kepa instead of chatting”.

Kepa kept looking from you to Rúben and then back, not understanding anything that was happening but if you wanted to leave, he was going to help you.

“She’s right. We need to leave now before my wife gets back home”.

When Rúben saw Kepa grab your hand to lead you to the door, his jealousy grew even more. “You have to make sure you finish before she gets back?”

Hearing that, Kepa let go of your hand immediately and before he had time to say anything, you had already slapped Rúben’s face.

“Don’t you ever insinuate something like that about me”.

Kepa had two options. Following you or copying your actions and slapping Rúben too. But even if he would have loved to do the same as you, he chose to follow you since people were getting closer to see what was going on. And his team had enough dramas to worry about.

"What was that about?"

"I would like to know too".

"Did he bother you at that shoot? You could complain to the brand or something. And if he's harassing you…".

"Kepa, I appreciate you worrying but it's nothing like that. I…I met him at a party a while ago and we hooked up. And then we met at the shoot and hooked up again. But I don't know, he was acting like a jealous boyfriend or something. And saying that about us…who does he think he is?"

"You were right to slap him. I wish I could have done the same".

You shook your head. You weren't an aggressive person. Actually, you avoided conflicts as much as you could. But hearing Rúben say that was too much. You couldn't not react.

Kepa invited you to stay over for dinner and you were a bit wary to say yes until you saw Andrea was back. She was fuming when she heard what had happened.

"Well, the good thing is you don't have to see him again".

"Actually…", her words made you realise you had to see Rúben again. Very soon. "We need to do an event to promote the campaign. I can't say no, Andrea. It's the biggest job I've ever done".

"You have to go", said Kepa. "Don't let him affect your career. Just pose with him for the red carpet or whatever and then you can stay away from him".

"Yeah, I'll do that".

But it was easier said than done.

Rúben had tried his hardest to apologize. He didn't even know what got into him to talk to you like that. Well, he knew. Jealousy. But what right did he have to be jealous?

Still, he apologized on social media and even sent flowers to your agency. But got no response from you.

"This is what he'll wear", said the stylist, bringing the suit Rúben would wear to the event. "So we have to pick something that goes well with it".

You tried ten different outfits and none pleased the Armani team. But then you spotted a little black dress that no one had looked at.

"Can't go wrong with an LBD, right?"

They turned to see you holding the dress and one of the stylists shrugged. "Might as well see how it looks on. With those long legs of yours, it should look fine".

So you tried it on and it fit like a glove. The exposed back and the length gave it the sexy touch the brand wanted. You were promoting underwear not coats. But the front was more conservative, so it was sexy but still classy.

They paired it with some black heels and someone put your hair up in a messy bun to see how the neckline looked. You looked absolutely perfect. And you couldn't help but smirk thinking how it was going to drive Rúben insane.

But the first person you saw at the event wasn't Rúben, it was Gina.

"Hiii! Oh my God, you look gorg!"

Her smile was so fake, you feared she would get a migraine from the pressure on her jaw.

"I know".

"And you got to work with that hottie you slept with that one time. Where is he? Still single, I guess".

"I guess. But he told me he doesn't like obnoxious blondes so maybe don't waste your time".

"You're always such a bitch!"

"Not always, Gina. You just bring out the worst in me. Such a talent!"

Everyone was getting ready for the red carpet and it was then that you finally saw Rúben. He stood next to you but didn't even acknowledge you. Was he for real?

Once on the red carpet, he turned quickly to look at you and placed his hand on the small of your back. Your bare back. It was easier for you to just smile at the camera even if you didn't feel like it but he managed to do it as well.

You kept turning to show your outfit, placing your hands on his arms, shoulders or even chest.

"Stop moving", he whispered. His hand never leaving your back.

"I'm just doing my job. But nice to know the cat didn't get your tongue. Or were you just waiting to talk until you could accuse me of being a homewrecker again?"

"I messed up and I tried to apologize".

"Try harder".

The photographers thanked you and you started to walk away from the carpet, knowing Rúben was right behind you. When you turned your head to see him, you could see the way he stared at your body. He noticed you looking at him so we walked faster to catch up with you.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say something like that. I don't even know why I did".

"It was a very disgusting thing to say about someone you barely know".

"Again, I'm sorry. Please, let's pretend it didn't happen".

"Hi! Ruben right?", hearing Gina's voice, you closed your eyes to try to get rid of any murderous feelings.

"Yeah. Do I know you?"

She was now looking at you. "Be nice and introduce your friend".

"Who's the friend? You?"

Her fake laugh made you cringe. "She's so funny. Hi! I'm Gina".

"Rúben. Are you a model too?"

Oh God… "No silly, but do you think I could be one?"

"She's just an influencer who follows anyone with over 10k followers on Instagram around. If you slept with her, the whole country would know before you even finish".

Seeing Rúben's face made you laugh. He looked so uncomfortable.

"We gotta go, G. Everyone wants to see the stars of the event".

"You're just the accessory. He is the star".

Now she was showing her true colours. "Better than being the one that got a pity invite".

After a couple of seconds, Rúben caught up again.

"Are you going to roast me too?"

"You would deserve it as much as she does. But if you want to be told how amazing you are, Gina will be here the whole night".

"I have to be with my fellow star".

"Not your accessory?"

"I don't think you'd ever allow anyone to treat you just like an accessory".

"No one should allow anyone to treat them like that".

The whole night you had to be paraded around telling people about the collection and just hearing over and over again how great the campaign was. You knew that already. The photos were everywhere you looked and they were terrific. You knew that photographer was good but seeing the results in front of you made you realise how truly lucky you were to work with her.

"Do you like them?"

"Yes. These will be on my showcard for fashion week for sure".

"What's that? The card, I mean. I know what fashion week is".

"It's this little card with a couple of photos and my measurements. I have to take them to castings to give to the casting directors so they have all my info if they decide to hire me for the job".

"Interesting".

"You could model when you retire from football, you know?"

Rúben raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. I feel ok taking my own photos but working with photographers is weird".

"They stop you from doing stupid poses so it might be weird but look at the result".

He would have said something about your insult but could just stare at your fingers drawing invisible lines over the photos. Your fingers moved along the lines his muscles created and you seemed hypnotized by what you were doing.

He leaned towards you so he could whisper in your ear. "You know you can touch the real me too if you want to, right?"

"And yet you only get to touch me in the photos".

"You sure?"

His hand was now back on the small of your back and he could see the goosebumps caused by his touch. After looking around to make sure no one was there, he leaned down to kiss your shoulder and you kept staring at the photos trying not to show a reaction to his touch. But also not moving away, craving more.

"What's your favourite photo of the campaign?", you asked, interrupting the kisses that were now getting closer to your neck. And you knew once the neck kisses started, it was game over.

Rúben looked around at all the photos. "That one".

You looked at the photo he pointed and it was one of you with your back to the camera. You were topless so your back was as exposed as it was at that moment and you couldn't stop smiling seeing the rest of the photo.

"Is it my beautiful profile you like?", you asked, copying the pose so he could see the profile twice.

"Sure. But that thong…that's the sexiest piece of lingerie I've ever seen and I've seen a few. And of course, it looks even better because it's you wearing it".

"Do you want to know a secret?", he nodded. "That's what I'm wearing tonight. They let me keep the whole collection".

"You're kidding".

"Shame you won't be able to find out if it's true or not".

You left the room but not before turning to see Rúben unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. Yes, you were driving him insane. And no, he wasn't going to find out if you were telling the truth or not. Should have thought twice before pissing you off.

After that event, Rúben tried to contact you but you ignored him. So he had almost given up. That was until he had to play against Chelsea. He obviously didn't make a great first impression in front of Kepa but perhaps they could talk, man to man, and fix that. So when the match ended, Rúben tried to find him quickly to talk to him with the excuse of needing to shake his hand after the match.

"So, your friend…".

"She's too good for you, brother. And you messed up and she doesn't give second chances. Sorry".

#ruben dias #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias angst #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias x reader #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #footballer angst #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Special Interest 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, age gap, creep behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You package up another pair of mitts. It’s that season where sales pick up. It’s cold and the holidays are lurking just around the corner. Your hands are achy from working your needles but you can’t complain for the uptick in demand.

Along with your crochet menagerie, you supplement your etsy shop with stickers, while pondering the prospect of cards, especially given the time of year. As overworked as your hands are, your mind feels more so.

Your computer bings. Another sale? You go around to check your open Etsy page. Nope, a message from a customer. Please don’t be a return.

It’s a message. From the vaunted Farmer’s Delight. You might be avoiding them but that doesn’t need to be a whole thing. You’re working on their order! That’s not neglect.

You open the chat, knowing to leave that little dot just hovering there would drive you crazy.

‘Hey, just checking in. Was hoping to do a pick-up soon. Maybe in the next week?’

Sigh. Great, did they not read your last message? You know you’re a bit hard to take seriously in real life but this is text. There is no height difference or age gap. You’re on even ground. You’re traversing a world of digital equity.

‘Hey. Not sure if you saw my last message but I can’t do a pick up. Please provide your mailing address and I’ll be happy to send this out. Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns.’

There, firm but still customer service-y. You hit send and go back to smooth labels onto bubble packs. Another chime.

‘Like I said, mailing out here is inconsistent. I need the order as soon as possible. Please let me know a time that works for you. I need to hit the hardware store so I’ll be coming to town. We can meet there for exchange.’

Ugh. You want to punch the computer. You should just refund their order and be done with it. Even with your pick-up in sales, it’s a big chunk. You just can’t stomach giving back that much money and they didn’t even ask for their shipping fee back.

You let the message stew. They are offering a public meet-up. That seems like a good omen, at least. Friday night might work, your mom will be done work at four. That’s a decent amount of time. And it’s close to the post office.

You seal another package and leave the room, treading down the hall as you hear your mother clacking away at her keyboard. You approach cautiously. She closes the door when she’s in a meeting. You tap on the doorframe and peek through the open door.

“Mom, sorry, I don’t wanna bother–”

“All good,” she sits back and pushes up her glasses to rub her eyes, “all these emails are doing my head in.”

“Um, well, you remember that order I got. For pick-up. Could you drive me to the hardware store on Friday?”

“Friday?” She echoes.

“I figure we can stop by the post office on the way. And I’ll buy dinner. You know dad loves the gyros down at Eddie’s. It’s on our way…” You give a smile and sway, “please.”

“Sure. Sounds like a good excuse to get out. Besides, I need to grab some washer thing for the sink. I don’t know, your dad was going on about it. I’ll ask,” he flips her glasses down, “oh, that’s so nice! A big sale–” she claps her hands. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”

You raise your brows, surprised by her excitement. You remember when you quit your craft store job to buy a Cricut machine and go all in. She was less than jazzed.

“Really?”

“Of course,” she beams, standing and grabbing her empty mug, “you know, I was a bit concerned. No school, no job, but you’re a go-getter. Any man would be happy to marry someone with so many hobbies, and hobbies that pay.”

“Hobbies? Mom, this is a business. I have to pay taxes,” you back out of her way as she comes into the hall.

“I know, sweetie, but…” she glances around, “it’s still young. You don’t know if a business is a business for a few years. I’m not knocking you down, I’m trying to be realistic.”

“Mom, please, do we have to worry about five years from now? I want to see how far this goes without worrying about guys or a husband or– I can’t even order a beer yet.”

“Me and your dad married right out of high school. We never worried about all that dating stuff and it was all so simple. Trust me, once you find someone, the world will be so much clearer.”

“If it’s easier, I can get an uber on Friday,” you cross your arms and follow her towards the stairs.

“Don’t be like that. I’m being supportive. But you make sure you’re saving money. Pray the day comes and you’ll have a nice nest egg for your wedding,” she stops at the top of the stairs, “or tuition. There’s lots of cuties in college.”

“Mom,” you roll your eyes, “let’s just take it a day at a time. Friday I’ll get that order out.”

“Oh, remind me to grab some grout cleaner when we’re there too,” she points at you before she turns to descend the stairs, “the bathroom is looking a bit grimy.”

You mutter, “alright, mom,” and slowly turn away.

Everything with her comes back to that one thing. She just assumes that you’re lonely. Worse, she seems to believe you’re wasting your time on all this.

You shut your door and tramp around to your laptop. You sit on the cushioned stool and type in your reply to Farmer’s Delights; ‘Friday works for me. After four.’

Three dots pop up almost right away. Then disappear. Then appear again.

‘Sounds great. I’ll see you there.’

You send a thumbs up and close out. You have to finish packing then get back to destroying your carpal tunnel. It’s money, your mom’s right about that, but you won’t be saving for a wedding.

