#// i said i would have a simple muse and ended up making this enigma i don’t even know myself a+ on playing myself

[yehet-me-up]

Reboot

Pairing: Jongdae/Chen x reader (female)

Word Count: 26,971 😬 read it in a mobile web browser if it crashes! 

Rating: (PG13) for swearing + sexy vibes (nothing more explicit than a kiss on the page though)

Summary: Chen’s Electronics is a mystery, both how the store came to be and the man running it. When you start working as a receptionist for the enigma that is Kim Jongdae, you’re determined to be the one who unravels the mystery. You’re prepared for anything, except for falling in love with Jongdae himself. 

Part eight of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

A/N: I’m SO delighted that Jongdae is getting his IRL happily ever after and I’m so excited to wrap up his fictional counterpart’s story today, so he can have his ending as well 💕

March 15th, 1997

Capitol Hill is in full swing, the promise of spring drawing the sleeping city from its winter hibernation. The silver dress you wear is far shorter than you're used to, but the denim jacket is big enough to properly cover your ass, which is something at least. In your platform boots, borrowed from your roommate Liz, you're almost tall enough to see over the busy street to Cal Anderson Park up ahead.

'Come on,' Liz says with an excited glint in her eye. 'The club's just on the far side of Boylston.'

You nod distantly, eyes wide as you try to take in all the people around you. After spending the last two years buried in a book in the UW library or at internships or in class it feels startling to realize how much youthful, passionate energy beats at the heart of the city so close to where you've been existing. Not that you never go out, but now that you’re approaching the end of your master’s degree you feel like a diver finally reaching the surface to draw breath. You’re ready to celebrate.

A door opens to your right and music surrounds you. An impassioned man sings about an even flow, accompanied by an aggressive drummer and what you can tell is skilled guitar playing. The people on the sidewalk beside you press in, screaming and cheering and trying to shove their way into a club. A faded sign above announces it as Moe's Bar.

Your roommate's hand finds yours and she pulls you out through an opening in the crowd.

Once you’re free again you laugh and brush your hair behind your ears. Dozens of other clubs and bars and late-night restaurants you pass are the same. Men with mohawks in every color of the rainbow. Women in combat boots with plaid jackets tied at their waists. A group of teenagers skateboard down Broadway, hollering into the night as they fly by, the clack of their wheels muffled by the lingering rain dampening the streets.

Everyone seems taken by the revelry. It would be so easy - to disappear into the thriving mass of people celebrating music and community and being alive. Now, with graduation so close you can finally taste it, you surrender to the sensation. Tilting your head back you look at the round full moon above, peeking out through the clouds, and give a joyful, if tentative, howl.

This makes your roommate turn and squeeze your hand. Liz smiles with pride. 'Now that's the spirit!' she says with a fist pump and howl of her own.

The nightclub is unassuming, especially amongst the neon and metal venues you passed to get here. Two simple brass lamps spotlight the enormous carved wooden doors. Bass thumps from within, the slight rattling of the doors is the only indication that life exists within. Shari’s reads the hanging sign.

Liz practically glows under the lights, a North star leading you into a whole new world.

After so many years of keeping your nose to the grindstone - success gained through effort rather than extraordinary intelligence; advanced classes, extra college courses during the summer, every extracurricular you could pack in before you cracked, a high school diploma by sixteen, bachelors by twenty and MBA by twenty two - you would follow her anywhere as long as it didn't involve studying or a business suit.

She guides you through the heavy wood door into a small entry room. A large man with so many piercings he'd have a terrible time at the security scanners at the airport checks your IDs. It's stayed in your wallet, practically untouched, since the official one came last year on your twenty-first birthday.

Finally inside the club you bite your lip to hide a wide, giddy smile of excitement. Bodies fill the dance floor, joyously swaying to the beat. A DJ booth rises from a far corner like Sauron’s tower in the Lord of the Rings. A man with dark hair that falls in his intense eyes runs the booth; a king commanding his loyal subjects.

Liz finds her group of friends from the mall she works at spread over two successive tables with circular cushioned benches behind them. Their names and faces blur together in the low lighting, but everyone is welcoming, offering you a smile or a shake of a hand. A cheerful blonde-haired man, who you swear says his name is Bacon, takes you and Liz’s coats and purses and adds them to an overflowing pile beside him.

Before you can even think of sitting down Liz guides you onto the dance floor. Normally you’re the one in control. The one with the plan. The group leader or the one who organized the debate team fundraiser/supply closet at work/networking mixer. But it’s… nice, not having to be the center of everything, keeping it together with your effort alone. 

She gives you a teasing smile as if she can read your thoughts and you roll your eyes with a laugh. ‘No overthinking this!’ she commands with a raised brow as you find a good spot.

As if I have any other way of thinking. ‘I promise nothing!’ you shrug and smile at her.

Your movements are slow at first, awkward, and you laugh to yourself with amusement. Self-deprecation has never been your poison. Along with an unshakeable drive to make something of yourself you've always had a healthy sense of self-esteem. Who cares if you aren't the best dancer?

You get into the swing after the second song and shake your ass with delight at the energy in the room and the incredible job the DJ is doing loosening you up. He’s remixing “Semi-Charmed Life” with an older techno hit you don’t recognize.

Before long Jongin, Liz’s crush and co-worker from the KOKO exercise studio, captures her attention and you end up dancing with Baekhyun (tragically not actually named Bacon) and a girl who calls herself Hitchcock. You recognize each other from a seminar last school year at UW and take a long break to catch each other up on your lives over shots at the table. 

She tells you about her dual jobs at Microsoft and the movie theater at the Exodus Mall. You fill her in on your thesis project and she offers to look over your resume as you plan to apply to a similar track at the tech giant after you graduate.

When Liz said she was forcing you from your obsessive, ahem dedicated, studying for your research paper you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t all of this. Reconnecting with a friend. A potential foot in the door at your dream job. Dancing so much that your back gets slick with sweat. Laughing with Liz so hard your stomach aches as Baekhyun attempts to breakdance, nearly falling backwards into no less than four people.

As if the night couldn’t get any better, something else catches your eye. Someone else - the DJ steps down from the booth on a break.

His black pants, white shirt, and tie would be overly formal and out of place in the nightclub, but his pushed-up sleeves reveal muscled forearms. The neon yellow sunglasses and loose piano pattern of the tie he wears make him look sexy, in an off-duty retro businessman kind of way. His face reveals none of his emotions as he slips off his shades, tucking them in his jacket pocket. But the corners of his lips tilt up with amusement as he scans the room.

Clearly he’s impressed with the atmosphere he’s created here tonight. As he should be, you think. You imagine for a moment what it would be like if he noticed you. If this was a meet-cute or the start of something. But his focus is on the bar now, not lingering on you or anyone else in the club. Dating for you was a rocky road and absolutely nothing like the way it looked in the John Hughes movies that were your guilty pleasure growing up.

Between your parents' support and your own innate thirst for success, you always felt like an outsider in terms of relationships. Extroverted and empathetic enough to make and maintain friendships, but boys were tougher. You could never figure out dating to your satisfaction in high school and you left when most of your peers were just finishing up Sophomore year.

In college there was hope. Studious and hardworking men with glasses and a love of Emily Dickinson and black coffee. Law school-bound guys who rowed crew and whose confidence was just on the right side of attractive instead of insufferable. John Cusack types with easy smiles and crates of vinyl they carefully collected, who performed at the Comedy Underground in hopes of ‘being discovered.’

It was both thrilling and irritating. You went after dating with almost as much determination as you did your school and career, set on experiencing everything possible.

But the English major wanted someone in a pastel dress and tights, who volunteered at an animal shelter and didn’t eviscerate him at Scrabble. The future lawyer was looking for his future trophy wife, to stand beside him at fancy dinners and fraternity mixers. And the Lloyd Dobler wannabe needed a muse, a beautiful and ethereal woman to be his object of longing, to laugh at his jokes and pass through life without worry about the future.

Not that you were jealous, or even bitter. Just because you weren’t what they were looking for wasn’t anything personal and you never took it like it was. The women they wanted existed and were wonderful in all their own ways. But it grated at you, how you always felt like a square peg in a round hole. Never being the right fit.

All your life you’d gotten used to knowing, and getting, what you wanted. It was insanely frustrating to not have found anything that stuck. Failure in any form made you frown, but thankfully romantic mishaps always took a backseat to school, friends, and your future, so it was easy to ignore. Until now.

The DJ passes close enough to you and Liz that you can see the echoes of dark circles under his eyes and the rich brown of his hair in the passing neon lights. For some reason that same intuition, that same hunger and drive that had propelled you to awards and scholarships and countless other successes, tells you to follow him. Whatever it is about him, your body and your desire react before your mind and conscious rational thought.

'I'll be back,' you yell to your roommate over the music. She nods and gives you a thumbs up as she's drawn into Jongin’s embrace once more.

Like a missile you weave through the crowd, target in sight. You watch as the DJ leans against the end of the bar, carefully positioning himself so he's at the end with no one behind him. You wonder if it's out of a dislike of people sneaking up on him or if he's a predator, sizing up the crowd.

With a casual hand he orders a drink from the bartender and surveys the crowd coolly. Too high on life to care too much, you take the seat two over from him, carefully avoiding eye contact, feigning nonchalance. ‘Self-possessed,’ that’s how your fifth grade teacher described you. Independent and old beyond your years. It always thrilled you, the praise and respect of adults. You wanted to earn more of it, to be seen as capable and mature.

But something about the man beside you makes you feel younger. Raw and playful in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever been before.

Admiring the cut of his jaw, you imagine kissing it. His hands on the bar are graceful, strong, befitting his profession. You want him and you want him to want you. The thought makes you inhale a deep breath, not even sure what that would mean. Adrenaline and delight fill your mind and you briefly fantasize about him holding you close on the dance floor like Jongin does to Liz. His hands on your hips and his mouth teasing your neck.

The bartender reappears on your side of the bar, his bald head gleaming in the lights of the club, and you snap back into reality. The flames tattooed across his knuckles shine as he slides a drink down the length of the bar, towards the DJ. An impulsive, reckless daring you've only ever felt before at debate tournaments makes you reach out and catch the glass of dark liquid before it can reach its desired recipient.

In one smooth motion you lift it to your lips and turn to meet the DJ's deep brown eyes. With a smirk you raise the glass. In two gulps you down the drink, the bourbon burning its way down your throat, reminding you how good it feels to be free, to be alive. 

To challenge someone who feels like a decent opponent.

He watches you, his eyes flaring with surprise before fading back to indifference. He looks like a tiger in a cage at the zoo, pacing in front of a glass divider. His fingers tap impatiently on the lacquered bartop and he tilts his head, watching as you lick the moisture from your lip, savoring the taste. You wonder if he'd be just as heady and strong on your tongue.

