jenny jump up

Let’s Stay Together | three [m]


Genre:
angst, fluff, smut, horror ⚠️: (drug/alcohol use)

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: Your first party in Gateway…

A/N: OK Y’ALL… this chapter was SO fun to write. I was deadass milly rocking to Disco music for 6 hours while I wrote this. I loved the music so much, I put the links to every song in this chapter so that you can listen while you read if you want! It really sets the mood for the scenes.

Disclaimer: I do not encourage the illegal consumption of drugs or alcohol. This story is a work of fiction.

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“Do I look okay? It’s not too much?” You shift anxiously, leaning against the passenger side door.

Jisoo finally found an outfit she said you had to have. It’s a set going for $200 dollars at retail price- she gave it to you for $25. The pants are in the bell-bottom style, but are made entirely of the softest, smoothest gold satin instead of the usual denim or corduroy. They hug your ass tightly and highlight the shapely curves of your legs, flaring at the bottom over your wooden wedges. They sit comfortably high on your waist, leaving a couple inches of your midsection bare. The pants came with a matching satin crop top. It’s not too low-cut, but shows enough skin to leave anyone who looks at you wanting more. The sleeves are long and offer a bit of whimsy with the way they flare out over your hands, similarly to the pants. Along with some big gold hoop earrings, the glow of this auriferous ensemble contrasts and complements your skin tone exquisitely. It’s no wonder Taehyung couldn’t wait to get you out of it earlier…

“Y/n, it is… a sin how good you look right now… if they don’t name you the queen of this disco then they’re out of their damn minds.” Taehyung looks up at you with adoration as he finishes fixing his brown leather shoe, then smooths down the silk of his own green Gucci top. It’s also long-sleeved, but loose-fitting and reveals the perfect amount of his tanned chest… you can’t wait to leave a trail of your lip gloss down the length of his abs…

Later…

Looking down with a demure smile, you try to wrangle your thoughts and carnal desires. You rub your hands together, keeping them warm from the slight chill in the air. Taehyung parked his truck a little ways away from the bonfire in efforts to avoid traffic on the way home, and you’re far enough from the warmth of the party to feel the reality of the night weather. The moon, a round beauty in full effect, smiles down on you with the promise of a night you won’t soon forget. 

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BLACKPINK REACTION TO YOU GETTING INJURED ONSTAGE WHILE DOING A STUNT

Jisoo:

She was backstage getting ready when Lisa ran in telling her that you had hurt yourself on stage so badly that the members of your group had to pick you up and carry you away. Jisoo would start freaking out pushing past everyone going to look for you. When she find you sitting in a chair crying while everyone was around she would run to you asking so many questions and telling you after the show you two would go home and rest.

Jennie:

Your group was on stage at one of the biggest award show. Lately, you and Jennie both have been very busy and she was all you could think about even while on stage. When it came down to your dance break everything was blur and you did one wrong step and end up falling so hard you hit you head. Jennie jumped up but felt Jisoo grab her hand,knowing what Jisoo was doing Jennie sat back down and put her head down trying to cry and worry badly about you. Later when she finally get to see you she would hug you tight and say “No more dangerous moves!” She would never stop telling you that.

Rosé:

She was backstage at your concert when you ended up hurting yourself. She would start crying at first but knew she had to be strong for you. When the crew put you down backstage she held your hand and would bring up anything to get you mind off of the pain. One you two get home she wouldn’t let you do anything. 

Lisa:

You were in the hospital after a bad move on stage. Lisa wasn’t going to cry in front of you but inside she was crying hard. You knew she was hurting so you would make jokes just to see her laugh. When you ended up falling asleep, she would end up crying herself asleep think about how she hates seeing you hurt and everyday she would make sure you never try doing something dangerous again.

Phantom.

It had been 6 months since the accident. I remember because Elizabeth was helping me sign my name in our daughter Jenny’s birthday card. Slowly she guided by hand, helping me create some legible signature rather than the scribbles of a child in kindergarten, the best that I was able to manage with such little practice. It seems that when one loses a limb, it’s quite likely to be the dominant one. For me it was the right.

I was concentrating on my writing, trying not to make her do too much of the work, when I felt it. I hadn’t noticed the phantom feeling of my elbow resting on the table beside me, by this point I had almost gotten used to it, although the pain would sometimes still wake me. It was brief, but enough to startle me and cause my hand, still holding the pen, to jump and effectively turn my name into scribbles despite my wife’s best efforts. It was gentle but cold. Too cold. Less like ice and more like the feeling of a deep cut, when the insides of a body part are suddenly exposed to the outside elements that they were never supposed to meet. When Elizabeth asked, I shrugged it off, telling her it was an unexpected pain in the hand that was convinced it was clenched, even though it didn’t exist. At the moment, I almost believed that that was what happening myself.

The next time it woke me. I was asleep on my stomach, with my phantom arm dangling off of the bed. I’ve slept like that as long as I can remember, and when I first felt it I thought that my hand had fallen asleep and causing the pins-and-needles sensation that I had often felt. When I tried to open and close my hand, I awoke, remembering in a sleepy haze that I didn’t have a hand to open, yet the cold feeling remained. This time it stayed a while, and I could make out the distinct feeling of fingers on my skin. I tried to shake my hand, but couldn’t. I pushed down with my left hand and shifted to roll over onto my back, yet the feeling remained, still as defined, and I wondered how long this invisible hand had held me. I shook my wife awake and explained, but she was convinced that it was simply a part of the process. She held me and talked to me in her cooing, comforting voice until, one by one, the fingers lifted, releasing me from the torture of the cold. Feeling it reminded me of the accident. There was a blizzard, and Elizabeth was driving. As a truck approached the car slid, she tried like hell to control it, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. I grabbed the wheel, spinning the car until it came to a stop, then the truck hit us. My arm was mostly severed at the time of impact, but my wife and daughter were fine. The feeling of blood escaping you chills you to the bone, and that was exactly what I was feeling while in this creature’s grasp.

For months it happened, with no warning or reason. The doctors said it was just the phantom limb, that it was to be expected. No one understood that something was wrong. Sometimes it would last days at a time, and those were the days when I would stay in bed, watching TV, trying not to focus on the hand around my wrist, trying not to think of the thing that was holding me. Sometimes it’s grip would loosen only to tighten again, as if the hand that didn’t exist was sore from holding my hand that didn’t exist for so long. The one day, it stopped. For a month or so, nothing happened at all. I had gone from living with an unknown entity at my side every day to finally being free. We lived it up during that time. We went everywhere, from the Grand Canyon to Disney World. It had been forever since we had the opportunity to spend time as a family again, and we enjoyed every moment we had, grateful to have suffered only a small loss to our family.

We had opened the cafe again, and my wife was doing what she loved. My daughter and I were at the cafe. It was closing time. She and I sat at a table outside while Elizabeth closed the register, chatting about the upcoming middle school dance. My wife joined us and locked the doors. “Wanna come with me?” she asked, patting the bag of money in her hand awaiting deposit at the bank across the street. Jenny jumped up, eager, no doubt, to get one of the suckers from the candy dish that the bank kept at it’s counter. “I’ll warm up the truck,” I said, fishing my keys from my pocket. My wife nodded in approval and walked me to the truck, kissing me on the cheek through the window after I entered, and again on glass after I rolled it up. They headed down the length of the truck and I turned to check the mirror when I saw it. A truck barreling down the road heading straight for my wife and daughter. I screamed her name and threw the door open when the hand that wasn’t there was suddenly jerked to the opposing side of the truck, holding me in place as I kicked and screamed. The kiss on the glass of the window was the last I ever got, and the hand never let go again.