#cole turner #dark cole turner #dark!cole turner #cole turner x reader #drabble #au #bookstore au #series #special interest #ghosted

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ms-demeanor · 1 year

Note

So i do have trouble running anything in my lap, but it is old and very basic but I can't really get a new one, how do i learn how to change its RAM, battery and anything that could make it perform better?

So I actually have a post that's a basic explainer on this kind of stuff, but here's my specific steps for figuring out if your computer can take more RAM, what kind of RAM it takes, and if/how you can install it.

If you're in a hurry or this entire thing looks intimidating, scroll down to the section with the pink text for a quick and dirty way to find what you're looking for that I don't wholly endorse because there are sometimes errors with this process.

This is literally my job, so while this guide won't cover all contingencies it is the basic process that I do every time I need to source upgrades for a computer.

How to Find RAM for your computer:

Step One: Identify the model of your computer. This is usually visible in a sticker with a barcode on the back of the tower or on the bottom of a laptop. If you aren't sure, you can search "how to find model number of [Samsung laptop][HP desktop][etc.]" I'm going to use a Lenovo M710e as my example here, because it was the computer I had to find RAM for yesterday.

So, the ThinkCentre M710e is the product line and the model/product number is 10UR001JUS. The product number gives us the information about the specific configuration of that computer when it was sold, while the product line gives us the general information about configurations that were produced as part of this line. So for example, all M710e desktops will accept the same RAM technology, but the 10UR001JUS specifically came with 2x4GB RAM modules while another line might have come with 1x8GB RAM installed.

GENERALLY SPEAKING it is better for you to work from your product ID/product number/model number and not from the product line.

Step Two: Find out what memory technology your computer uses, what's installed, and what the max your computer will accept is. Most manufacturers will have spec sheets, so if you search the part/product number you will likely see a link from the manufacturer for the specifications of that device. Here's the one for this computer:

So this tells me that the computer has 8GB total memory in 2 modules of DDR4 RAM with a speed of 2400 Mhz. When I am shopping for RAM the important numbers here are DDR4 and 2400. BUT this does not tell me how much RAM the computer can take or what the physical format of that RAM is, so I need to look a little more, which I do by searching "[model number] specifications," which brings me to a Newegg page that has more information about the specs:

This shows me that the computer has 8GB of DDR4 2400 RAM installed in 2 slots. It shows that the computer only has two slots, and it shows me that the maximum RAM for the computer is 32GB. What this means is that if I want to upgrade the RAM I would need to remove a module from at least one of the slots.

RAM tends to come in 4GB, 8GB, 16GB, and 32GB modules. If I wanted to increase the RAM in this computer for the least amount of money possible, I would add one 8GB module, and that would help the computer a lot, taking it from 8GB to 12GB. BUT if I wanted a higher performance for just a little bit more money, I'd replace both 4GB modules with 8GB modules. RAM is happier and works better when the modules in the computer match, so what I'd do is look for 2 8GB modules that are faster than 2400mhz.

Step Three: because I'm me and I was the one who initially ordered this computer five years ago and I have RAM upgrades for this model in my order history, this is where I would stop. But if it was for a computer that I wasn't familiar with, this is where I would check my work. I do this by going to the Crucial Memory tool:

I'd click on "upgrade my computer" and I'd use the "upgrade finder" option.

If you are searching for a RAM upgrade on the computer that you are currently using, you can use the Crucial Scanner tool which will read the specifications of your system and take you to recommended upgrades that Crucial thinks are compatible with your system. I do not 100% endorse doing this, and if you do use this option I recommend checking Crucial's work because I've ordered RAM on Crucial's recommendation in the past and then found that it was incompatible when we went to install.

But, like I said, I use the upgrade finder option. There are a TON of computers listed in this, so once you go through manufacturer (lenovo, in this example) and product line (for crucial, "product line" here means "thinkcentre") I'll use ctrl+F with "M710e" to find the actual product, because scrolling though this bullshit is for chumps:

That takes you to a page with what should be your computer's specs and recommendations for product upgrades:

As I scroll through, looking for 16GB upgrades, I notice that all the RAM listed is 288 pin, which is the correct size for this computer. RAM tends to come in two physical formats for consumers, Desktop RAM and Laptop RAM. Desktop RAM is longer, Laptop RAM is shorter. There are some more complicated layers to that, but what it means is that I need to match the RAM in my search to the format the computer uses.

So let's say that I want to upgrade my computer here and I decide that I want to go with the 3200 speed. So instead of buying from Crucial (which you could do if you wanted to) I decide to shop around. If I search for "16GB DDR4-3200" on Amazon here's what I get:

One of those is 288 pin and will fit in desktops, the other is 260 pin and will fit in laptops or very small form factor desktops. You need to make sure, either by checking the specifications from the manufacturer or on a ram compatibility site or PC part picker, that you are getting the correct physical format in addition to the correct size/technology/speed.

Step Four: Shop around. I prefer not to buy from Amazon when I can help it, and I like seeing what deals I can get. You *do* have the option of clicking "where to buy" on Crucial and there are usually several choices of where to get that specific Crucial part number, but I want to see if there are more generic options, or options from other brands I like.

A newegg search shows me an A-tech 16GB kit with the specs I'm looking for, but at a higher price than Crucial. Poking around a few places doesn't show me any better deals than Crucial, so I go back over to the crucial site, click on "where to buy" for the product I want, and choose to get it from B&H because it's not amazon and I've got an account there.

Step Five: Figure out how to put the RAM inside of your computer. The easiest way to do this is usually to check IFixIt.com, a website designed to show people how to fix their computers.

IFixIt has guides for some types of ThinkCentres but not an M710e. I can check out the M72e, because that's a pretty similar model, but then it turns out the page is a stub. So I search "how to upgrade RAM in Lenovo M710e" and I found the user manual, which has an diagram of the internal parts of the computer, an exploded view of where everything goes, and a section on replacing RAM modules.

Replacing RAM on most desktops is pretty simple, and if you haven't done it and this set of diagrams doesn't give you much information, I really recommend watching some videos from Paul's Hardware that show you how to handle computer components and identify what parts of a computer you're looking at.

Replacing RAM on laptops is usually a bit more complicated than on desktops. But sometimes it's even easier (one of my computers just had a little door on the bottom where you could add RAM if you needed to). Regardless, the principles are the same - there is a slot on the motherboard for you to put RAM in. Watch videos or look at tutorials for how to open up various kinds of computers and see if you're comfortable replicating those steps.

SOME CAVEATS:

Sometimes you can't add or replace RAM. Sometimes RAM is soldered directly on the motherboard. That should be noted somewhere in the manufacturer specifications.

Sometimes computers are more of a pain in the ass to upgrade than they're worth. Most ultra-slim laptops are difficult to get into and most all-in-ones are a *nightmare* to get into. Watch videos of people working on computers similar to yours before you buy anything to figure out if you're even going to be able to get into the damned thing.

On older laptops replacing the battery is very easy, on newer ones it's getting more difficult. Use the same process of identifying your computer model number to look up compatible batteries, then look up how to replace batteries. Sometimes they're just inaccessible and difficult to get at, and sometimes you literally don't even need tools besides your thumbs.

Anyway. That was kind of a lot. I hope it made sense. Check out the linked post at the beginning for tips on performance improvements outside of hardware upgrades, and good luck.

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popculturebuffet · 2 years

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So Let's Talk About Warner Bros Discovery Burning Down HBO Max for the Insurance Money

Okay real quick for those of you who don't know who I am: I"m Jake, I review animation on this fair blog sometimes on comission (which is open by the way) , and mostly just because I want to. I love all kinds of stuff from comics, to comic strips, to movies, and review all kinds in turns. I"m telling you this so you have full and proper context as to why Warner Bros Discovery's latests actions have been HELL on my anxiety. While this week has been a hard one for reasons that aren't your buisness, Warner just made it so much worse so rather than do three reviews this week, i'm doing two and this piece, outlying why I"m so nettled, why I no longer feel any security for anything warner has going , in production or otherwise, and why WBD sucks dirty ass in thunderstorms.

Let's begin with what's going on for those in the back who haven't heard: Last week Warner Bros Discovery made the earthshatteringly dumb decision to cancel their 40 million dollar Batgirl film, and not release it in any way shape or form as a tax write off as well as announcing they were canceling several other dc projects with the Arrowverse finally being taken out back and shot with the Flash getting canceled and given a smal lseason to wrap up (and Superman and Lois likewise detatching from said universe for it's own saftey), and just about every DC Project now in fear of being cut, paticuarlly the tv shows. The Flash MOVIE is weirdly exempt from this despite starring known human dumpster fire whose progressively spiraling Erza Miller. Granted they ARE getting help, so it might help, but it still feels odd to not drop THAT movie but drop one by people who have done absoltuely nothing wrong and is almost finished. And by odd I mean...

So yeah a 40 billion dollar diverse, great looking film is in limbo, any dc film that hasn't started shooting is in the firing range. While I do feel the DCEU badly needed an actual structure instead of just doing whatever movie without any real plan. But

Is somehow worse than no strategy. But there does seem to be SOME method to the madness here.. unfortunatley said method, as most perfectly put by my surrogate tv dad John Oliver "It seems like your trying to burn down my platform for the insurance money"

That does seem to be WBD's plan: Liquidate as much as possible, put as much of it as a tax writeoff as you can, and to hell with what comes next. There's no building going on here, just madly selling anything they can to make money. Which admitely I have done, I once had to sell off my entire 3ds collectoin to get buy, but i'm a 30 year old man with the body of an orangutan, not a BILLION dollar company that should know better. Even if Discovery is new at running this type of company, they seem more concerned with making as much money as possible and don't care if they actually surivive as a platform, if works of art surivive, or for anything other than getting a huge kickback.

And that brings me to today, the worst news in recent animation history. And keep in mind that history includes: 1. Disney cancelling the critically aclaimed and briliant owl house because it was too gay and trying to pretend that's not why they did it 2. Netflix's Childrens Content slowly collapsing into the sea with one or two exceptions. 3. Sex Monster John Lassiter somehow getting another job and a new movie AppleTV+ feels comfortable promoting. 4. The passing of Betty White, Ed Asner and Gilbert Gottfried

But yes HBO Max decided to delist a TON of his content. While ti hasn't happened yet and the backlash, and a recent blow to their stock due to this bullshit as a rare instance of corprate greed biting them, MIGHT stop it, it might be too late. The shows being chopped include Close Enough, a show they had just canceled a week ago and now decided no one can enjoy and that was not only one fo the platforms lead shows, but it's only adult animated comedy that didn't make people throw things at it on sight, Infinity Train, a show people were already mad was screwed out of more than four seasons, Ok KO Let's Be HEroes, one of the best cartoons of the 2010s, Mao Mao Heroes of Pure Heart which was stuck in cancelation limbo, and victor and Valentino, which I have not watched but is JUST going through season 3 as we speak. None of it makes sense, none of it is right and all of it is clearly a ploy to mak ea tax writeoff. And while previous managment had done this, there was a simliar incident iwth greats such as megas xlr and sym boinoic titan, never before has a company made material not only unavablaibe but so nakedly tried to claim something as a loss. I'm HOPING this bs dosen't fly in court, as none of these shows really are the net loss they thinkt hey are, paticuarlly close enough and infinity train, so none of this should add up, but i'm not holding my breath.

I'm also not holding my rage. I belivie in works being avaliable to people. Good or bad, as long as their not harmful , they should be out there and avaliable. Things should be preserved. And making it so several shows are just outright unwatchable, JUST so you can make money is one of the most greedy, discpiable, hateful and agonizing acts i've seen in some time. OK KO thankfully escapes thanks to being on hulu, but that may not be forever and they may try this shit with other platforms. For once most of these shows being on netflix in other countries is a lifesaver. And yes you can still find the stuff that's being taken on the internet, piracy can be bad but it can also be a way to preserve stuff, but I should be able to have a legal and fine means of watching Close Enough. I shoudln't hav eto scour for a show just because you want money. I'm still subscribed to hbo max as it's not me who does and it still has enough content.. but if they keep doing this scorched earth nonsense, it's going to leave them with nothing to sell and nothing to buy and no one to buy into thei rshit. and i'm hoping they learn their lesson and ease back before it's too late and one of the best platforms in the streaming wars is gone.

For now though all I can do is wait and hope like hell more things I care about don't die a cruel greedy death.

#warner bros discovery #hbo max #close enough #infinity train #i'm pissed now

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flwoie · 1 year

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꒰ 🎧 ꒱ FOR LOVERS WHO HESITATE — J. WY.