You have the feeling that with the slightest pressure in the right place and the glass would shatter, unleashing the beast within. The thought makes you clench your thighs together, a heat filling you that has nothing to do with the people pressing in on you trying to get the attention of the bartender.

The DJ seems just as self-contained as you are. A voice inside you whispers of unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects and you wonder which of you would cave first.

Before you can say anything, before you can even wipe the satisfied smile off your lips or ask his name or offer to pay for the drink, he drops a bill to the counter and slides off the stool. He pushes into the crowd, disappearing as if he'd never been there. As if he hardly noticed you.

But you didn't miss the interest, the arousal, the animal within him rising to your challenge. He slinks back up to the DJ booth and resumes his position of power, thirst unquenched.

You don't know his name, or anything about him. Aside from the fact that the way he looks at you feels so wrong it's right, and that his hands are the first ones you've ever wanted wrapped around your waist so badly you can feel it beating in your palms.

But you know one thing, as you rejoin your roommate on the dance floor, whatever has started between you and the enigmatic DJ isn't finished.

May 21st, 1997

You straighten your blazer, looking in the mirror to make sure your outfit is perfect. It’s not your first interview this week and it certainly won’t be the last, but it is the one you’re the most curious about.

The position as a receptionist and accountant for an electronics repair store isn’t exactly how you pictured your first job after getting your MBA, but the pay and the opportunity to work alongside the enigmatic tech genius Kim Jongdae is a chance you can’t pass up.

All that’s left is the graduation ceremony in June and then you’re free. Your final exams are done, your thesis is defended, and you’ve completed a thorough and perhaps slightly obsessive spreadsheet documenting all your connections who might have an in at your most desired companies. Now knee-deep in the process of interviewing for jobs it strikes you all of a sudden that this is what you’ve been working for… almost all your life.

The lighting in the bathroom of the mall is stark and a moment of uncertainty makes your knees weak.

Since your test results in elementary school came back top of the class it’s been the same refrain. Get good grades. Impress your teachers. Study and diversify your interests and push harder every year and eventually it will all pay off, right? You’re damn proud of what you’ve done, but now, here in the after, all you can think as you watch your own reflection is - now what?

Frowning, you wonder how many other applicants there are for this job. Anyone in the tech circle in Seattle knows about Jongdae. Rumors abound that he was set to be the next Bill Gates when an investment deal went south. Or that he was kicked out of Harvard for embarrassing his professors with his superior smarts. Someone in your Econ seminar once told you she’d heard that he was contracted by the NSA to spy on foreign hackers.

Whatever his history, he currently runs a computer and electronics repair store in a very unassuming mall in Capitol Hill. You want to stand out, and what better way to do so than the track down the mystery of Kim Jongdae, the prodigy turned hermit. You infuse your veins with confidence, knowing you can handle anything thrown at you. Or so you think.

The mall is quiet and peaceful in the mid-morning on a Wednesday. A couple of tables in the food court are filled with older men and women playing cards and board games. A group of moms walks past you talking about a storytime at the bookstore in the mall.

The slow and steady hum of activity in here is a far cry from where you thought you’d be working. Professors encouraged you to head to IBM or Oracle. With your skills, business sense, and intuitive ability to pick up each new trend in technology they told you that you would have your choice of opportunities.

But while you’re no stranger to hard work and a competitive work environment, the idea of clawing your way to the top of yet another group of high achievers just sounds… awful.

You long to travel, to finally see some of the exotic and culturally rich places you’ve stuck photos of to your fridge. You want to be able to actually go out on the weekends and see your friends. Whatever your future holds you want to finally enjoy your life outside of school and work, even if it’s only for a year.

You could always recognize the friends who were interning at Amazon because they looked like they’d come off a week of no sleep. Many of your fellow MBA graduates were flocking there, as the company finally went public earlier this month. But something just felt - off to you. Like a canary in a coal mine.

Purpose, fulfillment, financial security, and a challenging work environment? Yes.

Burnout, no free time, and living and breathing for ‘the company’? No, thank you.

At the salary Jongdae had advertised you could easily continue to afford the apartment you shared with your two roommates and work on paying off the remaining student loans your scholarships hadn’t covered. And you could hide away a small amount of your check every month for the trip to Amsterdam you’ve been planning for years.

The gentle music in the wide, bright lobby of the mall makes you sigh in relief. This job is a win-win and you’re more determined than ever to get it.

You finally see the shop. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it between the black and neon purple exterior of KMS Music and the narrow security office tucked behind the lively pizza restaurant. There’s a line winding its way in front of the music store and you assume it’s for an album release. Until you realize that the line is leading straight where you’re going and stop in your tracks.

Chen's Electronics. The mall is full of colors and bright shop fronts. But this is almost bleak in comparison, as though it's resisted the outright displays of joy and liveliness that seem to be at the heart of the mall. The sign is red neon against a black and steel facade. A simple poster hangs in one of the two wide windows that frame the door.

We do: - Hard Drive Repair - Internet Connectivity Issues - Computer virus protection - Turntables, record players, and other portable home audio systems - Radios - POS/credit card system repair (For stores in the Exodus Mall only)

We do not: - Sell computers or computer parts. Don't ask.

You raise a brow at the last note. The harsh exterior of the store and the brusque tone definitely match with what you've heard of Chen's Electronics - that the man who runs it is a computer genius, but that his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Perhaps that's why the job posting emphasized 'superior customer service skills.'

The line you join grows, others coming in behind you, and you wonder if Jongdae told everyone the same 10am time frame or if he staggered interviews throughout the day. As you wait the line slowly dwindles. A woman leaves crying a few minutes later, and you watch her go with surprise and attempt to peek into the store. You’re still too far back to see in, so you’re left to wait and wonder.

Finally you’re next, waiting just outside the store. A printed piece of paper is taped to the door. CLOSED FOR INTERVIEWS it says in big, bolded letters.

The tall man who was ahead of you in line isn’t visible at either of the two work stations set up inside the shop. There must be a back room of some kind. You take the moment to check out the space. The store is organized chaos. Rows of shelves line each of the two walls, full of equipment - computers in various states of disassembly, old transistor radios, a VHS player, a few turntables, and endless coiled stacks of cords interspersed.

The walls above them and the two walls behind the work stations, on either side of the hallway leading to the back, are blank. No advertisements or personalized touches to make the business seem welcoming. Just bland, empty beige walls. One desk has only a computer, keyboard, and mouse. The other is full of parts and tools that extend over the desk to not one, but two shelving units behind it. Like Jongdae was in the middle of a project and the interviews are a rude interruption.

A muffled angry shout comes from the back, behind the gray curtain hung up over the entrance to the rear of the store. The tall man moves it aside with a sneer as he charges across the floor. With a voice practically a growl he shoves open the door and you jolt back to avoid being hit.

He looks you up and down and shakes his head. ‘Good luck. You’ll need it.’

After a last straightening of your jacket you swallow and push through the door. It's quiet inside, almost reverent, as the door closes behind you. The fluorescent lighting overhead isn't the most welcoming and the tan carpet is terribly dated. No one comes to meet you. The man on the other side must be waiting, like a dragon in his lair.

Your hand closes over the strap of your purse and you hesitate at the curtain, not wanting to move forward without being invited. 'Hello?'

Footsteps come down the short hallway and a hand appears, moving the curtain out of the way to reveal a man. Your jaw almost drops. Oh, shit. It's not at all who you were expecting the famed Jongdae to be - a studious man with glasses and a bad tie.

No, this man is handsome in an aggressive way. His black hair is styled back in a neat wave. His high cheekbones and strong brows hold no humor or friendliness. Only the catlike upturn of his lips stands in rebellious contrast to his unwelcoming face.

This isn't the first time you've seen this face either, you realize, and it's like being run over by a train. He seems to connect the dots at the same moment and his eyes widen, eyebrows raising. It’s the DJ from the bar. The drink. The - oh, god.

He presses his mouth together, smothering his surprise and sitting down harshly in the chair at the crowded desk in the main room. 'What are you doing here?' He keeps his voice tightly contained, not minding in the least that the other potential job candidates are surely watching you both right now.

You give yourself a small shake and remember you're not here to hit on him. You're here for a job. 'I have an interview.'

Best case is ignoring the whole thing. It didn’t happen. Not here in the light of day. His poker face might be good, but yours is better. You keep your breathing even and hope that the racing of your heart isn’t making your cheeks red.

He tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips together in amusement. ‘Alright then.’ Turning to the side he stands and holds the curtain open, allowing you to pass by him into the small office behind.

Holding his focus, you pull out the chair in front of the desk and sit down. You place the resume and references on the table between you and fold your hands on your lap, waiting.

Jongdae takes his place opposite you as he slides the papers across the desk. His eyes dart faster than you can imagine anyone reading. He doesn’t seem flustered, but the tips of his ears are just slightly pink, his nose flaring a bit too much, and you realize he’s just as caught off guard as you are.

Finally, he finishes. 'I… don't think this is going to work.' He looks up, his hand resting on your paperwork on the desk. His face gives away nothing, but his eyes are wild and full of emotion you can’t decipher.

'Why is that?' You keep your voice steady, determined. He’s not going to dismiss you so quickly. Realizing the DJ and the tech wunderkind are one in the same has only heightened your desire to show him you’re the best person for the job.

Jongdae stares at you. This time, there's heat in his expression. You feel his eyes move over you, not taking in the professional attire, but clearly remembering the dress you wore from the club instead. 'I think you know why,' he says under his breath.

Clearing your throat you lean forward, drawn to him by some force you can't define. Like something is shoving you towards this job. 'I don't know what you mean. The posting was for an office manager and bookkeeper. I'm qualified in both and I have plenty of experience. Are you really going to decide I’m not a good fit without even asking me a single question?'

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, his composure faltering for an instant. 'Why do you want this position? You know nothing about me.'

He states it like a fact, not an opening for discussion, but you jump on it anyway. 'I know plenty.'

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when he narrows his eyes, raising a brow. 'I do my research, Mr. Kim. I’m top of my class at UW and I didn’t get there by accident. With such a small team I could get a far broader experience than I could being just another cog in the machine at Microsoft. I might not know you personally, but your reputation precedes you. I plan to excel in the tech industry. And to do that, I need to work with the best. Simple as that.'

'And I'm the best?' He leans back in his chair. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he drags a finger across his lips in appraisal.

His quick responses remind you of the competitive tennis you played growing up. The way it felt to thrive when paired with an equal opponent, someone who could match your speed and precision. Someone who gave as good as they got. How it made you better, sharpened your skills and reflexes up against someone who you couldn’t easily defeat.

'Are you trying to tell me you're not?' You cross your arms and look around, feigning surprise and curiosity. 'If you tell me who is, I'll happily go apply to be their office manager.'

He almost laughs in amusement. You can feel it. But he covers it as a cough instead and tilts his head to the side, sizing you up. 'And you know what this job entails?'