・🎵・ SUMMARY > Just like in movies, you encounter your ex boyfriend. But why are you drawn to him again?

❥ PAIRING > ex bf! wooyoung x gn! reader

❥ GENRE > fluff, a little bit of angst (i promise you, u won’t cry), implied right person wrong time, exes to lovers

❥ WARNINGS > mentions of a break up, thats pretty much it

❥ NOTE > THIS WORK IS PURE FICTION, ALL THE IDOLS MENTIONED IN THIS DO NOT REFLECT WITH THEIR ACTUAL LIFE AND CAREER. THIS IS A NON-IDOL ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

❥ SONATA SPEAKING > I ACTUALLY STARTED CRINGING WHEN I WROTE THIS. anyways this is my submission for the @kflixnet exchange event !! hii eris (@tranquilpetrichor) i’m your “secret santa” for the event, i’m glad i tried writing for ateez and i hope you’ll enjoy this work (cause i didn’t 💀)

❥ WORD COUNT > 0.7k

You watch your friends figure out what movie to watch. It was midnight, and you decided to invite your friends over for a sleepover. You watched the TV as your friend scrolled through the list of movies.

“I’m gonna get us some food,” you said as you stood up to go to the kitchen.

You opened the cabinet to find nothing. Checking the fridge, you find an almost empty carton of juice and your sibling’s leftover soup from a week ago. There was nothing to eat.

You reasoned, "Might as well buy something." You grabbed your jacket and left the house. You went to the local convenience store and thought about what to buy. You went to the snack aisle to find whatever you could find. Just chips and sweets are fine. You grabbed a few bags of chips and candy and went to the checkout. You set the items on the counter and open your wallet to look for some money.

“12.59,” the cashier said. You look up to give them a twenty-dollar bill and recognise them. You were perplexed, and they were mirroring your expression.

You questioned the man in front of you, "Wooyoung?" Wooyoung was your boyfriend in high school. You've been dating him since your first year of high school, but after you graduated, he told you he was moving away because his parents got a better job in another city. It’s been three years, and now he finally appears in front of you, in a convenience store.

“Y/N.” Wooyoung spoke up, and you two were silent. You tried looking away. He remarked, "It's been a while.” You nodded, "Yeah, it has. I didn’t know you were working here. I go here all the time."

He said, grinning, "I just started working here last week. You looked behind you and saw no one in the store, then looked back at him. "How have you been?" he asked. "I'm doing great, how about you?"

"I’m fine as well," he said. "So what are you doing in pyjamas at midnight? It’s not something you’d do." He’s right; you would never go in the middle of the night in pyjamas buying food. You're surprised he still has a vague memory of you.

You replied, "I have a few friends over, and I didn't have food at my house, so I just walked here.

"You live around here?"

"Yeah, I moved here last year." Wooyoung smiled at your response. He always found himself grinning foolishly when he was talking to you.

"I’m sorry," he said. His smile turned into a frown.

"Sorry for what?" Your tone grew softer. Why would he apologise when he hasn't done anything wrong to you since your breakup?

"For suddenly seeing you here," What he really meant was he should’ve seen you at a proper place and proper time, "and for leaving you."

He felt guilty for breaking up with you because he had to move. There was no reason to be mad at him; it was reasonable for him to break up with you.

"You don’t need to be sorry; I forgave you the day you left."

"I’m still sorry. I should’ve never left you in the first place." With each passing word, you could feel your heart dropping.

"Stop crying; you’re making me cry." You noticed tears starting to fall down your cheeks. Your words made him laugh.

"Why are you crying?" he asked while chuckling.

You said, wiping away your tears, "’Cause you're crying." You weren’t wrong when you said you did everything with him.

"You’re pretty when you cry," he said. You tried hiding your flustered face. You uttered, "I miss this." You miss being around Wooyoung; his presence was already comforting enough.

"If you still haven't moved on, we can try again." He smiled at you while holding your hand. “I'd love that,” you responded with a smile. Your phone started ringing, and you picked it up.

"Where did you go?" Your friend on the phone asked, "I went to the kitchen, but you weren’t even there."

"I’m at a convenience store; there wasn’t any food, so I went to go buy some."

They yelled, "Well, you better come back; we'll start the movie without you if you don't come back sooner."

"I’ll be there." After hanging up, you turned to face Wooyoung. You assured him you had each other’s number, and you took your food. He called your name as you approached the door.

"Your change!" he yelled as he opened the cash register.

"Keep it."

#kfn: the exchange event #kflixnet #♠️ : sonata’s works #wooyoung #wooyoung ateez #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung scenarios #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #kpop

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apprenticestanheight · 8 months

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heyy, i’m here requesting being loyal to my word lol, i have this little idea where adam is stalking/taking pics reader for a job and actually gets like obsessed ?? with them and tries to awkwardly make a move lmao, and obviously this happens before the bathroom events, idk if this idea sucks i just miss my pookie💔

Aldis- A.S x gn! reader

I love this idea so much and writing it was so fun!! Thank you so much for sending it in, writing for Adam is definitely a blast lol

Fic type- this is fluffy!!

Warnings- shitty bosses are implied, and the prices that are mentioned are inaccurate (I looked up aldi grocery prices and then adjusted for inflation by like, a dollar or two lol), stalk-ish behavior is mentioned (adam talks about trailing you going to and from work), cigarettes and smoking are mentioned a few times and Adam might be a little ooc

It started off as a job. Adam found himself hired by your employer to see what it was, exactly, that you did on the way to work and from it. Adam didn't want to know why your boss had wanted to know that of you and the money was good enough to not question it, so he went along with the words of your boss because the money, in the end, helped him pay rent on the shitty apartment he called home.

It started, apparently, because you'd come late to work a couple of mornings in a row with a variety of different excuses--the rain on a day of downpour, your car had broken down, your car was in the shop, your alarms weren't working--but Adam didn't bother to question that, either. He got his camera, he trailed you, he developed the photos and took them to your boss in exchange for cash that could be either devoted to making the rent or buying cigarettes.

Eventually, what was originally just a job became something a bit more for him. He caught himself genuinely caring about you, trailing you not because your boss asked but to make sure you got home without issue.

Care became infatuation, and infatuation got Adam Stanheight where he was--standing inside an Aldi Supermarket at six in the evening on a crisp day in late summer-early fall, having pretended to bump into you in the candle section, of all places, while he shopped Aldi for the deals that he could get on groceries as he needed them anyway.

"Shit!" Adam cursed, catching the candle you held before it could hit the ground on the basis of nothing but luck. "I am so sorry--I barely know my way around this area. I don't typically come down here, but the shop near my apartment is closed for renovations and I needed to grab groceries." Not entirely a lie--you lived in a different spot in New Jersey than he had, but only twenty minutes in a car, and the shop near his apartment where he could've grabbed groceries was closed, so it was Aldis and their bargain deals on any and everything both out of necessity and his minds desire to make a move.

"Oh, no worries!" You laughed. "Seriously--I don't know my way around here either, I typically shop somewhere else, but stuff has happened at work so I gotta do what I gotta do."

Adam had stopped taking photos of you only two days before, having been let go from the job after 'complications' according to your boss.

Adam was trying to flirt, but the flirting part of getting someone to give you their number was not quite his strong suit.

"So," you said. "There must've been another shop in your area. What brings you here?"

"You know that it's impossible to pass on ground beef at 99 cents a pound," Adam said, laughing. "Or a dozen eggs for $1.35, or milk for the low low price of $1.86--it's a rough economy and I am doing my best."

You laughed, and Adams heart gave a funny little flip. "$200 gets you a fuck ton more here than it does anywhere else. I've got candle money, which is nice to have again."

"Are things at work all right?" Adam asked, a feeble attempt at flirting that probably came off a bit too invasive. "Shit--there I go. Asking the way too personal questions. You don't have to answer that, we barely know each other and I don't mean to be invasive."

"My boss has cut my hours in half, is all," you said, shrugging. "I'll be looking for a new job next week, do you know anybody?"

"Nobody reputable," Adam said. "Not that I work with people who aren't, but--"

"What do you do, and what's your name? I'd like to put a name to a handsome face."

"My name is Adam Stanheight," he said. "I take photos."

"Subject matter?"

"PI stuff," Adam said. "I am a glorified snitch, basically, but the money is good."

"Well, glorified snitch," you said. "My name is Y/N and I work in marketing. You ever wanna make a career switch, give me a call."

You passed him your number, and Adam found himself in awe just a bit. He'd fumbled his way through flirting with you like it was the act of trying to share a cigarette and he was a first-time smoker, and you'd flirted like it was nothing.

"What if I don't want to make a career switch?"

"Call me anyway," you said. "We can shop at Aldis together and I can tell you all about the woes of my life in the frozen fruit aisle."

You walked away thereafter, and Adam was left to stand, his cart to his left, in awe.

#adam stanheight #adam faulkner stanheight #adam faulkner stanheight x reader #adam stanheight x reader #saw #saw franchise #saw 2004

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chalkrevelations · 7 months

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ok, wow, Dangerous Romance. WOW.

Looking at the preview for next week, dare I hope that someone has heard my mutterings about has realized how badly Bad Buddy dealt with bullying and its fallout and is actually going to do some of the cleanup and reconciliation work that BB almost completely leapfrogged over?

Hold on, I might need to sit down.

Because, listen. I love BB as much as anyone, it was probably my real gateway into Thai bl, but it's always bugged me how much that show and this writing team - the same team responsible for Dangerous Romance - allowed the execrable behavior by Pat and the Engineering Backup Hobbits to disappear down the memory hole once the romance storyline kicked into gear, and how much the show was allowed to get away with that, to the point that Wai's concern over Pat's apparently - from the outside - sudden obsessive interest in Pran was seen as intrusive and inappropriate and the rest of the Architecture Backup Hobbits were seen as trash friends for being unhappy to suddenly learn that Pran was dating someone who was responsible for repeated physical assaults on them, rather than Pran's consorting with Pat being seen - at. all. - as the friendship betrayal that it was.

Y'all. I saw someone recently making the argument that Pat was better than Kanghan because sweetheart Pat would never really punch down, and I was like, "I don't think I can even deal with this right now" and just kept scrolling. Because I've posted before about how Pat and the rest of Engineering essentially are Kanghan and Nawa and Third Backup Hobbit, what is this J's character's name that I can't remember right now, gdi? Pat and the Engineering Backup Hobbits are manifestly responsible for starting 95% of the physical altercations that we see in BB, and the other 5%, the bus stop altercation - although we know Wai was pissed about the video uploaded to the Internet, I don't remember that we're ever actually told who threw the first punch. Pat's reputation at the school - ALREADY, and how long has he even been there? - is that he's the guy who makes life miserable for Architecture students. Pat is responsible for siccing the other three on Wai in the first place, including an attempt at aggravated assault that they end up accidentally committing on Pran instead, and wanting to get humiliating video of Wai to upload to the Internet, just as Kanghan attempts to do to Sailom in DR. Pat sits back in the booth at the bar, fuming over a rebuff from Pran and lording it over Wai's humiliation - at his job - which is presented by Korn as a night's "entertainment" for Pat, in much the same way Kanghan sits on his trash-panda throne in an unused room of the school and lords it over his schoolmate subjects while Nawa and Third Backup Hobbit lock Guy in a closet and work over Auto, as well as attempting to get Sailom fired from one job and poisoning his ability to do another job.

And it's extremely subtexutally suggestive that Pat is, in fact, punching down when he goes after Wai, who's a scholarship student and, while not the only character we see working at a job, isn't working at a family business as Pa and Pran do. We learn that he needs to be able to balance his extracurriculars and his studies because he needs to keep his scholarship, and all of that is suggestive that he's not as well-off as the rest of the students, and that he can't retaliate or protect himself in any meaningful way when he's harassed on the job because he likely needs the job in the first place because he needs the money for things his scholarship doesn't pay for. If Pat and the rest of Engineering get him fired with their stunt at his workplace, he could potentially not be able to afford school, which could change the entire path of his life. So yeah, Pat punches down, along with Korn and Chang and Mo, just like Kanghan does, along with Nawa and Third Backup Hobbit, gdi, hold on ... Max, that's his name. Just because Architecture in BB generally do a better job of physically hitting back than Sailom's crew doesn't mean that Engineering aren't just as much bullies as Kanghan and his lackeys.

And I'm pretty excited to see that Sailom is going to attempt to make Kaghan not just behave about it but do some work to make reparations and build better relationships. This is why I'm always a little baffled at people who cite the pacing as why they're giving up on the show - we've gotten plenty of hints that none of the real issues are solved yet. That possessiveness that has Kanghan pulling Sailom away from everyone else by the wrist is going to come back and be an issue. The fact that Sailom basically indentured himself to Kanghan's family to pay off his own family's debt - that has the potential to come back and be an issue. No, everything's not solved yet - we're only halfway through.