You repeat it easily from memory. 'Being the face of the business. Greeting walk-in customers. Helping them figure out if what they need is something we do. Conferring with you about pricing. Scheduling service appointments over the phone. Processing payments. Ordering supplies. Occasional advertising assistance. Other assorted duties as needed.'

'That about sums it up.'

In the charged silence you hear the muffled noises of the mall - children squealing with delight, orders being called out at the pizza restaurant next door, people talking - but it's all separated. You wonder if the distance is intentional. Many stores have roll up gates or at least have their doors propped open to draw in customers. But not Jongdae. It’s almost as though he’s actively trying to keep visitors out.

You favor boldness and decide to push him, what have you got to lose? 'So, when do I start?' Leaning forward, you give him a relaxed smile. ‘Unless you’d like to terrorize a few more applicants before you choose me? I’m happy to wait, Mr. Kim. But you can’t scare me away. And you don’t intimidate me.’

With equal decisiveness he cracks a lopsided grin and shakes his head, with both amusement and resignation. 'How's now for you?'

You give a passing thought to the other jobs, the ones you’d already interviewed for and the ones on your schedule over the coming days. They all go up in a whiff of smoke as you extend your hand across the table to shake Jongdae’s hand.

‘Now is perfect.’ His palm is warm against yours and you do your best not to react to the contact, but you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you.

Jongdae withdraws his hand quickly, and you note with pleasure that he seems a bit shaken as he stands. ‘I’ll be right back. You can leave your things here.’ He motions to the coat hooks on the wall by the door and the tall, thin bookshelf with a few cubby slots.

Aside from a black scarf and a few extra office supplies on two of the shelves the rest of the space is empty. You wonder what he isn't saying. 'What made you want help, all of a sudden?’ He pauses and turns back to you. ‘From what I can tell you've been in business for a few years. Why now?'

He sighs. 'I'm too busy to keep doing this by myself.'

'Ah. And you hate that, don't you?'

The ghost of a smile graces his lips. 'Yes.'

Jongdae disappears through the curtain. You follow him after putting your coat on a hook and your purse in one of the spotless cubbies. The rest of the space contains a few filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, and a small safe resting on a narrow table.

When you appear back into the hallway you see a door to the left that must lead out the back. And on the opposite side is an archway with a kitchen sink, a microwave, a small fridge, and a few cupboards inside, along with a small circular table. The table has only one chair. You smile to yourself. Clearly he's accustomed to doing everything by himself.

When you emerge the other applicants are dispersing as he peels the taped sign off the door, balling it up in his hands.

Jongdae gets you set up on the computer at the other desk. It’s a relatively simple customer management software and payment system, both of which you pick up in no time. He runs you through the pricing list, pulling a laminated form from the top drawer. His filing system for customer accounts is simple and alphabetized.

Neither of you speak about that night again, but oh, do you feel it - the electricity between you when he stands too close or you meet his eyes.

Until lunch he alternates between training you and assisting customers who come in every so often. It's all straightforward, nothing you haven't managed before, and by the afternoon you're already scheduling appointments in the large old-school appointment book he keeps open to the current week.

Despite the passion and intensity in the music he plays, he keeps an even keel throughout his day job. It's almost as if you went to sleep last night and somehow woke up as someone who's worked here for years. Before closing at 5:30 he remembers other things and hands you a packet on the way out. Tax forms, an employment agreement listing the salary and benefits, and a non-disclosure form. Most of it is standard, but you wonder what kind of secrets he needs to protect at an electronics store.

You gather your things and wait outside while he closes down the shop, turning off the lights as he goes. It’s still quite sunny outside and with a shock you realize that there’s nothing waiting for you, now that the work day is done. No papers to write or projects to finish or internship to head to. The idea makes you feel unexpectedly buoyant, and when Jongdae steps out to lock the doors you give him an easy smile.

He returns it, giving you a small one of his own in response. ‘So, I normally take Tuesdays off and keep the shop closed. Wednesdays are normally pretty slow. How does Thursday through Monday sound to you? I know today is Wednesday, so if you wanted to take tomorrow off instead that’s fine with me.’

‘I’m happy to come in tomorrow.’ You want to wince at the eagerness in your voice, but instead you stand firm, holding your purse in front of you with both hands.

Jongdae slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nods, looking at you for a long moment before speaking. ‘Sounds great, I’ll see you then.’

You nod at him too, turning back towards the department store to head out to your car. After a beat you look behind you and see he’s still watching. His gaze is unfocused on the floor before he shakes his head, seeming to come back to himself. He heads the opposite direction, towards the movie theater. In a few seconds he’s disappeared behind the pizza place, out of sight.

Jongdae takes the longer route home today. His apartment overlooking Lake Union is the one he grew up in, his grandfather’s place. When he passed away a year ago he left it to Jongdae and it never occurred to him to move. He walks along the water, breathing in the early summer air, wanting to laugh at himself. How long has it been since he let himself be impulsive? To act on instinct. To want something.

He’d settled into a routine these past few years, since everything changed after graduation. Working at the store. Reading. Playing Go and chess with his grandfather and the other older men that lived in the building. They’d go fishing out on the peninsula or to the local symphonies that his grandfather loved. Routine had saved him when his world fell apart once, but now, with his grandfather’s absence, he’s not sure how to pick up the pieces anymore.

The seagulls on the pier are loud today, hungrily gobbling up the bread and Ivar’s french fries tossed to them by the kids gathered around. They giggle and laugh, running to their parents for more offerings. Jongdae frowns for a moment, the sadness that he doesn’t often acknowledge creeping into his heart.

His parents were gone before he really even had a chance to know them. His father to lung cancer, from the awful smoking habit he picked up in the Navy. His mother moved back to Korea to be with her family, unable to cope being in the city without her husband. Jongdae didn’t blame her, but the distance grew and they drifted apart as he became an adult himself.

Jongdae’s father’s father settled here after World War Two, along with a few of his friends. From what he remembers there wasn’t a discussion about it after the funeral - if he’d stay or go back to Korea with his mother. One day when he was young he knew his father had passed. His mother left. And with two duffle bags slung over his shoulders and little Jongdae in his arms his grandfather had moved him into the apartment with the pretty view of the water. 

And that’s the way it was, ever since.

In school his friends might have joked that Jongdae was an old man himself. Doing the New York Times crossword puzzle on Sundays, getting his hair cut at the same hole-in-the-wall barber shop in Chinatown as his grandfather, and hanging out with more octogenarians than people his own age. But he loved his grandfather and the two of them were so close that he never stopped to question whether he should change to fit in with the rest of his classmates.

The only aberration came when he started DJ-ing at eighteen. The crowd he fell in with and the partying he did was short lived; they crashed and burned, went up in flames. Everything else faded as quickly as it had come, but the club scene was his escape and it stayed with him.

These days it feels like the only time he recognizes himself, now that his grandfather is gone, too. Until you walked into his store today, that is. You looked him dead in the eyes, unafraid. Just like the night all those weeks ago in the club when you came up to him, flirted with him and challenged him.

He doesn’t know how to move on with his life.

He doesn’t know what’s next.

But wanting you, inviting you into his life, is going to change everything. He knows it in his bones and for once change excites him, instead of frightens him.

June 18th, 1997

For an achingly slow two hours on Thursday the only sounds in the shop are your typing and Jongdae’s tools hitting the metallic insides of the radio he’s fixing. You should be processing yesterday's supply orders. Or cleaning up the books to get everything ready for the days' billing before you make a run to the bank.

But instead you watch in your periphery the way the muscle in Jongdae’s jaw moves when he's focusing. How his brows pull together and his lower lip sticks out slightly, making him look as though he's perpetually pouting. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in school. If he was always so... uptight. Or if he was freer, looser. Not that you’re the picture of ease yourself, but he seems to almost vibrate with tension.

You watch as he turns back to the computer, his fingers fly across the keyboard and you admire the absolute focus he shows toward the screen in front of him. The past few days he’s handled repairs and projects for businessmen and women, families, and two gentlemen in suits that screamed ‘government’ to you. He could be repairing a nuclear warhead in front of you and you imagine his expression would remain the same.

His standard white button-up shirt bunches around his biceps while he works. A mischievous part of you wonders what it would take to make his robotic exterior crack again. What it would take for him to show joy or anger or arousal. Emotion from him is a precious, rare thing and you want to grab them when they do show, holding them tightly as proof they exist.

You jolt, realizing the unintended destination your thoughts have arrived at. Arousal. Where did that come from? With a cough and a shake of your head you refocus on the financial statements in front of you.

If you hadn't seen him that night at the club you'd have wondered if he ever enjoyed himself. He wasn't smiling that night, but the music and the dancing and the palpable energy seemed to soften the hard lines of his face. You want to see more of that Jongdae, the one that feels so much closer to who he really is, underneath it all.

However he started in this business, in the tech scene, he works away at it as though it's his sole purpose in life. He's clearly talented enough to fix anything, code anything. You’d asked him last week how he knows what to do, as you looked into a complicated mess of wires sticking out of a broken CPU as though it were gibberish.

All he’d said, in a gruff voice, was that his grandfather liked to tinker and take things apart before putting them back together, to see how they worked, and that he’d picked up the habit.

'Why do you work by yourself?' The sound of your voice is much louder than intended, breaking the hush in the store. You want to swallow the words, unsure why you didn't stop them from escaping. Instead you bite the skin on the inside of your cheek and watch as he lifts his head to look at you.

Jongdae raises a brow. 'As opposed to?'

You stop typing and lean back in your chair. 'You could have worked for anyone, I bet. After you graduated college. I’ve heard a few of the rumors about you. It sounds like you could have done anything you wanted. What made you want to start your own business?'

He mirrors your pose. 'What makes you think I went to college?'

You blink. For so long your parents' idea of a prosperous life - good grades, extracurriculars, graduate from a top college, get a lucrative, secure job - had been so ingrained that it surprises you to imagine that someone like him didn't go to school. 'You didn't?'

He smiles, the dimple appearing briefly in his cheek. 'Alright, fine. Yes, I did. I went to M.I.T. and I, uhm, graduated at seventeen.'

'Seventeen?' The competitive drive that buried itself in your bones early on wants to prove itself to him, awed by the size of his intellect.

'With my PhD.' He winces. Just for a moment, but you catch it.

'Oh,' you say with a stunned laugh.

He goes back to work with a quick shake of his head and a sigh. 'Yeah, that right there is why I don't tell people.'

You’re surprised by his assumption that you’d view it as a bad or repulsive fact. 'It's amazing. You should be proud of it. Why would you want to keep that a secret?'

His lip pouts again and irrationally you think about what it would be like to kiss him. 'Because now you'll look at me differently. Like I'm some kind of freak of nature.'

'I don't think it makes you a freak.' Your answer is immediate and emphatic.

'Oh really?' He gives you a side-glance, keeping his tone neutral.

'No, it makes you a genius. And intelligence is never a bad thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.' It does nothing to help the attraction you feel for him. Rather than dousing the flames, it pours gasoline on them.

'Tell that to -' he stops himself, pressing his lips together. The bitterness in his voice makes you jerk back in your seat. ‘Nevermind. It was a long time ago. Forget I said anything.’

But you can fill in the gaps, no stranger to the judgement of others. 'Clearly you need better friends.'

He blinks, vulnerability filling his eyes. 'Like you?' His expression softens and he gives you a half-smile.

You blush, realizing what it must look like that you’re so passionate about defending him. 'Sorry, I didn't - all I mean is that it’s attractive.’ You curse yourself and cough delicately, trying to appear impartial. ‘An attractive quality. I just got my master’s and I thought I was advanced for my age. So I just meant to say… I get it. And you’re not a freak.’

The moment stretches out between you, the air in the space seeming to pause. The muted, reverent silence fills the distance once more. But this time it’s charged, tense. Waiting. He breathes in deeply, the shirt he wears stretching across his chest and yet again you long to touch him. For a beat his gaze drops to your lips and he swallows, opening his mouth to speak.

But he’s interrupted by the door opening. The ding of the motion sensor makes you both jolt, turning to see who it is. An older woman comes in carrying a heavy looking bag. She coughs and leans against the door to rest.

Jongdae bolts up from his desk, clearing his throat. 'Here, let me help with that.'

He bows to her with a warm smile, holding his hands out to take the bag. She nods and Jongdae slings the bag over his shoulder, wincing when it collides with his back. With a gentle arm around her back he helps her into the chair opposite his desk.

'Thank you, young man,' the woman says with a smile.

'Not at all,' Jongdae says, resuming his post on the stool. 'How can I help you today?'

You're certain your mouth has fallen open. To difficult customers he's brief, almost condescending, and for the nice ones he’s reserved and polite, but nothing like this. For over an hour he patiently connects the woman's computer to his power strip and walks her through how to use it. 

Again and again he shows her the links and how to work the web browser. Installs a complimentary virus protection program. Makes sure she can find the Solitaire application she loves. And only charges her $20.

But after she leaves the next customer is a businessman dressed in what looks to be a very expensive suit. Jongdae spends the laughably short visit practically sneering at the man. And he charges him at least twice what it says on the pricing list he gave you.

As soon as the door closes you release the laugh you’ve been holding in. 'You know, for someone who runs a business, you seem hell bent on driving some of your customers away.'

He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes. 'He was a moron. You don't buy the Rolls Royce of computers if you don't know how to drive it.'

'So the only exception here is kind old ladies?'

Jongdae barks out a laugh, meeting your gaze and looking younger than you’ve ever seen him. 'Exactly.'

June 28th, 1997

Moments after you walk out the door for lunch during a bustling Saturday it pings again, announcing yet another customer. This one is probably his scheduled twelve o’clock appointment, Jongade thinks as he looks distractedly at his watch.

He turns to greet them and his entire body recoils. 'What do you want?' Jongdae practically hisses, but he keeps his tone even with all his might.

Since you’ve taken over scheduling Jongdae hardly looks at his calendar anymore. If he’d known Julian Danforth was seeking his help he would have told him to fuck off. Unfortunately Jongdae’s hesitation in talking about his past means you could have no possible idea how much the man standing before him used to matter.

Julian strolls in with a computer in his arms and a smugness on his mouth that Jongdae wants to punch off. His sunglasses are perched on the top of his head and his khaki shorts have neatly pressed lines, clearly not done by the man himself, who drips with privilege.

He'd thought these feelings were long buried, but they roar in Jongdae’s chest. The friendships and the future he almost had are now scattered behind him like a trail of carnage, all the fault of this man. The burn of sadness and embarrassment that fills Jongdae’s stomach was supposed to be gone, relinquished to ashes. But seeing one of his former best friends again Jongdae feels like he's ten years old, stuck in a class with far older students. Young, inexperienced, an outcast.

‘Good afternoon to you as well, old friend.’ Ignoring the daggers Jongdae is staring at him, Julian steps forward, setting the computer down on the desk. 'Like I told the woman on the phone I'm having a problem with some computer virus.'

He says it like it’s a slimy, living thing that had crawled into his machine. Displeasure colors his expression; annoyed at the mere thought that his money and status don’t render him immune from such commonplace problems. ‘You know I don’t trust anyone else with my system.’

After what you did I should smash your computer open. Jongdae doesn't speak as plugs the machine into the power strip he rigged to his desk, not willing to risk what he’ll say.

It's a far more expensive model of computer than most of his clients bring in. Those who purchase such a high end version fall into two camps - enthusiasts like himself who know what they're getting, or the rich and famous who buy them as status symbols and have no clue how to work them. Julian, unfortunately, falls into the latter category.

The computer starts up and Jongdae’s mind goes into work mode, tuning out Julian. The virus has rendered it unusable, only a blur of symbols and lines of code flit across the screen. None of the normal exit keys brings up the desktop. Jongdae purses his lips and slides in the floppy disk he keeps beside his own monitor, an anti-virus he designed.

He leans into muscle memory as he runs through the start up and sets the program to do its job. With any luck the idiot just found some simple malware from some incredibly obvious email spam or downloaded a bug on a porn site. In all social and business sense Julian is a shark; he'd never have fallen for such an obvious scam in real life. But when it came to computers and technology he was hopeless, and thus Jongdae had come into his life years ago.

'How long have you been set up here?' Julian asks with a dismissive glance at the machines and equipment stacked on the shelves.

'Why do you care?' The question comes out harsher than he intends, but the emotion isn't entirely unearned.

Once upon a time he and Julian met in Seattle, after Jongdae was fresh out of M.I.T. and Julian had flunked out of yet another University. They were determined to build a business together. If he had more energy Jongdae would wear this store and his reputation proudly, built from no family connections or money, just his own intelligence and drive. After how thoroughly Julian severed Jongdae’s life he should rub his success in Julian’s face with pride.

Instead he ignores him, determined to move on.

The program finishes its run in rapid time, as though it knows how quickly Jongdae wants this moment to end. The virus dissipates and the desktop loads like normal. He's tempted for a second to indulge his curiosity to see what Julian has been up to. Last he knew Julian had gone to work at his father’s investment bank, dreams of standing on his own cowed by the reality of the world outside of his comfortable bubble. Without Jongdae there’s no way the business and the program held up to scrutiny. 

For a second Jongdae stares at the screen, remembering how good it had felt to have found his people. Tech nerds, hungry to build something that would change the world. Julian, who wanted to cast off his father’s legacy and strike out on his own. Julian’s girlfriend Marissa and her soft heart, who wanted to help people. Their friend Albert, with the plan. 

Once he knew them so well he hardly knew where he ended and they began. But now, all these years later, they’re strangers.

Jongdae looks up and watches Julian as he absently admires the collection of turntables on the wall behind the desk. He knows Julian well enough to know this might be an act of contrition, his way of bridging the gap he created to reach out the olive branch of friendship once more. But Jongdae’s curiosity already killed the cat once, spectacularly, and he has no desire to repeat the mistake.

He unplugs the machine and watches the screen go dark, shoving it with both hands across the polished wood surface towards Julian. 'There. It's fixed.'

For customers who are far more polite and far less acquainted with Jongdae he might have explained what caused the virus or recommended an anti-virus software or even shared best practices to avoid getting one in the future. But, for Julian, he'll do what he was hired for and nothing more.

Julian stands and clears his throat uncomfortably. 'How much do I owe you?' A hint of guilt as he pulls out his wallet.

The motion reminds Jongdae of vacations to Marissa's family home in the San Juans or partying with Julian, Albert, and the rest of them in Capitol Hill. When they turned on him it was like the sun went out. He managed to take his pride and his love of music and DJing and escape. Once Jongae rebuilt his life the doors to the past firmly closed.

Anger finally peeks through as he waves a dismissive arm at Julian. 'I don't want your money. Not spending a second longer in your company will be all the payment I need.' He stands as well. Their business today is done and he lets his memories of the past fall before him like ashes.

An awkward beat passes between them and finally Julian breaks eye contact. With a nod to the ground he pushes out the door and disappears, carrying his computer.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, folds his arms, annoyed at how his position and his continued presence here in Seattle occasionally brings him into contact with people like Julian. He should have moved, he thinks. Gone to Singapore or Berlin or London or New York. But for some reason, he stayed.

Through the front window he watches you laugh with your friends in the food court and smiles to himself, thinking of how you call him Scrooge. It should unnerve him, how quickly seeing you or speaking to you or simply thinking you makes his day better, more hopeful; chases away the shadows that linger in his mind when he's left alone for too long. No, left alone isn't the right word. When he isolates himself.

Jongdae doesn’t really know you, not yet. But already he wants to make all of your dreams come true, he wants to make them real. 

The thought is so sentimental and kind and soft that it brings him up short. He bites the inside of his lip and tries to fight the warm feeling in his chest as he watches you laugh. But as he resumes his work he acknowledges that maybe there was a reason he stayed in Seattle, after all.

The mall is packed during lunch; it’s one of the only days you and your roommates and Hitchcock all work together so you’ve christened it Saturday girl’s lunch time. But Baekhyun and Chanyeol of course crash in, as they always seem to. Loud and raucous and happy. Others from their wide circle of friends drop by to grab slices or to make plans for tonight.

Baekhyun sticks two straws in his nose and makes what are probably very scientifically inaccurate walrus noises. As you laugh so hard you almost snort you can’t help but feel like something is missing. Someone is missing. You look back to the shop, drawn to Jongdae as always.

He works away, resuming his repairs after chasing another customer away with his attitude. You sigh, watching the blonde preppy man carry away his enormous computer, muttering to himself. You rest your foot on the edge of your chair and drop your chin to your knee. From this angle, surrounded by the stark design of the store and the fluorescent lights from above, Jongdae looks like he’s trapped inside of a screen himself.

You bite your lip, debating. He’s made it clear that whatever happened between you at the club isn’t something he will discuss, or repeat. But friendship? Community? You work together five days a week and it wouldn’t kill him to get out of his enclosure once in a while. It’s done you good this month, to be out and about with people. Like you can finally breathe for the first time in a long time. And you decide that it’s high time Jongdae do the same.

Liz and Jane, your roommates, call you ‘determined.’ But they say it in a way that clearly means ‘like a homing missile,’ when you want something. Your nature has served you well; you can cut through the bullshit and figure people out almost instantly. It’s helped you both professionally and personally. Allowed you to know immediately which friendships would last, which ones were worth the effort.

Maybe it’s how Jongdae looks like an island, all alone in the shop. Maybe it’s the large Coke that infused you with far too much caffeine. Maybe it’s your insatiable curiosity. But you can’t keep watching him from afar, not when there’s something you can do about it.