#kanghan krittin #sailom homchan #pat napat jindapat #bad buddy #dangerous romance #loveblogging ep 6 #kind of?

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howlinchickhowl · 9 months

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It's coffeeshop day! I couldn't possibly miss coffeeshop day. I want you to know I am absolutely working on the next full chapter of Ristretto, but for today's a.u.gust prompt I thought it would be fun to do a little switcheroo, so here is a little Ristretto Mickey POV for while you wait. @gallavichthings as always, thank you :)

edited to add a link for Ristretto, if you have no idea what I'm talking about, this is my coffeeshop au I am already writing! So if you like this little sojourn, you can go read that as well.

Thank you for the extra foam eleven - coffeeshop

Fucking Iggy. Mickey thinks to himself as he barrels down the street, uncaring about the slow moving pedestrians he bumps on the way. Stupid fucking idiot.

They talked about this shit. Last week they talked about this shit. Him and Ig and Mandy they’d sat down at the shitty kitchen table they’d rescued from a dumpster and talked about how things were gonna be. They’d laid it all out, they’d all agreed, they were done with it, the life they’d been raised to lead, drugs and guns and fights and prison and parole and dying shitty violent deaths at the hand of shitty violent assholes who claimed they were your friends.

They were done with it. All three of them. Colin too when he gets out of jail if he wants. They were supposed to be going straight. So why the fuck was he now spending his afternoon scrambling around everywhere he can think of to put together fucking bail money? Because Iggy was a stupid fucking idiot. That much has always been true and Mickey was just as much of an idiot to think that that might have changed.

He’s been to Sandy’s and hit up his buddy Greg at the home, but he’s still a hundred and fifty bucks short and Mandy’s not answering her phone, so now he’s about to do something he and Iggy both had been expressly forbidden to do and visit her at work.

He’s so worked up he pushes the door so hard that it almost bounces off its hinges, and he locks eyes with Mandy almost immediately. Her face is like thunder and she storms over to him like she’s about to pitch a fit. Well she’s not the only fucking one.

“What?” She demands when she reaches him, not quite a whisper but definitely not the volume that he knows she’d be using if they weren’t at her job right now. She looks back over her shoulder at her co-worker, a tall red-head who is clearly watching them and clearly trying not to look like he’s watching them. Mandy grabs him and shoves him out of the way of the door, a little further from the counter, and he gets that she’s not happy to see him but none of this is his fucking fault and he doesn’t appreciate being manhandled.

“You’re not supposed to come here.” She says through gritted teeth, like he doesn’t already know she doesn’t want their family anywhere near her first real on the level employment.

“Yeah no shit Mandy, I look like I wanna be here? Answer your fuckin’ phone in future.”

“I’m not supposed to have my phone out here shitbrain, what the fuck is so important?”

They’ve gotten a bit louder, the heat of their words burning away at their control, but shooting a look back towards the counter he makes a conscious effort to lower his voice again. He’s got to be here but he doesn’t have to let everyone know they got jailbirds in the family.

“Iggy got himself a fuckin’ assault charge and I ain’t got enough for bail.”

“What the fuck Mick?!” Mandy casts furtive glances all around her and leans in closer to him, “Who’d he assault?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, just some bar fight or somethin’, it’s not serious, but because of his record and his last name they’re holdin’ him.”

“Fucking assholes. How much you need?”

It’s a lot, and he hates that he couldn’t put it together. A year ago, he could’ve, easy. That’s barely a morning’s worth of hand-jobs at the rub and tug and even without the actual jobs he could’ve just asked Sasha for a quick loan. Now they’ve gone straight it’s a lot harder to find any serious amount of ready money. He winces.

“Another one-fifty-two.”

“What am I, a stripper? I don’t carry that much cash Mickey!”

“I don’t know what you do, just give me whatever you’ve got and don’t be a fucking bitch about it alright? This is ruining my day just as much as it is yours.”

She heaves a huge great sigh and stomps off behind the counter into whatever staff room they have back there and Mickey is just stood there like a spare prick at a picnic waiting for her to come back.

He locks eyes with the redhead, who is watching him anxiously from his spot behind the counter. Mickey’s not stupid, he knows what people’s first impression of him usually is, he worked hard for that first impression when he was growing up, doing his best to intimidate anyone he ever came into contact with.

It bothers him sometimes, that he worked so hard on it that now he freaks people out without even trying, but today he’s got other shit on his mind and he doesn’t much care if some guy Mandy shills coffee with thinks he’s bad news. He crosses his arms across his chest and stares the guy down, daring him to say something, knowing that he never will.

He’s kind of hot, Mickey realizes while he’s standing there, even if he is a pussy. There’s the hair, for one thing, Mickey’s always kind of had a thing for a redhead, plus he’s built, in a lean kind of way, and his face is like, not unpleasant to look at. And because he learned growing up that if you find something pleasant to look at you shouldn’t look at it for too long, he cuts eye contact and looks away.

Mandy marches back out into the store with a wad of cash and her ratty Sun Times tote bag that she shoves in his hands with a pissed off,

“There.”

The cash he gets, he’s grateful for, it looks like maybe sixty bucks, the tote bag though, he doesn’t know what to do with. He shakes it at her for emphasis.

“What’s this for?”

“My card wallet is in there, get whatever cash there is out of the ATM, I don’t even know what I’ve got in there right now. And there’s a MAC palette I’m selling to Scheana, you know Scheana with the pinkeye?” Yeah, he fuckin’ knows Scheana, dirty fuckin’ skank always trying to come on to him and eating all his pizza rolls. “She lives on Harper, you’ll get forty for that.”

“The fuck’s a MAC palette?”

“It’s fucking eyeshadow dickwad.”

She shoves him, hard in the shoulder, and he stumbles, resents the fuck out of his whole family.

“Take it easy bitchface, I don’t fuckin’ know!”

“Just get out of here, and tell Iggy I’m gonna kick his ass when I see him.”

She’s gone already, heading back to the counter, not even looking at him when he says,

“Yeah yeah, later.”

And he’s gone, out the door and on his way to the ATM, cursing the day any of his siblings were born, and already trying not to think too hard about dark freckles on pale skin and a head of shocking red hair.

He lasts three weeks.

It’s into October when he finally caves and engineers his route to work to take him past Tamp & Grind. And, well, his sister is working, it would be weird not to stop in and say hey, or whatever.

It’s stupid, he’s aware. He’s only seen the guy once, doesn’t even know if he’s gay, doesn’t even know if he’s working. Plus Mandy will probably tear him a new one when she gets home later. All very real and good reasons not to go there.

And yet.

He shoulders open the door, it’s warm inside, the air smells sweet and rich, he’d been in such a frenzy last time he was here he hadn’t really noticed anything about it. Apart from Ian.

That’s his name, Ian. Mandy’s co-worker who has been occupying most of Mickey’s idle thoughts for the last few weeks. He’s tried, surreptitiously, to learn anything about him from Mandy when they’ve both been home at the same time. According to Mandy he’s ‘cool’ and ‘funny’ and ‘doesn’t suck ass’ like some of her other co-workers. She’s not exactly easy to get information out of but he knows she likes coming to work more on days when Ian will be there, so when she breezed out the door this afternoon with half a smile on her face he’d taken a chance on it being a day Ian was working too.

He was right. Mandy is sat up on one of the counters, can’t be fucking sanitary, and Ian is stood just by her, messing with something under the counter.

“Could I be a sexy latte?” He hears Mandy ask, smiling over at Ian, and what a weird and disturbing image.

“What the fuck?” Mickey finds himself asking, getting the attention of the two of them and oh. He’d kind of convinced himself the last couple of weeks that his brain had amplified how good looking Ian was, that he was actually just a regular looking guy and it was just the fantasy of him that Mickey was powerlessly focused on. Boy had he been wrong.

If anything he’s more good looking than Mickey remembers, sculpted face and long lashes and deep green eyes the shade of pondweed, but in like a hot way. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Mandy asks like he’s a fucking bug she flicked off of her windscreen this morning come back for a second go.

“Was in the neighborhood.” It’s not a good answer, suspicious as fuck, really. Mandy scrunches her nose up at him and raises one eyebrow.

“Why?” She asks. He can’t think of a single good reason.

“None o’your fuckin’ business, that’s why.”

She rings him through a coffee and they bicker back and forth about the price for a minute or two, four bucks for a black coffee seems like daylight fucking robbery to him, maybe they should open a fucking coffee shop, seems like that’s where all the money is these days. Fuck the coke, give ‘em caffeine.

He looks around the shop a little while he waits for his drink, reading the flyers stuck up on the noticeboard, fiddling with the little packets of Splenda and wooden stirrers and shit, all while chancing little glimpses of Ian behind the espresso machine. Not too obvious. Mandy already knows something’s up, she’s not giving him enough shit about being here, she’s definitely gonna get into him later, so he’s not trying to hide his interest from her, exactly. But he doesn’t want to let onto Ian just now, doesn’t want to make the guy uncomfortable if he’s not gay, or if he’s just not into Mickey. He’s shooting his own discreet glances Mickey’s way though so he feels like maybe it’s not a totally one-sided thing.

Mandy calls him over when his drink’s ready and he takes a sip right when he grabs it, suddenly itching for something to do, some purpose after he’s been stood around for five minutes just waiting. They’ve given him a fucking hazelnut latte.

Sometimes he can’t fucking stand his sister.

He always orders black coffee. Everywhere he goes, black coffee. Sure he’s got a bit of a thing for sugar, who in the world doesn’t like something sweet? And when Mandy shows up sometimes with some sort of flavored monstrosity he’ll take a sip or two, it’s no big deal. But now she’s made it seem to Ian like he’s some sort of pussy who not only likes caffeinated syrup drinks like a fourteen year old girl, but also is too much of a pussy to admit he likes them.

She’s a fucking bitch, and he tells her as much, and Ian. Well. Ian doesn’t like that.

Mandy’s probably been called a bitch a thousand times in her life, and no one has ever jumped to her defense before now. But Ian, fucking, knight in shining green apron is right there, hand on Mandy’s back, telling Mickey not to talk to her that way, and what the fuck? Mandy gives as good as she gets and if Ian hasn’t learned that yet he will, and probably soon.

It’s not not hot, him squaring up to Mickey, though the fact that it’s over Mandy’s honor gives him some pause for thought, makes him wonder if he’s got it wrong, if Ian’s actually into Mandy, actually not interested in Mickey at all, actually just a straight guy who Mickey’s been projecting onto. But when he licks his lips and calls him tough guy he can see Ian’s eyes flicker like it did something for him.

He takes off with his sugary drink and spends the rest of his walk to work trying to figure out what exactly is the deal with Ian, and when’s the next time he can go back. Preferably on a day when Mandy isn’t working.

#fic #my fic #my writing #ristretto #howl does a.u.gust #gallavich fic #ian x mickey #mickey pov

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blossom-hwa · 2 years

Text

if you’ll have me (i) | c.yj

here’s (finally) the first part of the monster yeonjun fic I wrote in august, right in time for his birthday! happy birthday to the terrible wonderful human being who has given me the worst brainrot I've experienced in a while (second only to the rot brought on by one kang taehyun), and I hope you all enjoy this <3

Pairing: Yeonjun x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, regency era!au, nobility!au

Warnings: mentions of past death, mentions of period-typical misogyny

Word Count: 11.3k

Yeonjun Choi, Duke of Hastings, is in want of a wife. Boxed in from all directions by the overbearing mamas of the ton, he begins his arduous search this season for not fortune, not love, but merely the perfect woman to succeed his mother's place. None of the daughters of high society manage to catch his eye, however, or fit his overwhelming list of standards—at least until he meets Miss Y/N L/N, the queen's diamond of the season, newly arrived in town from abroad and said to be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation.

You, the eldest daughter and only child of the L/N family, just want stability. With your father dead and the estate passed to a cousin, leaving only your dowry and a small pittance from the inheritance left intact, you begin your search for a husband with money enough to keep you and your mother afloat. It seems like a miracle when, after being crowned the queen's diamond, the Duke of Hastings himself asks for your hand—but as you learn of his complete indifference to the concept of love, you begin to doubt yourself. Perhaps money is not enough to keep your hand—maybe you desired a true love match more than you thought.