‘I’ll be right back.’ Pulling on your denim jacket, you march over to the store. You lean inside the glass door, holding it open with your shoulder. ‘Hey, you.’

Jongdae looks up at you, confusion tugging his brows together, making him befuddled in the cutest way. You tell yourself to stop thinking of him like that, even if you want to.

He blinks and refocuses on you. ‘Back already?’

‘No, but we’ve got more than enough pizza. Why don’t you join us?’ You grin, making a show of looking around the empty office. ‘It’s finally slowed down, and you deserve a break.’

‘I’m on a deadline with this.’ He gestures to the modem that is scattered around him.

You fold your arms and lean against the door. ‘You can fix that in twenty minutes. I know you.’ He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. ‘And before you throw another excuse you should know I’m very persuasive when I want to be. I don’t think you have another option.’

Jongdae barks out a laugh, dropping the tools in his hand to the desk with a thud. ‘Determined to drag me from my lair, huh?’ He holds your gaze, his expression filling with something akin to heat. Finally he gives you a rueful smile. ‘You’re not going to give up on this, are you?’

You meet his eyes and raise a brow, smiling with satisfaction. ‘Nope. Absolutely not.’

The certainty on his face turns into sadness, so fast you can’t be sure it was really there. Then he closes off and he’s quiet, more so than normal. ‘It doesn’t come easily to me.’

Wondering what could have changed so quickly you step forward, letting the door close behind you. ‘What, pizza?’

It shakes you how desperately you want to know. To peel back his skull and see inside his brain, just to understand what makes him tick. His history and where his future is headed. That small voice inside you whispers that once you figure it out, it still won’t make you care less about him.

‘Friends.’ He says it on a gasp. Looking at the floor fixedly, avoiding your eyes, he seems haunted.

The silence surrounds you both and he finally meets your focus again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The pieces start to come together. He’s intelligent, preternaturally so, and so advanced in school you can’t imagine he’s had much experience with people his own age. And now that he’s in his mid-twenties he’s built himself a fortress. Close enough to the rest of the world, but distinctly separate.

Irrationally you want to reach across the space and wrap his hands in yours. Tug him into your growing group of friends and fix the ache in your chest his expression gives you. Not sympathy and certainly not pity, but some sensation that’s like butterflies in your stomach. But- he’s your boss. You’re not his keeper and you don’t think whatever dangerous emotion lives in you is what would help him.

He’s not yours and you don’t have the right to push, much that you want to.

‘Ah,’ you say. ‘I see. Well, more often than not we have Saturday pizza out there. The offer always stands. I’ll leave you be if you want to be alone, but just -’ you swallow and give him a tentative smile. ‘Just know that we’d be happy to have you join us. I’d be. Uhm. Happy if you joined us.’ It comes out in a rush and you groan.

With a shake of your head, an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, you wave at him and push back out the door into the noise of the mall.

It’s a shame you don’t turn back. Or no, he thinks, it’s better this way. Jongdae feels far too much for you to keep it contained behind his normally stony expression.

You seem like the kind of person who would take that moment of openness and pull on it, until he unravels in front of you. Fear tells him you would take everything and when you're gone he'd be even more alone than before, now that he knows what it's like with you here.

Looking out through the glass he watches you rejoin the lively group. Always he’s felt like a science experiment, or some kind of circus exhibit when he was growing up. If he didn’t have his grandfather’s steady support and gentle guidance he surely would have become even more isolated.

With a shake of his head, he attempts to refocus on the project at hand. For some reason it doesn't fill him up like he wants it to, his usual joy and satisfaction is missing when he picks up the screwdriver once more. This is where he thrives. Computers and the internet and coding.

To other people it's a labyrinth, impossible to figure out. A world and a language they can speak and learn with effort and intention and study. But to him it's always been as easy as breathing.

His grandfather took his skills from the military and parlayed them into a business as a prolific handyman. It was the world they shared. A place where Jongdae’s creativity and his intelligence could soar. Anything he wanted to build or make, he could. Coding a rudimentary game to pass the time after school, when he could hear the neighborhood kids playing soccer outside.

It took him many wonderful places that he wouldn't have been able to reach if he was, for lack of a better word, normal. As a child and even in school it was so easy to hide behind his grades and his projects and the pride and hope of the adults around him. But now, at twenty five, there’s nothing to keep him hidden anymore.

When lunch is over you return and join him with a nod. He hopes you don't regret asking. He nearly hopes you'll try again. Maybe next Saturday.

For how confident he feels in some spaces - DJing at Shari's, here in his ‘lair’ - at the thought of joining a group of friends he feels again like a nervous thirteen year old sitting in his first college course. Like everyone around him knew how to do things he couldn’t comprehend.

He keeps his thoughts and his feelings to himself; he’s already shared more than he planned. But you draw him back into conversation easily enough, asking about the afternoons orders to be picked up. You don't shy away from him or give him an angry offended air. Inexplicably you still look at him warmly, openly, and he wants more than he's dared to let himself want in a very, very long time.

July 11th, 1997

He doesn't normally leave the office at lunch, preferring to eat his meals in his back office alone, but today Jongdae braves the food court.

It’s a Friday not a Saturday, but it’s a start. He makes brief, yet friendly, conversation with Chanyeol at the pizza place. The taller man smiles at Jongdae, easily, as though he doesn’t second guess the action. He asks if Jongdae had caught the Mariner's game over the weekend and they talk about how Griffey might finally lead Seattle to a World Series this year.

For once he doesn't feel like going back to the office and burying his head in his work. Jongdae awkwardly pulls out a chair in the cluster of tables between the bookstore and the record store. As he takes a bite of his pizza he hears a familiar laugh. Turning around he sees you through the glass of the bookstore.

You speak to the woman who owns Greyhame Books, standing beside someone he thinks is possibly called Jane. It all seems so… easy for you. Tucking your hair behind your ear you lean against the counter, discussing the stack of books in front of you with your friends.

Jongdae gives a rare laugh to no one but himself.

When he imagined hiring an accountant and administrator for his flourishing business he thought he'd get someone older. A person with experience and a similar level of wanting to be left alone. They could ignore him and he could ignore them, delegating filing and payments and customer questions and not have to think about them again.

An employee was supposed to reclaim the silence and peace that his work used to bring. Technology is so much simpler and predictable than humans and he’d really prefer to cut other people out of the equation entirely.

But you are the opposite of simple, and you absolutely aren’t someone he can ignore. From the moment he recognized you he knew he had to hire you. With your intensity and your impressive resume and the way your mouth pulls to the side when you’re trying not to smirk.

He doesn't regret it. But he feels raw in a way he hasn't allowed himself to in years. Jongdae doesn't let people get close. Not anymore.

'Hey, Jongdae!'

With a pizza slice halfway to his mouth Jongdae spots Junmyeon approaching, waving, a large Starbucks drink in hand.  He wants to turn away and hide in his pizza. He isn't good at this - making friends. For months Junmyeon has asked him to join in their monthly networking events here at the mall, or asked him to get a drink at Flanagan’s after work to chat. Jongdae’s all out of excuses.

He imagines his life as a circuit board. There’s his life now - pieces and wires scattered around him - and there’s the life he could have. If he’s brave and if he tries. He imagines the pieces fitting together and what they might build. He wonders if you might fit in, if you’d want him or let him.

His knee is jiggling and he’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and waves back. ‘Hey Jun! Want to join me for a bit?’ Jun’s expression is surprised - the man doesn’t know how to keep back any of his emotions. ‘If you have time, I mean. No pressure.’ He stutters, pulse racing and cheeks reddening.

Jun grins and sits down opposite him. ‘Absolutely. About time! I thought you’d turn me down forever,’ he laughs. ‘Thanks again for helping me with that broken radio last month. You’re a pro. So, how’s business?’ He sips his coffee and waits patiently.

They can talk about business, something so easy? Jongdae wants to laugh with relief. Maybe he can do this after all.

Junmyeon is amused.

After ten minutes of talking shop with Jongdae he watches as you and Jane leave the bookstore next to their lunch spot. He’s owned a business two doors down from Jongdae for years, but he’s never seen him smile before. When you pass by it’s like someone flipped on a light switch. Jongdae has always been somewhat quiet, somewhat serious, except when he DJs. Now he sits straighter, his face softens, and his eyes fixate on yours like a magnet.

The two of you claim the other seats at the table, showing off the books you purchased. In between sips of his coffee Junmyeon balances his own flirtation with Jane and observing - okay, spying - on you and Jongdae.

He’s warmed by not just the caffeinated beverage. There’s a soft energy here- It’s a warm summer day and he’s discussing books, one of his all-time favorite topics. His mind whispers the words ‘double date’ and he smiles to himself for a moment before blinking.

“Are you alright?” Jane asks, gently resting her hand on Junmyeon’s wrist on the table.

He blushes and gives her a reassuring nod and asks if she’s read the Octavia Butler book on top of her stack yet. It’s an attempt at distraction and he knows it. But thankfully Jane’s eyes crinkle in the corners when she talks about the author, not pausing or seeming to notice the way he was fantasizing for a beat.

Across from him you and Jongdae are arguing about the merits of Isaac Asmiov. Jongdae is more articulate, more animated, more alive than he’s ever seen him. Gesturing emphatically and saying something about how robots are friends, not foes as you interrupt him by reminding him about Terminator. Neither of you seem to acknowledge the attraction between you. It’s been months since you started working at Chen’s, if Junmyeon remembers correctly.

In his periphery he sees Temptation, the chocolate store, and thinks of how Yixing and his girlfriend met on the job. One of his favorite poems mentions how love mirrors the lover; that everyone falls in love in a way akin to their personality. Yixing, passionate and insatiable and spontaneous, fell for Lavender in minutes and days. He saw what he wanted and after a slight pause to make sure it’s what Lav really wanted, he made the move.

Jongdae is nothing if not the complete opposite. Calculating and reserved and inscrutable.

His potential new friend is falling, if the lingering looks he gives you and the way he’s almost touched your shoulder not once but twice are any indication. But it’s a mystery to Junmyeon if, or when, Jongdae will ever make a move. You aren’t the same kind of romantic as Yixing’s girlfriend, someone playful and open with your emotions. You’re driven and witty and warm in your own way. Clearly you care for Jongdae, but in a quieter sense.

Junmyeon imagines this will be a marathon of love, not a sprint.

Eventually lunch hours end for all of you. There’s clients to see and paperwork to do and as he waves to you and Jane he wonders what will become of you and Jongdae. If you’ll stay as co-workers, always flirting and secretly wondering what might be. Or if either of you will push the other into action. The chess board is laid out, pieces waiting to be moved. It might just be his imagination, but Junmyeon hopes that one of you gets the game going.