Trapped in a marriage of convenience that everyone believes is a love story, you and Yeonjun find yourselves forced to reevaluate what you want out of this match. Between balls and promenades, dances and poetry, you begin to view each other beyond the pithy conversations allowed in the courting stages, learning to see one another not just as business partners, but perhaps friends as well. And as you begin to reconcile your needs and wants, your goals and desires, maybe, just maybe—

The ton's belief that you are a love match can find some truth, too.

Part 1 >> Part 2

TXT Masterlist

The minute Yeonjun enters the club, he makes a beeline for the corner where Soobin is sitting, two small glasses set on the table in front of him. He flops into a chair and downs one of them immediately. “I am so sick of debutante season.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “The season hasn't even started,” he points out.

“Exactly,” Yeonjun groans. “If it's this bad even before they've been presented to the queen, how much worse will it get when all the balls and courtships start?”

“It's kind of your fault,” Soobin says, picking up the other glass. “Maybe you shouldn't have announced your intention to find a wife so early on.”

“I didn't mention it,” Yeonjun hisses. “That rat bastard Wooyoung let it out before I was ready to say it publicly—”

“That's on you for letting Wooyoung hear you,” Soobin interjects calmly. And Yeonjun can't even argue with that—he loves Wooyoung, loves his friend dearly, but Wooyoung's loose tongue is arguably his worst trait—so all he does is slump back into his chair and raise a finger for another drink. “You're supposed to be comforting me,” he sulks. “Some best friend you are.”

“Well, I've made my opinions about your ways of getting a wife very clear, and you've elected to ignore every single one of them.” Soobin smiles. “Some best friend you are.”

“What's wrong with a list?” Yeonjun frowns, crossing his arms. “Every man—no, every person—has to have ideas about who their future partner might be, I've just written it out.”

“It's not the list that's the problem. Though I'm pretty sure not a lot of people would actually write a list, either.” Soobin finishes the rest of his drink just as Yeonjun's second one comes. “It's your requirements for the people on that list that is the issue.”

“What's wrong with my requirements?”

“They're so demanding.” Soobin places his empty glass down with a loud clack. “How many people, men and women of all ages included, do you think are actually fluent in all those languages you require? All those instruments? All that dancing? Impeccable decorum too, and on top of that, to have a proper, pretty visage of some sort—”

“That's not even a requirement,” Yeonjun argues. “My main goal is to try and find someone with a sound and clever mind to help me run the estate since my mother wants to retire to the country—”

“And that's well and fine, Yeonjun.” Soobin sighs. “My point is, your requirements are so stringent as to alienate every lady in this society from the prospect of marrying you.”

“Soobin, I hate to sound egotistic—” Soobin snorts, which Yeonjun staunchly ignores— “but they're literally leaping for my hand.”

“And you've turned away every single one who has dared to approach, as well as every single one you've invited for one of your little... interviews.” Soobin's nose scrunches, and it's not the nice nose scrunch. It's the annoyed one. Maybe even disgusted. “That's not how you get to know your life partner.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes. “I'm not looking for love,” he snaps. “I'm looking for someone who will do her job as duchess. That's what I need right now, not love.”

“You won't be able to live well with someone you hate, regardless of how good she is at managing estate affairs.”

“I know. That's why a pleasant demeanor is also something I'm looking for.” Yeonjun snorts. “It's also why I won't be considering Mary Kim at all, no matter how much money her family might have.”

They both have to laugh at that. Mary Kim is a menace upon the ton's society—accomplished, perhaps, but completely unbearable in conversation. Yeonjun remembers saying before that he would rather cut off his hand than brave more than one dance with her. It wasn't a joke then, and it still isn't now.

“I just wish I was married already.” Yeonjun sips at his second drink, relishing the slight burn as it slides down his throat. “It would appease everyone—my mother wouldn't be hounding me anymore, Beomgyu would stop teasing me, and all the ton's mamas would stop trying to throw their daughters at me, too.”

“It's not that hard to get married,” Soobin replies. His eyes turn faraway, a little lovesick smile playing on his lips.

Yeonjun fixes his best friend with a deadpan glare. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance with a good, sweet, capable girl you've known since birth, Soobin.”

Soobin blushes, which Yeonjun counts as a win, but he doesn't relent. “You could really just loosen your list of requirements,” he says. “You're a duke, not a god.”

“I never claimed to be a god, nor do I think I want to be one.” He wrinkles his nose. “All those people who want to find the secret to immortality are idiots. Who wants to stay on earth forever?”

“I forgot how philosophical you get when you're tipsy,” Soobin mutters.

“I'm not tipsy,” Yeonjun protests. “I’ve only had two, and I hold my alcohol better than you. Anyway, it's not like my requirements are completely unreasonable. My mother could do all of this, and it's why my father decided to court her.”

“Oh, so it wasn't because of the fact that they fell in love, and your father would have no one else but her regardless of whether or not she was fluent in Latin and Greek?”

Yeonjun scowls. “Look, the point is, these skills gave my mother the ability to both be a competent duchess and be seen as one, as well. My future wife will have to maintain her image, and having these skills will only aid her in that endeavor.”

Soobin sighs. “You're not going to let up, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, you might have one stroke of luck left.” Soobin smiles. “I hear that the L/Ns are coming back into town. And that the eldest daughter of the family might be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation.”

“The L/Ns?” Yeonjun frowns. “Why did they leave town, again?”

“The late lord died suddenly without a male heir, and in the wake of his death, the rest of the family went abroad.” Soobin accepts a refill of his small glass. “Some more gossipy people will say that it was because he spent too lavishly and left the family in a dire financial situation, but I don't think that's true.”

“Then what happened?” Yeonjun asks.

“My mother knew them somewhat well, I think. She said that around the time he died, his mother, who lived abroad, fell ill, so the family moved to take care of her.”

“Who took over the estate?”

“Some distant cousin. I don't think you've met him, and I don't know him very well either—he spends most of his time in the country and seems to keep to himself even when he is in town.” Soobin purses his lips. “I don't think he's necessarily hostile to the late lord's family, but they aren't close.”

“So will they be staying at the estate for the season, then?” Yeonjun presses. “And why are they coming back?”

“The late lord's mother died,” Soobin says. “There was no reason for them to remain abroad, so they should be returning just in time for the season. And I don't know for sure, Yeonjun, considering I'm not exactly privy to all of their plans, but I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t be staying at the estate. Not when there isn’t any obvious hostility towards the lord.”

Yeonjun cocks his head. Sips his drink. “I haven't met the daughter yet, have I?”

“Not closely, I don't think.” Soobin shrugs. “We were both at boarding school during the time she would have been growing up in town. I only know this much because my mother was close with them and has been in some contact with them since they decided to return.”

Yeonjun downs the rest of his glass. “And you say she has the ability to meet all of my oh-so-stringent requirements?”

“If what I've heard is correct, then I think she's the one who will ever come the closest.”

“Well.” Yeonjun smiles, standing up. “I think I've found my next target. I've got to go, but do inform me if you hear anything else about her, will you?”

“You haven't even asked for her name,” Soobin snorts.

“Well?” Yeonjun crosses his arms. “Then what is it?”

“Y/N.” Soobin's eyes glint. “Her name is Y/N L/N.”

. . . . .

Someday, when you die, you are going to scour heaven and hell to find the person who invented these ridiculous traditions for poor debutantes such as you and kill them again. In the afterlife. Just because they deserve it.

Which is not to say everything is wrong with the tradition. You don't mind the white dress, nor the tasteful jewelry Sakura helped clasp around your neck and wrists. The gloves aren't too bad—you've gotten used to how slippery they feel when you try to grasp things—and the shoes are manageable.

But the feathers.

The feathers.

As you step out of the carriage, all you can think of beyond not tripping over your feet right then and there is keeping your balance enough that the ridiculous headdress topped with a plume of long, white feathers doesn't fall. Once on the ground, you raise a hand to try and steady it—

“Don't touch it,” your mother hisses, batting your hand away. “It looks fine.”

You groan. “It doesn't feel right, Mother.”

“It never feels right.” She gives you a sympathetic glance. “But I promise you, dear, it looks fine. Trust me.”

“All right, Mother.” You sigh, resisting the urge to touch the feathers again.

“Good girl.” She smiles taking your arm. “Come now—let’s go see you off.”

All around you, girls in varying shades of white and gold and all those ridiculous feathered headdresses have begun heading into the palace. You follow the crowd, trying not to get swept up in it—your mother plays an important role in this, expertly chivvying the two of you between the families clamoring to reach the hall—all the while trying to catch a glimpse of the palace finery that seems to float past your eyes too fast for you to process anything.

“Now remember, Y/N,” your mother whispers when you finally reach the room where you will wait to walk. “Remember—stand tall, step proudly, keep your balance—”

“I know, Mother,” you hiss, clenching your fingers so they don't go up to try and rearrange the headdress that you're absolutely certain is starting to fall. “Are the feathers still in place?”

“Yes they are, darling,” she replies patiently.

A twinge of shame ripples through your chest—she's trying her best, you know, trying her best to help you in every way she knows how, and you just keep fretting about the stupid feathers on top of your stupid head.

Well, if the feathers weren't part of this tradition, they wouldn't be a problem, the nastier part of you sniffs.

“You look wonderful.” Your mother clasps her hands together, and—oh, dear, you can see tears welling up in her eyes and now you feel like you're going to cry too. “No, dearest, don't cry,” she says, visibly holding back her own tears as she pulls a handkerchief seemingly out of nowhere and dabs at her eyes, then at yours. “Don't ruin your makeup for this big day, yes?”

“I won't.” You laugh, choking back your own tears. “I won't, Mother.”

“You look wonderful,” she repeats, lowering the handkerchief. “Not even the diamond of my season looked quite as well as you. You’ve grown to be so beautiful and capable—your father would be so proud to see you here, now.”

“Mother, please.” You laugh again but it comes out a little wet, with the lump in your throat and the tears beginning to brim anew in your eyes. “You're really going to make me cry, now.”

“We can't have that.” She dabs at your eyes again before looking over your shoulder. “Oh, my—they're about to start!”

Sure enough, not a minute after your mother speaks does the footman at the entrance clear his throat. The crowd of debutantes and mothers and siblings falls quiet, the silence broken only by a periodic shuffle or whisper.

You try hard not to think about the feathers that feel like they're about to slip off the top of your head.

“Mary Kim”, comes the first announcement, “presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Lady Kim.”

You swallow hard.

And so it begins.

. . .

The room has nearly emptied halfway of debutantes, and still you have not been called.

You take back everything you thought about your outfit earlier. The feathers are still atrocious and you want to rip the headdress off right here and now, debut be damned, but your hands have grown sweaty under the gloves, the light makeup Sakura helped you apply feels like it's suffocating your face, and the dress that you absolutely cannot fidget with no matter what has started to dig into your skin. You take a deep breath, standing up straight in the hopes that the fabric will stop itching if you try to touch as little of it as possible—

“We're next,” your mother hisses into your ear.

You nearly choke. “What—”

The crowd of debutantes parts for your path as your mother forcefully guides you to the front. You stare at the doors that will open in seconds, praying, praying, praying you don't trip on the hem of your skirts or on some pebble on the floor or, heaven forbid, the air itself—

“Y/N L/N,” intones the footman, “presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Lady L/N.”

Your mother takes your arm, and as the doors begin to open, you force yourself to breathe.

Your body moves automatically, hours of practice showing their worth in your memory. Posture straight, head level, chin tipped up just enough to suggest pride, but not so much as to indicate haughtiness. Your feet step sedately, one after another, small, light steps to accommodate the dress, and the hand not taken by your mother lies against your side, uncurling from the fist it was in before. Your gloves still feel like they're about to slip off your fingers from sweat and the headdress still feels like it's going to fall off your head, but you continue forward even after your mother stops, one step, then two. Then you halt.

And begin to curtsy.

Balance, your mother's voice rings in your head. Grace will follow. First and foremost, keep your balance.

And you do.

You lower your head into the curtsy, eyes fluttering shut for one moment as you try to calm your breath. Behind you, your mother remains bowed and you take that as your cue to do the same, praying your legs don't begin aching so much that you fall.

For one moment, two, three, you simply stand there, breathing, counting the breaths, the moments until the queen will dismiss you. She has done nothing else yet, you're sure—according to your mother, you would've heard the gasp and perhaps applause if she'd crowned her diamond, and it doesn't seem as though anything untoward such as a lady fainting in her dress has happened either. You haven't tripped, you haven't fallen, and you can hear no giggles or whispers that indicate anything about your dress or feathers being in some sort of disarray, there’s no reason to think you won’t be dismissed without fanfare just as the other ladies have been so far, which is all you need in the moment, just a proper dismissal without embarrassment—

Footsteps sound on the long carpet, coming from the front. Where the queen was sitting as you walked down the hall.