He does also, perhaps, focus on you and Jongdae as a way to ignore how his own heart beats a bit faster around Jane. How he can’t stop staring at her dimple when she smiles or the head tilt she gives him when she’s really listening. Like he’s the only person in the world. No, he absolutely doesn’t think about Jane’s feet i n his lap as they both read on the couch in his living room. He doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss her or hold her hand. Absolutely not.

Instead he invites Jongdae to the monthly Settlers of Catan night he has with Minseok and some other folks from the mall. Much safer territory than wondering about his own love story and if still waters truly do run deep where he and Jane are concerned.

August 11th, 1997

On a surprisingly rainy yet unsurprisingly dead Monday morning Jongdae forces you away from your insistent attempts to organize his paperwork to the market a few streets over. The quiet bakery on the hill above Pike Place has a view of the misty Sound beyond. He sits close beside you, carefully keeping his knees away, lest he bump yours and you do the same, perhaps letting them linger a moment each time they collide.

It’s nice here, you notice suddenly, as you take the first sip of your coffee. The smell of dark roast and fresh almond scones. The breeze coming in through the open door. The soothing, distant sound of jazz from the overhead speaker. The pleasant warm lighting, far different than the aggressively bland fluorescent kind he chose for Chen's. Everything puts you at ease, wraps around you the way you wish Jongdae’s arms would.  

'This place reminds me of Amsterdam.' You smile, looking down into your cappuccino to avoid Jongdae’s eyes.

‘Have you ever been?’ he asks, voice softer than it normally is.

With a shake of your head you trace the edge of the teal and white ceramic cup in front of you. ‘No, but I’ve seen pictures. I used to love photo books growing up. Atlases and travel guides. It’s always been my favorite section of the library.’

He hums for a moment, considering. 'If you could go anywhere in the world, is that where you'd choose?'

Tucking your hair behind your ears you bite your lip to avoid grinning at him. He’s making you remember long-forgotten parts of yourself. Before school and work became the end point, the be-all end-all that your life was funnelled towards. Back when you imagined exploring every country on the planet. Taking photos and making memories. A long time ago, in the days before you realized how expensive it is to actually be a wanderlust-filled adventurer.

Finally you look at him. Something in his irises makes you swallow; an endless, nameless emotion that lives in him you can never seem to place. Elusive and frustrating and tempting all at once.

‘Yes,’ you admit. Voice dry and heart racing you look back to your coffee in avoidance. ‘It’s my dream to travel there. I’m a bit obsessed with it, really.’

'You? Obsessed?' Jongdae smirks, a boyish grin you want to cover with your own mouth.

You roll your eyes, tracing the handle of your mug. 'Hush. It's such a beautiful city with all the canals and the architecture and history, and the food is to die for. Every quaint European city fantasy in one. What about you, have you done much traveling?'

He shakes his head. ‘Not personally. But - my grandfather went everywhere in Europe, after the war.’ His admission is so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s as if your soul is waiting for every crack in the door to Jongdae you can find, and you don’t pass up the opportunity. ‘What was he like?’

It happens sometimes, when you’re working together. The times there’s no customers around and the mall gets empty and you can’t help but be aware of him. Against your skin and with your hands, eyes feasting on him when the rest of you is forbidden from doing so. In the moments when he isn’t putting on airs of being the tech mogul or the reclusive jerk or the awkward, secretly friendly nerd around Jun or Minseok.

Those times when Jongdae meets your eyes and you see the real him, beneath it all. Wanting and alone and scared. Your breath catches in your throat just as it does now and you long to ask him plainly if he feels the way you do. Being honest with your words and not just your jokes or looks out the corner of your eyes when you catch him watching you too.

But those feel too fragile, too dangerous to utter. So instead you ask him about his family, someone close enough to Jo ngdae’s heart to glimpse the core of him; like a sun during an eclipse you can only look for a moment, lest you get burned.

'My grandfather?’ Brows furrow, the corners of his cat-like lips tilting down for a moment. You nod gently, cupping your drink for something to occupy your hands.

Jongdae looks out at the water for a moment, his mouth tugging to the side as he ponders. ‘You know when you finally solve a puzzle you’ve been working on for ages? Hours of struggling to find the right combination and finally it’s all laid out, perfectly in alignment.’

You nod, trying not to smile and ruin the moment, but softened by him nonetheless. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

When his gaze lands on your hands he pauses, like he’s wondering if the two of you might fit in a similar way. But it’s gone before you can grasp onto the moment. Sadness colors his features then. Not the aching kind that gnaws away like a feral monster, leaving nothing in its wake, but the beautiful, bittersweet sadness of a love greater than grief.

His voice is thick when he next speaks. ‘My grandfather was that person for me. We just - fit. He understood me better than my parents did. More than any of my classmates or the few people I’ve ever gone out with. We didn’t even need to speak.’ Jongdae pauses and taps his fingers on the counter.

You give in and reach for his hand, not to hold it - not yet. But to cover it with your own for a moment of understanding, of comfort.

He smiles at you, the crease between his brows disappearing for a moment. ‘He was fifty one years older than me and he was my best friend.’

‘I’ll bet you miss him quite a lot?’ You realize how incredibly inadequate the sentiment is and shake your head, moving to withdraw your hand. ‘Sorry - that’s - of course you miss him.’

But Jongdae doesn’t let you retreat. With his free hand he holds yours in place. Warmth floods your body from the connection point and you’re unable to take your eyes off him. ‘It’s alright, I know what you mean.’ He traces your thumb with a barely there motion, seemingly without intending to. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ You ask, a bit breathless and unable to mind.

‘For always asking. For always listening.’ He says it simply, as though it’s a novel concept. Perhaps, given what you know of his life, who he is, not many people dare to ask. Or bother to listen.

Soon paperwork and customers and regular life draw you back to Chen’s Electronics. He doesn’t mention the way you reached for him and you don’t either. But when you go to leave that afternoon Jongdae holds out your jean jacket for you to slip on. And when you thank him he gives you the soft, secret grin you’ve learned he saves only for you.

On the way home you think that Amsterdam might be the most beautiful city you can imagine, but that it pales in comparison to a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Seattle, as long as Jongdae is seated beside you.

September 9th, 1997

The summer turns into fall and one Monday evening, seemingly without his noticing, Jongdae realizes that his appointment book is full to bursting.

On Tuesday night he's playing Settlers of Catan with Minseok, Bookworm, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon. They meet up in the food court after the mall closes at nine, second Tuesday of every month.

Wednesday he has lunch with Jun and some other business owners in the mall for their monthly networking/commiserating 'sesh' as Yixing calls it. That afternoon he's promised to help Minseok install the new upgrades to his store's database software that 'make him want to rip out his hair' in exchange for a few coveted LPs Jongdae's had his eyes on for a 70’s/grunge remix set at Shari's.

Thursday night there’s a L.A. Confidential screening at the theater that Baekhyun talked him into, after their argument about whether or not Russel Crowe could actually act or if he was just handsome.

Saturdays are pizza and raucous laughter to break up the busy weekends full of work and clients and deadlines, followed by long nights of DJ-ing and circling you as if you are a sun, drawing him in with the pull of your gravity. He’s merely a comet attracted by the force you give off and he’s not even upset at the realization.

Sehun, Jongin, and Yixing practically bribed him into joining their 'Sunday morning brunch and biceps' workout group, saying that they need a fourth and everyone else is normally sleeping off their hangovers or works the opening shift.

It’s other people’s names all over his schedule, but what he feels is you. Everywhere, all over him. He knows it’s you. Not intentionally, perhaps. But you opened a door for him with your ease and generosity. One Saturday pizza lunch and somehow he’s gotten to know more people in two months at the mall than he had in the years before combined.

You’d wave him off if he mentioned it or thanked you. With that adorable tilt of your head you would smirk and tell him that all he has to do is give people a chance. That they don’t bite.

Irrationally he wants to do things for you - not just as a friend but in the romantic sense - like buy you flowers or have you by his side at Thursday movie screenings or take you to Amsterdam, just to watch you bloom among the flowers. But that would be… crazy, right? He sits in his favorite armchair unable to focus on the book in front of him and runs agitated hands through his hair.

He’s not your boyfriend or your partner. He’s your boss or your co-worker and possibly your friend. Why does he think of holding your hand and walking along the canals of some foreign city every time you look in his direction?

Why does the once-comforting quiet of his apartment feel more and more empty when you’re not laying on the couch across from him, reading and teasing him? Why does he wake up and wish that someone besides himself filled his bed? Someone with your expressions and your joy and your stubborn insistence.

He briefly makes a mental note to ask Yixing how he ended up dating Lavender before suddenly tossing the book to the floor, standing with a groan.

‘What a ridiculous idea!’ he yells aloud to the empty apartment. Jongdae paces circles in the carpet of his living room and wonders if part of being in love is going slightly insane, if everyone who manages to do so finds the madness enjoyable or if love is simply folie à deux?

He looks at his calendar, spread open on his grandfather’s old, wooden desk and tries to comprehend how his life could be so different one year to the next. Like he’s grasping at straws or wisps of air. Aside from work and his grandfather and music, what did he have before? The occasional alumni event or guest lecture at his alma maters?

For a minute his chest feels too full to breathe, unable to let in anything more. Panic tugs at him for a second. It’s too much, all at once - too many people and too many events. Too many opportunities to mess up and these people? He can’t sever his life completely like he did from Julian and his friends. They're so connected to this space he's made his business in. What will happen when he inevitably falls out of favor with them?

He imagines himself shunned and the idea hurts worse than before. Back then he had chosen isolation; to have it thrust unwillingly upon him, unasked, is too much to comprehend.

Once he walked naively into friendship, believing it was easy and that it would last. That there was no rug that would be unceremoniously swept out from under him. But people change, faster than he can believe.

Jongdae sits on the floor, his pajama pants brushing his crossed legs, and forces himself to steady his breathing. These people are not his old friends at Microsoft, he reminds himself. Nor are they the kids in school who teased him, or his classmates in college who resented him or treated him like an annoyance.

Like he’s always practiced, he turns to facts to calm his mind. He’s safe - the apartment is his and he has plenty of money. Not just from his business but from his grandfather’s life insurance. If he wanted to leave - if he was forced to, he thinks he could do it. But something within him howls at the idea of leaving what he has now.

For the first time in ages he has ideas, plans, and dreams for what to do with his life. Now he has people he cares about, people who he trusts to be kind rather than fearing they’ll betray or leave him. You’re at the center of it, if you let him. Determination takes hold of him and doesn’t let go. After a few moments his panic subsides, washed away by the bright promise of a future he’s never dared to imagine before now. Before you.

September 13th, 1997

By the end of your second drink you contemplate being the one to risk it all and ask Jongdae out.

In the months you’ve worked together you stopped seeing him as a challenge and started viewing him instead as the push to your pull. The yang to your yin. The - you sip on your rum and coke and get lost in the tug of his brows and the set of his lips as he spins rather than finding another apt metaphor.

The first time you met him you knew there was something underneath his hard exterior, but you had no idea how correct you’d be proven. Somehow he walks the tightrope between being harsh and being softer than you thought possible. But rather than turn you off you find you’re drawn to his bewildering mix of wry humor, nerdy fixations, and raw emotion. It unlocks all the jagged parts of you that you try to keep so nicely pressed together.

For someone who has been deemed too much to handle finding a man who seems to do it with ease is staggering. He loves your bossy, charismatic nature and your ideas about new things to try at the store. He listens intently when you rattle off obscure facts about your favorite books and movies. He sees your dreams of traveling, of being part of community here, as a complement, not a detriment to your professional career.

A voice startles you. “So when are you going to jump his bones?” Baekhyun is the kind of puppy dog, glowing cheeks, wide-eyed endearing drunk you wish you could hate.

He waggles his brows at you and you snort, shoving him away with your shoulder. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

You weave your way around the perimeter of the dance floor, trying and failing to not fixate on Jongdae with every step.

“Come on. Admit it. You’ve got a thing for the DJ.” His mouth tugs into a smug grin and you groan. “And word on the street is he wants you too.”

“He’s my boss.” The last of your drink burns your throat and you belly up to the bar to order another. “Get real.”

Always a hoe for gossip, Baekhyun leans one elbow against the bar and drops his chin into his hand to watch you. Rather than speak and risk your wrath again he merely looks between you and Jongdae, waiting.

You pride yourself on not giving into temptation for all of ten seconds and then blurt out - “What are you doing?”

Baekhyun presses his lips together to suppress a grin. He raises a finger and holds it up. “You’ll see.”

The bartender is tied up with a group at the far end so you sigh and turn, resting your back against the bar top. With folded arms you observe the club. “We’re about to be abducted by aliens? Jongin’s going to breakdance? Minseok and Bookworm are -”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient. You two really are a match made in heaven.”

“Me and Jongdae?” If you weren’t already buzzed you’d deny it more. But the permission to speak openly about your feelings for the DJ is too tempting. “You think so?”

Before he can tease you again a motion up ahead catches your focus. Jongdae looks up without tilting his head. His eyes cut to the left, to the two overflowing booths that are filled with the usual crew from the Exodus Mall. With amusement you follow his eye line as he scans the dance floor, looking for something. He never breaks the movement of his hands, spinning the vinyl and working the controls.

Finally his focus lands on you and Baekhyun at the bar. Jongdae’s eyes widen and that unreadable expression settles on his features, no emotion escaping. Your heart picks up, cheeks heating with awareness. There’s nothing to do but hold his gaze for long seconds while the club pulses with life around you. Isolated and together, even across the room.

And then Baekhyun ruins it.

With a comically large wave he smiles at Jongdae. The motion breaks Jongdae’s focus and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his friend’s ridiculousness. A smile tugs at his lips and he gives you a look of commiseration and you laugh, reaching over to ruffle Baekhyun’s blonde hair.

The song changes and Jongdae finally looks away. A second later the bartender appears, asking you for your next order. Baekhyun waits patiently beside you, arms folded against the bar, his smugness a tangible thing in the air between you two.

You bite your lip and look at yourself in the mirror behind the bar, visible between the clear shelves of liqueurs and syrups. Could he feel the same way? Does Jongdae imagine holding you, kissing you, being with you the same way you do with him in your unguarded moments?

The two of you already do so much together - work five days a week. Meals alone or with friends. Nights here, separate but still united in the bubble of the dance club. It strikes you just how thin the line is between friends and coworkers and … something more. A four-letter sinful word that starts with L and implies dangerous things like hands touching hands followed by lips and skin and teeth. A different four-letter word full of softness and commitment that has no place being in your mind at the same time as Jongdae’s name.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder. “I told you,” Baek says sincerely. He disappears after waggling his damned eyebrows one more time and leaves you at the bar, wondering.

Half of you wants to confess to him out of genuine affection and desire for connection; you can’t escape the way he makes you long to be reckless and daring and bold and romantic in the kind of grand gesture sense that you’d have rolled your eyes at before you met him. The delicate balance makes your palms sweat and your glass shake slightly as you raise it to your lips. From nerves or excitement or a mix of the two.

You could make the first move, but the logical half of your mind wins out. Instead you swallow your drink in three gulps and head over to the DJ booth to talk to him and nothing more. Close enough to be comforted by his nearness but keeping your desire closeted behind your fear. Tonight that’s all you can manage.

Passing by Yixing and Lavender dancing is a reminder of all the good love can bring. Yixing’s hands holding her close, her arms folded around his neck and their foreheads together. Intimate words are shared that aren’t meant for your ears, even if you could hear them over the sound of the music.

But just beyond is Baekhyun and Hitch. She laughs and dances out of his way as he tries to tickle her. They’re obviously in love to anyone who watches, so why haven’t they admitted it and had a go at being together? Maybe it’s for the best, you wonder. If trying and failing and ruining what you have it worse than never trying at all.

Before you can wander too far down the road of doubt and consequences you remember how it felt to have Jongdae’s hand on top of yours. The thought of tomorrow and the days after disappear altogether when you feel Jongdae’s eyes on you once more, drawing you closer to him, whether he knows his effect on you or not. When you reach the booth you decide to stop thinking in general, and let yourself feel instead.

Saturday night and he's in his element. In the booth, far away from the rest of the crowd but still a part of it. Adrenaline in his veins. Music is Jongdae’s therapy. An alter ego much like the comic book characters he read about growing up. It's the skin he can put on when he's tired of being himself. A place where he can set down the baggage of his identity for a night and get lost in the beats.

He closes his eyes, savoring the pattern of the vinyl beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, he feels you. Of course you're here. He's never free from you, he thinks with a rueful smile. First you invaded this place, his escape and his temple. Then you wormed your way into his business as though you always belonged there. Now you're occupying his senses the way you occupy his thoughts at all hours.

For a beat he admires you, standing at the bar rolling your eyes while Baekhyun waves dramatically. He drinks you in with a last look at your fabulous legs before reluctantly turning back to switching out one album for the next. Lately you’ve taken to joining him for a bit while he spins and he hopes that once again you’ll come up to the booth tonight.

He's not a patient man, or a subtle one. If he wanted to be rid of you, you'd be gone. Severed with the kind of brutal finality he showed to anyone from his time after M.I.T. There are no second chances as far as he's concerned. But still, you remain. Infuriating, exhilarating. Never far from his consciousness.

'You look like you're having a good time!'

Sooner than expected your voice breaks his trance and he lifts his eyes to look at you. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he swallows harshly. He doesn't know how you do it - how you effortlessly change to match your surroundings.

One minute you're his office manager, polite and respectful and skilled. Already he sees the business taking shape, becoming more cohesive and smooth beneath your talented mind and heart. And your feisty insistence that he upgrade and finesse his marketing and finally finish putting together a website for Chen’s.

The next minute you're leaning over the edge of the booth, chest coming forward and revealing your neckline. The red is fitting on you. It brings out the natural flush in your cheeks and makes you look perpetually alive. He feels stagnant by comparison, a man of stone who remains unchanging while the world passes him by.

The tumble of hair across your shoulders and the delight in your eyes are so beautiful he wants to reach for you. To reach for more, be more than who he has been - afraid and alone. Bitterness lives in his heart, swatting away anyone who gets too close. But here you are, knocking once more on the door of his being.

He finds his voice, his hands thankfully moving on muscle memory as he drops in the next remix. 'It's good energy tonight,' he fumbles. 'I love this song.' You nod in agreement.

It’s easy, being with you. Together you talk about work and the music he plays and your group of friends. Chanyeol and Bijoux, who finally got together again after what seems like months of back and forth. Bets on how long Minseok will wait before he proposes to Bookworm, now that they’re an official item. Joking about Baekhyun and Hitch like always.

He shows off for you, just a little. Spins 'Scream' by Michael and Janet jackson with a bit more pizazz than usual. It strikes him as amusing how much he always hated being watched before this. Not that many people pay particular attention to him as a DJ, but he thinks he might like the way it feels to be watched by you.

He wants to watch you, too, for as long as you let him. He already can’t take his eyes off you. No matter how much that idea might terrify him. When he drops the next mix and the crowd cheers at ‘Tubthumping’ he gives you a rare broad smile and it's like being punched in the chest when you return it with an unexpectedly shy one of your own.

Jongdae almost invites you into the booth. He sees it as though it were one of the romantic comedies that are so popular right now. You would take your place in front of him. He'd get to rest his hand on top of yours, guiding your movements. Maybe as you got the hang of it he would slide them to hold your hips, keeping your back to his chest as his mouth finds your neck.

Liz invites you to dance and Jongdae wipes the probably awed look off his face with effort. He needs some cold water, immediately.

Friday September 19th

Jongdae is upset about something. It’s not so much that you now seem to be able to pick up his moods with ease, which is true, but the fact that he is nearly tearing his hair out. A piece of paper sits in front of him on the desk but it’s too far away for you to read.

By the time he groans for the fifth time you finally speak up. ‘Are you alright?’

His head jerks up and his eyes are tired when they meet yours. Not ‘it’s been a long week’ tired, but something sad in his expression that makes him look fragile and younger than his years.

For a moment he shakes his head. Then he picks up the paper and waves it in the air, opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession. The confusion on his normally self-assured face would be comical if it wasn’t such an obviously distressing situation. Finally he drops the paper and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

‘I just got word that they’re demolishing the apartment building I live in. I have to move by November 1st.’

Instantly you want to hug him or hold his hand. ‘Your grandfather’s apartment?’

Jongdae nods. ‘They’re tearing it down so they can put in some luxury condos. Yet another classic neighborhood about to be wiped out in the name of progress.’ He sighs, looking at the ceiling to compose himself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so-’

‘No, it’s -’ you start, unsure of your destination. ‘It’s an important place. And it’s your home. Don’t apologize for being pissed off about it.’

He nods, taken aback. ‘Exactly. It’s where I grew up. I’ve also never had to look for an apartment or move, either. So this will be dreadful.’

You bite the inside of your cheek. The offer to help practically leaps from your mouth and you hold it close for a moment, making sure you don’t rush into something that’s out of your depth. But as always your logic overrules your fear.

‘I could help, if you like?’ He’s just your boss slash co-worker. It’s innocent. It’s harmless, right? ‘I’ve moved so often with school and everything. I know my way around the city.’

In the ensuing pause Jongdae’s solemnity returns, his mouth and the lines of his face don’t give away any emotion. But, as always, he holds you in place with his expression. And his eyes have that fire within that he seems to only show to you. ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’

You nod, case closed. Turning back to your computer you lie to yourself further, pretending not to notice how his voice lowered. As though he knew you weren’t just offering for help with his living situation. But something more raw and painful that he isn’t prepared to hold on his own just yet.