A greater hush falls over the already quiet crowd. You don't dare to lift your eyes at all to see what you are beginning to suspect might be the case.

The footsteps come closer. Closer. You squeeze your eyes shut and open them again, just in time to see a dazzling pair of shoes and the hem of an opulent skirt enter your vision—

A finger touches your chin. Lifts it. Begins to pull you up.

And you meet eyes with the queen herself, staring at you with a benevolent smile on her lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. The eyes of everyone in the room must be on you, you're sure, but your mind is swimming and everything feels like a blur and the queen is in front of you, the queen is really in front of you, smiling at you like you might just be her diamond of the season.

Her finger falls away, but the smile stays. Your heart pounds against your chest, so loud you're sure she must be able to hear it as her mouth opens and she says—

"Flawless, my dear."

Whispers and gasps fill the room, punctuated by a squeal or two—you don't dare look towards crowd to see who it was—and it doesn't matter because you couldn't, anyway, not when the queen has taken your face between her two gloved hands and is now pressing a soft, dry kiss to the top of your forehead.

She rises. Turns. Walks back to her seat at the far end of the hall. Dimly, you remember that that must be your cue to rise as well and you do, taking the two steps backward to reach your mother, head still lowered. Next to you, she rises, and you lift your chin to see every eye in the hall still fixated upon you.

“Did that—” you breathe, forcing your lips not to move— “Mother, did that truly just happen?”

“Keep smiling, dearest,” she whispers, expertly taking your arm once more. One glance to the side shows you a brilliant smile upon her face, joyful yet not gloating, wide yet still gentle, but you can feel her trembling against you even as she steadily turns you around. Putting on a mask, you remember, forcing yourself to breathe once, twice—you need to do that too. Keep smiling, keep smiling, keep smiling. Because everyone's eyes are on you, now.

Y/N L/N, the season's diamond.

. . . . .

In another universe, Yeonjun thinks he could actually enjoy balls as a sort of fun event. There's good food, if not very filling, there's alcohol and lemonade, and usually he can find a few people with whom he is friendly and to whom he can speak. And even if there aren't, as his mother will say, he was blessed with a friendly exterior and an extroverted personality. Beomgyu once said he could make friends with a tree if he charmed it the right way.

Of course, coming out of Beomgyu's mouth, it sounded more like an insult than a compliment, but Yeonjun has long since learned not to give in to his cousin's backhanded mockery.

Put this way, balls could be pleasant. Fun, even. Yeonjun doesn't even mind dancing at all the way some of his peers do—in fact, with the right person, it can even be relaxing. But the problem is, balls are not simply social get-togethers with people his age.

They're marriage contracts. Or at least attempts at them.

The second Yeonjun steps into the Kims' grand home, immediately the lady of the house assaults him with her painted smiles and sickly voice. “Your Grace!” she simpers, taking him by the arm. “I've heard you have chosen to be active this season, is this true?”

Inwardly, Yeonjun spits all the curses he can at an imaginary Wooyoung dancing around in his head. Outwardly, he smiles back. “Your sources are indeed credible, my lady,” he says, laughing as he gently tugs his arm away. “What you have said is true.”

“Oh!” The feigned surprise on Lady Kim's face will always make his stomach churn no matter how many times he sees it. “Well, in that case, I must introduce you to my daughter, Mary—she just debuted this season, I'm sure—”

“Your Grace!” Another mother appears—Mrs. Jung, Yeonjun remembers just as she parks herself firmly by his side, cutting Lady Kim off. He has exactly one second to wonder whether it is a blessing to be torn away from Lady Kim and a potential conversation with Mary or a curse to be thrown into another determined mama's path before Mrs. Jung thrusts her poor daughter in front of him. “My daughter, you'll know, she just debuted this season—she's a wonderful dancer, anyone would be lucky to have her hand—”

A split second glance around the large entrance hall tells him no one he knows is nearby enough to save him from the madness. Already other mothers have spotted him, are snatching their daughters' wrists to come and bombard him with heavy hints at a dance and a possible marriage, so he quickly signs Mrs. Jung's daughter's dance card—he doesn't even know her name, she wasn't on his shortlist of possible future spouses and between all the hubbub he didn't hear Mrs. Jung introduce her if she even did—and then disappears into the crowd with a beatific smile in her direction, only breathing a sigh of relief when he reaches the open ballroom.

“Yeonjun!” Wooyoung comes bounding up to him in seconds, one glass of something in each hand. He hands one to Yeonjun. “How are you faring so far?”

“Not well, and no thanks to you,” Yeonjun hisses, taking a hefty gulp of the drink. There are more beady-eyed mamas and daughters glancing his way here, some who followed him from the entryway and others who have just noticed him. “Why did you have to open your big mouth about me seeking a wife?”

“Well, it seemed like something the ton should know.” Wooyoung shrugs, shameless as ever. “You're now the most eligible bachelor in the room, don't you feel popular?”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, ready to snap back something sharp that Wooyoung will take in stride and laugh off, eventually making Yeonjun laugh too, but then his eyes are drawn to a crowd of people in another corner of the ballroom, almost exactly mirroring the scene on his side. Only there, it's a horde of men dressed dashingly in their black and white instead of women in their vivid colors, crowding around someone who can only be—

“The season's diamond,” Wooyoung chirps, following Yeonjun's gaze. “Miss L/N.”

Yeonjun blinks. “You know her?”

“Not well, of course.” Mischief glints in Wooyoung's eyes, and Yeonjun can already sense he's in for a bout of relentless teasing. “Are you interested?”

“Of course I am.” He sniffs. “Who wouldn't be interested in the season's diamond? Especially after she's been away for several years?”

“Well, if you are, I would go and try to corner a dance right now.” Wooyoung jerks his head toward the crowd of men. “Before I am forced to leave—hey, don't give me that look, I can't stay with you forever—and the other mamas manage to ambush. Or, heaven forbid—” He leans in close. “Her dance card is full by the time you find the courage to approach.”

Internally, Yeonjun groans. This is why he hates balls—it's always a chase of some sort, him chasing a wife or everyone else trying to chase a husband—but he has to do it. His mother has done her job as dowager after his father's death, and she deserves her retirement. It's his turn to step up and take charge of the estate.

And he'll need a duchess at his side for that.

Quickly he downs the rest of his drink, placing it on an empty tray nearby. “Wish me luck,” he mutters to Wooyoung before heading straight into the throng.

. . . . .

Before this night, your mother grilled you on what to expect as an accomplished debutante, as well as what to expect as a diamond of the first water (for that is what they're calling you, apparently, those who saw you walk down the hall toward the queen).

It still did not prepare you for this.

The second you step into the ballroom, having successfully dodged the worst of Lady Kim's simpering compliments that felt more like backhanded insults than anything else, too many eyes turn towards you. You can feel them raking over your entire body, studying your makeup, your jewelry, every stitch of your clothing, and even though the attention makes you want to shrivel up and curl into a ball, you have to keep smiling.

Remember, dearest, every eye is now on you. Your mother's words ring through your mind once more.

You stand on a pedestal now, after having gained the queen's approval. It is an honor to have been chosen, but that just means there is only a greater distance to fall.

Your fingers itch for a pen and paper, preferably your favorite pencil and worn leather notebook. There's poetry here in the irony of your situation, but between the flurry of teas and fittings and brief outings between your debut and this first ball, you have had no chance to let your thoughts out onto paper for several days. Just little bits of writing here and there, on scraps of parchment and scribbled onto your hands...

But you can't focus on that tonight, not on the words whisking into poetry and prose in your mind. You swallow. Your goal is to find a husband, to secure financial stability for your family no matter what it takes.

And from what you've gathered over the short course of your lifespan, most men don't exactly appreciate poetry from the women they seek to marry.

So you lift your head, taking care not to gawk in any direction (because for all you think the Kim family is a menace to society, they do have good taste in decoration), and paste your practiced sweet smile to your lips. Like any good debutante should.

Like any diamond of the first water should.

Your mother stays with you, thank the heavens, as the men begin to approach. She did not exaggerate, you think dizzily as one request after another comes for a dance on your card—they are clamoring for your hand despite not having seen you anywhere in society for several years. It doesn't matter to them that you've been abroad, taking care of your ill grandmother. It doesn't matter to them that beyond your dowry you don't have that much money to speak of, most of it having gone towards her care. All that matters are rumors—rumors of your intelligence, rumors of your beauty—and the fact that the queen has named you her diamond.

There's poetry there too, scathing and elegant and itching to flow from your fingers, but you will just have to hold it back for tonight.

You do your best to look through the suitors, politely making conversation with those you allow to catch your eye, carefully passing your gaze over those you do not know or those you have heard will not treat you well. Your dance card fills rapidly even before the orchestra’s preludes are over and you've had too many offers of lemonade to count, and you're about to look at your mother—who's been patiently guiding you through the crowd, thank goodness—for some sort of excuse to clear your mind before the dancing starts, but just as you turn your head, a pair of eyes catches yours.

Your mother's grip tightens on your arm. You don't even need her frantic whisper to understand just who has come to seek a dance.

Yeonjun Choi. Duke of Hastings. The most eligible bachelor in this room, in status and in wealth.

Newly seeking a wife this season.

He comes forth, moving through the crowd with surprising ease. The other suitors seem to part for him, though you can see a few throwing him annoyed glances. He's handsome, ridiculously handsome—tall, with lush dark hair and captivating eyes. Your heart skips a beat.

No poetry there. Just a cliche, and an overused one at that.

But so very accurate in this moment.

“Miss L/N.” The duke stops in front of you, a brilliant smile on his face. “I don't believe we've met.”

“Your Grace.” You dip into the curtsy that has now become second nature to you and your legs. “I don't believe we have. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Modest, I see.” The smile grows wider. “I have heard tales of your beauty and wit, Miss L/N. I see your beauty has not been exaggerated—” you have to try hard not to topple over right then and there— “and had hoped to experience the pleasure of your conversation for myself, if it so delights you.” He dips his head in acquiescence. “That is, assuming your dance card isn't already full.”

Oh, he's good. Knows exactly how to flatter just enough that it seems genuine, but not so much that it becomes overkill. Your knees feel slightly weak—if it weren't for your mother holding you up, you think you might have fallen in between his compliments and smooth words, and if he had, you're pretty sure the duke would have caught you in some suave, gentlemanly way—and that is absolutely not something you should be imagining because your face already feels too hot just from his stare and you have words that you need to say.

“You are too kind, Your Grace.” You bow your head in acknowledgement of the praise, thankful for the practiced smile that never falls from your lips. “I believe I still have a few dances left on my card, if you should wish to take one. Perhaps the quadrille?”

“That sounds perfect,” he agrees readily, lifting the card around your wrist and quickly signing his name. When he drops the card, you go to pull your hand away but he catches it before you can, grip gentle but unrelenting as you look up in surprise.

Your entire body seems to freeze as he gazes into your eyes, that gentle smile still present on his lips.

“Your dance card is quite full, Miss L/N,” he says, still not letting go. “Take care not to tire or injure yourself by the end of the night.”

You nod slowly, not trusting your voice to speak at all. If you did, you might squeak, or something equally embarrassing.

His smile widen. “Until our dance then, my lady,” he says.

And presses a kiss to your fingertips.

. . . . .

Straightening his cravat, Yeonjun looks in the mirror one last time before meeting his mother in the estate's entryway. “Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm.

“Not so fast.” She pushes the arm away, levels a scrutinizing eye over every piece of his outfit, from his styled hair to the tips of his shoes. “Acceptable,” she finally says, though Yeonjun can see the pleased glint in her eye.

“Only acceptable?” he teases back, pouting his lips heavily. “Am I not the most handsome son a woman could ask for?”

“Of course you are.” The mock crotchety look on her face melts away, replaced with fondness that makes Yeonjun's heart ache as she reaches up to touch his cheek. “I'm so proud of you, my son. Look at you—you've grown up so well, and now you're on your way to finding a wife, too.” She sniffs, bringing out the handkerchief she always carries in her sleeve. “Your father would be so proud to see you now.”

“I hope so, Mother.” Yeonjun smiles, holding out his arm once more. “Shall we go now? We should take care not to be late.”

The carriage ride to the park takes place mostly in silence, his mother quietly speaking with her attendant on one side while Yeonjun stares out the window on his. Streets flash by and he takes note as they approach the park where the two of you are to promenade today.

Some part of him is relieved that you agreed to his invitation. Though Wooyoung was right—he was the most eligible bachelor through and through that night at the ball—it was hard not to feel the sting of competition as he watched you dancing throughout the night, seemingly never tiring even once as you stepped gracefully across the ballroom in the arms of so many men. Just by watching, he could tell you were an incredible dancer, and when it came his turn to spin you in the quadrille, his opinion of you only increased tenfold.

Yeonjun knows he's a good dancer. He enjoys it, really, in a way not many of his friends do—it's fun to whirl about the ballroom in these practiced movements—calming, even, when he doesn't have to worry about beady-eyed mamas trying to hunt him down every second. But you—you floated about the ballroom as though you were made of air, your dress rippling in the light as though it was made of water. Not once did you stumble, which Yeonjun could have forgiven once or twice given that you'd never danced together before, and not once did you falter in the conversation he kept up even though you'd been dancing for at least an hour already.

The praise heaped upon your dancing and demeanor were not exaggerated, not in the slightest. So he wasn't exactly surprised when he arrived at your estate the next day and found a clamoring of suitors lined up outside of the calling room, flowers in hand and sweet words on their lips. When it was his turn to meet you, all the blooms scattered about the room made something strangely akin to jealousy twitch in his chest.

But it was a good opportunity to observe you after having accepted so many calls. You were as fresh-faced as ever as you greeted him, took the flowers from his hands and gave him appropriate thanks before settling them carefully in a vase before you. Several servants were arranging flowers in other areas of the room, but you took his personally, and there were no other bouquets he could see that had been given the same treatment as his.

“Blue is my favorite color,” you had told him as you bade him sit. “Did you know this?”

No, he didn't. He'd admitted as much. “A stroke of luck,” he'd smiled, and the morning call went on much as he'd planned.

Perhaps he will truly be lucky in this, he thinks as the carriage pulls up to the park. Perhaps you truly will be the epitome of a duchess that his mother was, the perfect woman to stand by his side as his partner in marriage as he oversees the estate his father left him. Because just from your first two meetings, Yeonjun has already formed quite a good opinion of you that many of the other ladies this season haven't managed to reach despite him having known them, or at least known of them, for several years. You are polite, you are reserved, you dance well, you speak well, and most importantly, you know how to act. Though, to be fair, he's basing this last conjecture on the fact that you didn't react to him kissing your hand—physically, at least—after he'd asked you for a dance.

Which was a blow to his ego. Somewhat. Yeonjun does take pride in his ability to fluster people—not even just women, but sometimes his friends as well—but it's a good thing, in this case. It means that no matter what you feel on the inside, you are not easily swayed on the outside. You can hide your feelings, an essential skill for a member of the ton—especially for one of the duchy.

All this is assuming, of course, that she felt anything at all when you kissed her hand, an annoying voice that sounds a lot like Beomgyu reminds him in the back of his head.

Yeonjun shoves the Beomgyu-esque voice away. That's a thought he doesn't really want to consider.

He helps his mother down from the carriage when they arrive and begins scanning the park for you and your mother. To his luck, you're standing not far away, and he gladly leads his mother up to the two of you. “Miss L/N!” he calls, letting his usual smile fall quickly over his lips. “I hope we have not kept you waiting.”

“No, you're right on time, Your Graces.” You smile, bobbing a shallow curtsy. “We merely thought it prudent to arrive a few minutes early, as we didn't want to make you wait.”

“Allow me to make introductions,” Yeonjun says. “This is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Hastings. Mother, this is Miss L/N and her esteemed mother, the Right Honorable Lady L/N.”

“Your Grace.” Both you and your mother dip into deeper curtsies, easy and graceful. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine. I see my son's praise of your manners has not been exaggerated in the slightest.” His mother smiles, walking up to yours. “Come, Lady L/N. Let's let the young ones go ahead—I don't think I'll quite be able to keep up with them on these old bones.”

“Mother,” Yeonjun protests. “Your bones are hardly old.”

“You don't know what you're saying,” she sniffs, winking at your mother. At her side you're stifling a laugh, and despite himself, Yeonjun can't help but feel a fond smile widening his lips. “Go on, you two.”

Taking his cue, Yeonjun offers you his arm, making sure to direct that fond smile at you. “Shall we?”

. . . . .

A week later, you stand in the same park, again waiting for the duke to join you on a promenade. He's not late, you're just early, but as your mother waits anxiously by your side, you take the few moments of silence to think.

The duke—he's never been anything but kind or pleasant in any of your meetings. He's a far cry from many of the more obnoxious suitors you've had to endure in the calling room, those whose advances you've declined while still trying to be as gracious as possible. And he is far and beyond the best option you have at the moment, and probably the best option you're ever going to get. He's a duke, for heaven's sake—the only way you could go higher than him would be if you married a prince, and you're not even sure you’d ever want to go that far. Living in the palace sounds like a dream, but there are already so many rules you need to follow as a mere member of the ton—life as royalty would be even more restricting.

But while there's nothing obviously off-putting about the duke, you can't help but want to pause a little, reevaluate this situation without him nearby to put your thoughts into a spin. He's handsome, he's kind, he's clearly intelligent, and you're sure that he will respect you even in marriage. Sakura has told you of some rumors of him being a rake, but those mostly seem to have died down around the time his father died, when he would have been assuming the role of a duke. Which means he has a sense of responsibility. But even then, it's just...

Some part of you, even though you know it's kind of ridiculous, still hoped for a love match. One like your parents had, the relationship you saw when your father was still alive. While you've often listened to your mind over your heart, your heart still has a voice, and it wants to love and be loved in return.

Perhaps the duke might give you love. You don't know. But it doesn't seem like a priority for him at all, based on your conversations at the now three balls where you've danced with him, as well as the one promenade you've been on so far. While your words flowed well and there was never a moment of truly uncomfortable silence, it didn't seem like he was interested in getting to know you. It was more like he wanted to... interview you for a job, or something.

Which is fair, you suppose. Being a duchess is a job, that much is clear. But you still hadn't expected to spend an hour detailing every piece of your studies, your knowledge of current languages and the classics, the tutors you had for music and dance and mathematics.

Love shouldn't be a priority for you. It isn't, not according to the list of requirements you have for a husband sitting in your brain. Money comes first, followed closely by a pleasant demeanor that you could live with, even if you could not eventually come to love. Yeonjun fits both. If he were to propose marriage, you are sure would respond affirmatively.

But some part of you would still scream to say no.

“Miss L/N!”

Yeonjun comes walking jauntily up, that unflappable smile still on his face. Time to stop thinking.

You force yourself out of your thoughts, dipping into a little curtsy as he comes to a stop in front of you. Your mothers immediately draw towards each other—they've become great friends as far as you can see, which is one good thing that has come out of this—and so you take Yeonjun's proffered arm with a smile and allow him to lead you onto the pathway.

He asks you the usual questions—how are you, how is your mother, nothing untoward has happened since we last met, has it? You respond in kind, mouth moving automatically through the pleasantries, and then a short silence falls.

It's hard not to fall back into your previous thoughts, with the duke right on your arm. Everything about your recent meetings suggests he will propose by the end of the season, and you should be glad for it. This was what you wanted, was it not? Financial stability, and a husband who would be kind, at the very least.

Maybe you didn't expect how clinical this would all feel. Or maybe you underestimated how much you really wanted a love match.

“You seem preoccupied, my lady.” Yeonjun looks over, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Is something the matter, Miss L/N?”

You press your lips together. You've honed the art of conversation for years, but right now, you're not sure if you should broach the subject of your feelings. It might not be the best idea—you don't want to turn Yeonjun away, not at all—but he seems like a straightforward person, generally. His little interview-conversation during your last walk only affirms that.

“During our last promenade,” you say quietly, nodding at a few girls who pass by. “I will be honest. It sounded more like a job interview, Your Grace—or at least what I imagine a job interview would be like. Not quite the conversation one would have on a simple walk.”

Yeonjun looks at you long and hard. For one nerve-wracking moment, he says nothing.

“Was it displeasing to you?” he finally asks. “If so, I apologize.”

“Not at all.” The dismissal falls easily from your lips, easily enough that you can almost believe it wasn't a full lie. “I suppose I was simply not expecting to be quizzed on my knowledge of Latin and Greek for an hour.”

The duke reddens slightly at that. “Surely I did not only speak of the classics for so long.”

“You didn't, Your Grace. I exaggerate.” You laugh a little. “I only wondered what exactly you were looking for in me during that time.”

“Would you like the truthful answer?” the duke asks, suddenly serious.

You blink. “If I were to say no, what answer would you give?”

He smiles a little. “Something flowery, perhaps. Something that would avoid the question and leave both of us unsatisfied. But you wouldn't want that, I think.”

“You're right.” He is. “I wouldn't want that.”

“Then I will be honest with you.” Yeonjun sighs. “I am a duke, and whomever I marry will be duchess. It is not a title to be taken lightly—we would be responsible not just for the estate, but also for the people of whom we are charged to take care. It is not the same as, perhaps, being the lord and lady of a manor. There are greater responsibilities.”

“I see.”

“There are two important things to being one of the duchy,” Yeonjun continues. “One is to be a good duchess—being able to run the household as well as assist me in any affairs that might need another hand, which in all honesty are many. The other is to be perceived as a good duchess. And that is where most of my questions come in hand.”

“I... see.” You slowly nod your head.

“My mother was one of the most accomplished women of her generation.” The two of you glance back at the duchess, who's still talking animatedly with your mother. “She knew all the languages that you do, could play the pianoforte well and even the violin, somewhat. Beyond the fact that my father loved her, she was also well suited to taking care of the estate, and she partnered with him well. She was seen as a duchess who was capable, and she proved it as well.”

Yeonjun turns back to you. “Miss L/N, forgive me for being frank—I have heard of your family situation. Correct me if any of this is wrong, but I believe that beyond your dowry, there is not much money left to take care of all of you without relying on others.”

You swallow. It was blunt, but he isn't wrong.

“But I am not looking for money. Heavens, my family has enough of that.” He laughs a little. “I am looking for someone who can be that partner for me, and based on our meetings so far, I think you are the only one of the eligible ladies this year—possibly in several years—to be able to handle all of this.”

Your head is starting to spin a little. Everything he's said so far makes sense, and you understand where he's coming from, but it's starting to sound—it's starting to sound like he's proposing to you right now—

“I will be honest in that I am not looking for love. If that is an expectation of yours, I will not be offended if you choose to seek someone else.” He pauses on the pathway, fixing you with his gaze. “But you are, I believe, a partner with whom I could be satisfied in navigating the rest of my life.”

He said so much. You took in everything that he said. But for some reason, the only words that continue to bounce around in your head are I am not looking for love.

Which is—ridiculous. You aren't looking for love either—at least, you shouldn't be. Your first priority is to secure financial stability for your family. Anything beyond that would be a plus. But you can't deny the slight sinking of your heart, the way you can feel all of your childish, sappy little daydreams sinking to the bottom of your skull...

You take a deep breath, force a lightness to remain in your tone. “Your Grace, this is beginning to sound like a marriage proposal.”

The duke's gaze doesn't waver. “If you'd like it to be, then it is.”

You're still holding his arm. It's all you can do to keep from clenching his elbow with a vice grip because you really think you might fall. You've gotten a marriage proposal—from a duke—in a matter of days—

“Allow me to be honest as well, Your Grace.” You swallow hard. “I am not looking for love either. My primary interest is securing a source of financial stability for my family, now that we no longer own our estate. It is not to look for love.” It's not a lie, you tell yourself even as the words burn slightly on your tongue. At least not completely. “However, while our values do seem to align, and I am extremely flattered by your proposal, I will ask that you wait a little longer for me to give you an answer. We have only known each other for the best part of three weeks. I would simply like some time to get to know you more.”

“That is a fair request.” Yeonjun inclines his head. “Don't worry—we do not have to treat today's conversation as a proposal at all, Miss L/N. If it so pleases you, I will ask again in a few weeks' time. Until then, please only think of our words today as a suggestion or an explanation of my thoughts, not as anything concrete. Your answer when I ask again will be the only one I consider.”

It's a better reply than you expected. He doesn't seem offended at all by your hesitance, and he was honest. There isn't much more you could want, not from a man such as he.

Part of you knows that if he'd demanded an answer right now, you would have said yes. That same part of you knows that your answer isn't likely to change even with a few weeks—this is the best offer you will receive, from a man who is both respectful and handsome and doesn't care about your relative wealth status compared to his. But it's fast, you think, too fast—you can't sign your life away after only knowing him for less than three weeks.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the twinge in your chest whenever you remember he has no intention of marrying you for love.

“You are very kind, Your Grace.” You smile at him. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, Miss L/N.” He smiles back, oblivious to the thoughts still spinning around your mind. “Shall we continue our walk, then?”

. . . . . When Yeonjun wakes up, there's a sense of urgency in his chest that doesn't match the lazy light beginning to filter through the curtains against his window, a slight nervousness that doesn't quite make sense. His eyes blink blearily, searching for the clock—it's only eight. He hasn't missed anything important. His first engagement won't even be for three more hours, he can close his eyes and sleep for a little longer—

Engagement.

His eyes snap wide open.

Today is the day he's going to propose to you.

Heart hammering, he sits up in bed, shaking loose strands of hair out of his eyes. Quickly he dresses, all the while trying to think of everything he'll need for tonight and coming up with absolutely nothing except for the ring, which is snug in the pocket of his pants. He pulls it out, holds it up to the light.

Polished gold, a set of pearls laid into the metal surrounding a single small diamond. It has been in his family for generations—his mother had worn it until a few years ago, when she had decided that Yeonjun needed the reminder that he was to choose a wife soon. He stares at it, watches it shine in the early morning light, before sliding it safely back into his pocket. Nothing will happen to it, he tries to reassure himself. Absolutely nothing.

And nothing does happen to it throughout the day, thankfully, not during his meeting with the solicitor, not while he flips through finance sheets at his desk, not while he dresses once more for the dinner your mother has invited him to tonight. He'd spoken with her a few days ago, called on her in private while he knew you would be busy at the modiste, and asked for her permission to formally propose. She was the one who'd suggested the dinner as a way for him to ask the question to you in a somewhat private setting.

There should be no problem. All through the carriage ride to your estate, Yeonjun tries to calm his beating heart as his mother gazes at him amusedly from the other side. “Stop looking at me like that,” he finally says. “Mother.”

“I can't stop looking at my only son right now,” she scolds. “Not when he looks so handsome and ready to propose to his future duchess.”

Future duchess. Yeonjun takes a breath. Yes, you're to be his future wife and his duchess. The thought is surprisingly nerve-wracking.

It shouldn't be, though. He's had his mind set on you since that first conversation with Soobin at the club, since he met you at the first ball of the season. He's done everything this season with you in mind—he should be used to the idea of standing by you as your husband, you as his wife. Him as your duke, and you as his duchess.

His heart begins to calm. Yes, there's no reason to be nervous. The only reason you put off the question when he first suggested it was because you felt it was too early, and that's understandable, given it had only been three weeks and Yeonjun hadn't even meant to propose, really—it had just sounded like it, and you, ever perceptive, had picked up on it. It's been four weeks now since then, and he's danced with you at seven more balls, promenaded with you five more times, and you've already dined once at his estate with some of his extended family. He's asked your mother for permission. Everything will fall into place.

“Do you think she'll like the way I look?” he asks, winking obnoxiously at his mother.

She laughs. “There is no way she could refuse you. Why, if she isn't already in love, she'll have fallen for you by the end of tonight.”

The smile freezes on Yeonjun's face. Love, yes. The very thing he hasn't been focusing on at all when it comes to you.

You'd agreed with that. He'd suspected you would, given your tenuous finances—not dire, not yet, but still not stable. Besides, love is rare. You are practical. You know that. Most marriages are of convenience. You didn't express any sort of hurt or abandon when he'd given you his honest thoughts.

But his mother... maybe she wants him to be in love.

“Yeonjun?” She leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is everything all right?”

He blinks. “Of course,” he replies. And just then, the carriage rattles to a stop in front of an estate that has by now grown familiar, giving him the perfect excuse to avoid any other questions she might ask. As soon as he can, Yeonjun hops down from the carriage and holds out a hand for his mother to take. “Let's go, Mother.”

. . .

The dinner goes well. Your mother placed him next to you, and the two of you speak amicably through the evening as your mothers chatter at the end of the table. With every word that comes out of your mouth, every little laugh and witty jab, Yeonjun only grows even more sure that you are the one who should share the duchy with him.

When the dessert has finished and the last plate cleared away, your mother coughs subtly at the end of the table. Yeonjun takes the hint as they all rise from the table, turning toward her with his sweetest smile. “Lady L/N, I was wondering if you would allow me to solicit a private audience with your daughter. Just for a few moments.”

Her eyes sparkle. Yeonjun really wouldn't mind having her as a mother in law—she's dutiful, patient, and truly loves you in a way that is rare in this society today. “Of course, Your Grace,” she says, inclining her head. “Come, Your Grace—we will have some entertainment for ourselves in the sitting room. Please, the two of you, do join us when you are ready.”

Everyone else filters from the room, leaving it empty save for you and Yeonjun. Even the servants have gone from their silent posts around the table.

You look at Yeonjun quietly. Not a word passes from your lips, though there is a question in your eyes. Actually, perhaps not really a question—there's no way you don't know what is to happen in a moment. It's an invitation in your gaze instead, an expectation of what will come.

Yeonjun takes a deep breath. “A few weeks ago, I suppose I... unintentionally proposed to you on our second promenade.” He smiles and so do you, your eyes crinkling at his choice of words. He internally pats himself on the back for it. “You asked me for time, and I have given it. I suppose what I would say now is much of what I said then—I am looking for a duchess, a wife who can stand by my side as a partner in this marriage, who will help me in my affairs with ensuring the people of my land are treated well.”

You nod. “I understand, Your Grace.”

“It has been over a month since we met, nearly two.” Yeonjun swallows. “In that time, I have truly determined you are one of the most gracious, capable women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I believe you will be the most able partner I could have in my journey of dukedom.” He pulls out the ring, letting the gems sparkle in the candlelight as he holds it out to you. “Will you do me the honor of being that partner, of becoming my wife and the Duchess of Hastings?”

For a long, long moment, you don't respond. Yeonjun counts the moments, counts the breaths—one, two, three, four—his heart beginning to thud the longer you go without speaking.

Finally, your gaze lifts from the ring to his eyes. “I have one stipulation in this proposal, Your Grace,” you say. “My mother—she believes... she believes we are in love.”

Yeonjun tilts his head. “I see.”

“She wants a love match for me. Always has, just like her and my father.” You heave a small sigh. “I am impartial, Your Grace. Love matches such as my mother's are rare, and I am more interested in securing the practicalities of my marriage. As we discussed before, I do not expect love from any relationship we have, but I will ask that... we pretend. In front of her.” You swallow visibly. “I don't want to deceive her, but I would rather do that than upset her.”

Yeonjun pauses. Thinks. Your mother won't live on your estate—nor will she be over often enough for acting to become a full time ordeal. You have a small home in the country, you have said, one your distant cousin has said you are allowed to live in, and while it is not far from his lands, it is not close, either. This stipulation shouldn't be an issue.

“I understand,” he says, smiling easily. “I will agree to this... act. Truth be told,” he continues, “I think my mother would like it if I were in a love match, too. Perhaps it will not just be your mother that we should act around.”

You nod once, slowly. Your throat bobs. For a moment it looks as though you have something else to say, but your expression clears so quickly that Yeonjun is sure he imagined it.

“So will you do me the honor, Miss L/N?” he asks again, taking your hand. The gold of the ring sparkles against the silk of your gloves, shimmering and pristine. “Of being my partner for life?”

You take a breath. Yeonjun watches your chest rise and fall once, twice.

“Yes, Your Grace.” You nod, and relief cracks deep and full in Yeonjun's chest, warmth rippling through his body as you smile. “I will.”

. . . . .

It hits you, exactly what you’re about to do to your future, when it's already too late.

The morning has been going—by all accounts of the situation—fine. You woke up early. Washed. Stared at your notebook that you haven't written in for two weeks, not since poetry stopped flowing from your fingertips in elegant lines and became stilted, choked, singular words instead. Tore your eyes from the leather cover and the pencil still lodged between its pages—it's easier not to question everything when you can't write about it—and left the room for a bite of breakfast before being whisked back to your room to dress.

Everything is—fine. It's fine. Everything is perfectly fine. Sakura helps you put on your wedding attire, settles the dress against your body, the gloves on your fingers, the jewelry around your wrists and neck. Light makeup dusts your face, reminiscent of what you wore to the first ball, and an elegant little flower crown adorns the top of your head. In the mirror, you look beautiful.

Or you would, if not for the fear you can see rooted deep in your eyes.

Your mother exclaims when you enter the room, hands gripping your arms as she looks you up and down. The servants stare in wide-eyed awe as you walk down to the entryway. You try hard to hide that fear from yourself and everyone else, settling into the carriage with only a wide smile on your face, and you force yourself to wear that smile the entire way to the venue as though pretending pure happiness will make it true.

You're whisked away immediately to freshen up once more. Sakura touches up the makeup, straightens the flower crown on your brow. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror for fear of anyone—most of all yourself—seeing the truth in your eyes. Someone hands you a bouquet of flowers that compliments your gown and you thank them as best you can without losing your mind completely. Time passes, somehow, and then someone has dragged you behind the doors at the entrance of the hall where you wait for your cue.

It starts. Music begins to play. You stand behind the closed doors, fighting for breath. Yeonjun will already be at the altar, you know, his family and friends on his side of the pews. Next to you, your mother counts down the seconds, dabbing tears from her eyes when she thinks you aren't looking until she gets to one and the doors begin to swing open.

One foot in front of the other. The muscle memory that you drilled into yourself for your debut—was that just three months ago? Really only three? It feels like it's been years and at the same time it feels like it's been days—returns, and your chin lifts slightly (just enough to suggest pride, but not so much as to indicate haughtiness) as your eyes settle on the man you are to marry at the end of the hall.

The man you are to marry.

Your foot falters. You almost trip. Your mother tightens her grip on your arm and you can see her glance at you worriedly but you force yourself not to look, to keep stepping forward—it wasn't much. It didn't show. It doesn't matter, it doesn't mean anything—

Yeonjun gazes back at you from the altar, that sweet, charming smile on his face. He looks like the epitome of the perfect husband—handsome, gentle, loving.

Loving.

If only.

Your mother lets go of your arm. You both curtsy to the dowager duchess on her side, who smiles widely, and then she steps back to take her seat, leaving you to make the rest of the journey alone.

One step, two steps. The short distance up to the altar feels like it takes an eternity but once you're there, you wish it had taken longer. Heaving a silent, shaky breath, you turn to face Yeonjun.

The smile is still on your face.

Someone begins to read something, onerous and steady and sounding like utterly nothing as it passes through your head. Your fingers are sweaty and your gloves aren’t absorbent—you can feel the silk sliding against your palms as you try to readjust your grip on the bouquet, all the while staring into Yeonjun's eyes. His smile never falters.

Neither, you hope, does yours.

There's a pause in the reading. Someone appears with rings. You take one and Yeonjun takes the other. The words continue, pounding through your head, and try as you might, you can't understand a single one even though you can speak four languages—

“Do you, His Grace Yeonjun Choi, promise to take Y/N L/N to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”

Your heart stops. That part you can understand.

“I do.” Yeonjun's voice rings loud and clear, not a note of uncertainty in his tones. The two words echo in your ears long after he has slipped the ring onto your finger, even as the priest turns to you next.

“Do you, Miss L/N L/N, promise to take Yeonjun Choi to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”

Every eye in the room turns to you. It's like you're in the queen's hall again, about to step backward and ask your mother if that really just happened, if the queen really just named you her diamond, but where that happiness filled your heart in that moment, you can't name what you feel now.

Or maybe you just don't want to name it, for fear that you know what it is.

And that's when you realize.

You don't want this at all.

You don't want to marry Yeonjun. You don't want to tie yourself down to someone who can't promise to love you. You don't want to be married to someone who can't even promise to care for you in the way your father did your mother, the way your mother cared for your father—you don't want it, you don't want it, you don't want any of it at all—

But you promised. Even now you wear the ancestral engagement ring on your finger, pearls and diamonds that glint in the sunlight through the windows. You are engaged. You promised yourself to Yeonjun. You told him you wanted it, that you agreed with his opinions, that you wouldn't expect anything more of him when it came to your partnership.

You blink once, twice. Picture your mother and Sakura sitting in the pews. The two of them want this for you. The two of them need this from you.

And you know you would give your life for them, light yourself on fire for them, burn to ashes for them. It's why you studied for so many years, burnt the midnight oil hours after everyone had gone to bed to make yourself the best debutante who would ever grace society—it was for them. Always for them.

Slowly, even as it gets harder and harder to breathe, you swallow. Stand up straighter. Glance down at the flowers between your sweaty hands, then back up at the man to whom you're about to sign your life away.

Your voice rings out, clear and sweet, the way a diamond of the first water should speak. It doesn't tremble once. Doesn't falter at all.

“I do.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 hug for mc. she’s kinda going through it)

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