For how picky you thought you were about apartments, Jongdae has you beat by a mile. Student housing accustomed you to wonky flooring and cramped kitchens and the charming yet ancient windows on many older Seattle homes. But his grandfather’s gorgeous pre-war unit had made Jongdae’s tastes quite particular.

On Tuesdays and on weekends you pulled up listings and showed Jongdae around the city by way of it’s apartments, condos, and houses. He enjoyed the nature surrounding Greenlake, the affordable houses north of UW in Ravenna, and the vibe of Ballard and Fremont. But he ruled anything north of 520 out quickly as ‘too far from the store.’ The luxury of walking to work on nicer days was something he wasn’t willing to part with.

The same unfortunately ruled out a townhouse in Alki that you had salivated over, a block from the beach. Pioneer Square had some great lofts that would have been perfect for a music-lover like Jongdae, but he vetoed those as well. Along with all the trendy industrial lofts near the stadiums, claiming he hated all the construction going on nearby.

It should have been frustrating, to spend endless hours watching him nix perfectly wonderful places. In Queen Anne he hated the hills. Westlake he disliked the mall. Madrona, Leschi, Montlake, Magnolia, and Lake Union all came close but still he shook his head and said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to landlord after landlord.

It should have driven you mad, but all it did was make you like him more.

Falling in love with Jongdae isn’t what you had planned. But from the first night you saw him at the club some part of you knew it was inevitable, the way the rain in autumn starts off as a light drizzle and before you know it becomes a torrential downpour, blanketing the city and saturating every exposed corner.

He always brought you coffee and insisted on buying breakfast or lunch. He always picked you up, right on time. Held doors and made sure he didn’t walk too fast and did the thing where his arm hovered over your back when the two of you were in crowded spaces. Not touching, but close enough you could feel him protecting you. On anyone else you would have absolutely hated that, but of course from him, you craved it.

Day after day you listened to music in his car as the two of you drove around little neighborhoods hoping to find something, complaining about how tight and ridiculous the parking situation always is. Joking about your friends or the news or the latest books you’re reading. They hardly felt like dates. No, they felt like something even more insidious. Like being in a relationship with him. Easy and warm and friendly and the kind of thing you could get used to.

But eventually it had to end, before it seemed like either of you were ready.

On a surprisingly warm Tuesday in October the two of you walk into a place that no one could object to. The building is in south Capitol Hill, close to Cal Anderson and only a fifteen or twenty minute walk from the mall. It’s designed in the classic Victorian style of the neighborhood, but was completed just three years ago. Small pane windows and a fireplace with a carved mantle and dark spires on the roof, all with brand new insulation and appliances.

Sunlight floods the corner unit on the top floor and you gasped as soon as the door opened. Jongdae stands beside you as the landlord goes over the details of the square footage and the building amenities, but neither of you are listening anymore.

‘What do you think?’ he asks softly. The five-story building sits on a slight hill and overlooks the rest of downtown, with a partial water view around the tall downtown skyscrapers.

‘I think it’s as close to perfect as you’re going to get.’

He moves closer and rests his palms on the window sill, looking around for a moment before turning his head to watch you. ‘Good.’

After a long pause Jongdae pushes off the windows and politely interrupts the landlord, who is currently opening every single cabinet in the kitchen and giving a detailed run down of his wife’s favorite tupperware, asking about the deposit. The way he phrased it along with the attentive way he waited for your approval makes you wonder if he wasn’t just picking this apartment for himself.

Imagining yourself there scares you. If he was seeking your opinion… surely he would be hoping you’d come over? Neither of you have spoken a word about the bizarre yet undeniable attraction you have, but that hardly forms the basis of a relationship. A boyfriend who wanted to be sure you liked his new place would be one thing, but your friend and co-worker who has never admitted to even liking you is quite another.

You lean against the edge of the window and run a finger along the ledge. A small part of you whispers that you’re supposed to be doing something else, eventually. You won’t work at Chen’s forever, but it wasn’t meant to be this hard to leave. It’s just a stop on the way to your final destination. So why do you want to get off the train altogether and make a home here?

Would it be so terrible, to be with him? It’s been a fantasy for so long that imagining real life with him makes you suck in a breath as though you’ve been punched in the gut. It could be a fresh start for you both. The end of one adventure and the beginning of a new one. You remind yourself that being in love doesn’t mean you can’t travel or change the world. Being with Jongdae would hopefully only encourage your dreams, not stifle them.

As they discuss deposit and applications and timelines for moving into the apartment you wander into the other rooms.

The bathroom has a large tub and dual sinks. You can only imagine what your expression must be like right now, given your swirling emotions, and avoid the mirror altogether. The second bedroom is more like a cozy office, narrow enough for a desk and a couch and perhaps some bookshelves. In the bedroom you hesitate at the doorway, reaching up to play with the pendant of your necklace.

Windows run along both sides, meeting in a corner. You think of plants lining the wide ledges and going to sleep with the setting westward sun and how short of a walk it would be to get breakfast from your favorite bagel shop that’s just a block away. It’s close to the mall and the club. It’s truly perfect.

As you watch cars pass and people walk by down below you space out, the image blurring and becoming Jongdae on a bed in this room, leaning back against the pillows with a book in his lap. Smiling at you and pulling you close since he knows you refuse to get up earlier than you have to on your days off.

Inexplicably you want to cry and you huff out a laugh, squeezing your eyes tightly only to find that they’re damp. It’s not anger that the vision inspires in you or even sadness. It’s frustration and amusement that war inside you as you think about how you fell in love with him without your consent. Rational thinking should have stopped this long ago, but all you can think as you stand there is how nice it is to be with him. And how you wouldn’t mind being with him for a long while.

The only thing that helps ease the tension in your chest is how he looks at you on the drive back to your place. You fill the time with discussions of moving trucks and hiring a company to help with the heavy lifting, but you’re both clearly distracted by other thoughts. He pulls his car up to your apartment and you try to avoid looking at him as you say goodbye, but he briefly rests his hand on your knee to get your attention.

Your hand stops in its motion to grab your bag and ends up nearly on top of his, but you make no movement to break the contact. ‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘I mean it.’ Jongdae turns his hand and holds yours, giving it a quick squeeze and looking like he never wants to let go.

October 12th, 1997

You’re eating cheesy bread at Barada with Hitch, but today she’s different - evasive and nervous in a strange way. 'So I - uhh. I have news,' she finally says. She sips her drink and looks at the table rather than at you. 'I don't know if I should tell you though.'

Pausing in your chewing you raise a brow. 'You can tell me anything, you know that.'

She awkwardly runs a hand along her neck. 'No I know. I just -' she huffs out a breath and blows her hair off her forehead..

'You and Baekhyun finally had sex and you're pregnant?' You smirk at her as she chokes on her soda. 'Come on, just spit it out.'

She waves and hand and very quickly says - 'There's a project manager position open in the gaming division. Some new big thing and they're looking for an upstart to head up operations.'

You frown and tear off another slide of bread, not understanding her odd behavior at all. 'Okay… and you're thinking what, thinking of applying?'

'No, you dork. I'm thinking you should apply.' She tilts her head like she assumed your reaction would be more immediate. 'You wanted me to keep an eye out for you, right? I didn't want to say anything since - '

'Since?' you ask, both afraid of what she'll say and dying to know. Terrified it will have to do with Jongdae and the swirling mess of feelings you have for him.

It’s her turn to be wry. 'Since you and Jongdae have been attached at the hip.'

'Really?' You stall, taking an enormous bite.

Hitch tosses a balled-up napkin at you. 'Yes. When I met you in college I thought 'there goes the most intense person I've ever met.’ And then I met Jongdae after he opened Chen’s and he gave you a run for your money.' She dusts off her hands. 'You both could be making millions someday. Taking over countries or saving the world or something. We all know it. I don't know, I didn’t want to mention this because together you guys seem happier. Softer? Something like that..'

'And you think me getting a job there would ruin that?' Her words mirror your fears exactly and your stomach drops.

'It's taken me years to get Jongdae to even look at me after I told him where I worked. He hates Microsoft. With good reason, from what you've implied. I'm sure you could make it work, but trust me when I say if you get swept up into that upper management spiral, we probably won't see you again.'

'I won't completely abandon you guys just because I get a new job.' But doubt whispers in your mind. The long hours and the endless meetings and the extra work to always be the best, to always be ahead. 'Okay fine, I see your point. I still have to try, right? I should at least apply.'

She rests her hand over yours where you have your napkin in a death grip on the table. 'You don't have to do anything, babe. We'll always be here for you even if you become a tech mogul overnight. But will it make you happy? Whatever comes next... do it for yourself, okay? Not just cause you think you should.'

You smile and hold her hand for a moment, wrinkling your nose. 'Thank you, Hitch. I needed that. What about you? You said you were going to apply for that transfer to the NYC office, are you still considering it?'

She blows out a deep breath and pulls her hand back, dropping her forehead to it for a moment. 'God, I don't know. My whole life is here. And I'd have to leave the theater.' She rests her chin on her palm and looks up at you with a dramatic frown. 'My friends are all here. My family. I love where I'm at, but I know that something eventually has to change.'

'Baekhyun?' You grin at her, wondering if the move might finally force them to admit their feelings.

Hitch straightens and looks across the food court to the movie theater. 'Yeah, something like that.' She gives you a dramatic waggle of her brow. 'Jongdae?'

You groan and fold your arms, sinking lower into your seat. Even your roommates ask about him now. Everyone can surely see how you light up around him. The way you gravitate towards the DJ booth on club nights like a moth to a flame. The way you draw him into conversations and brag about him. It should be forbidden territory, as untouchable and unreadable as he is. Not to mention he's your boss.

But worst of all he still hasn't said anything about it, nothing more than the occasional flirtatious comment or lingering look. Even after all your time together and the way he looked at you in the new apartment. For all you know he sees you as a very stubborn employee who happens to force your way into things.

You cover your face with your hands and sigh. 'Something like that.'

Hitchcock stands and takes your shared tray of dishes to the bus station with a throaty laugh. 'That's what I thought.'

November 1st, 1997

Jongdae is frantically packing up more of his bookshelf when the doorbell rings. He smiles on instinct. It's not something he can help anymore, not when he knows it's you on the other side. Right at nine in the morning, just when you promised the movers would be here. With a last look around his living room at the organized chaos he wipes his hands on his sweatpants and stands.

It surprised him how quickly you agreed to help with - well, everything, really.

When he told you about his move he didn’t expect anything would come of it. It's his problem, not yours. He didn't imagine for a moment you'd give the announcement more attention than a sympathetic word or two. But you stepped to his side. Put up with his grouchy persistence in believing that there's no place in the world, let alone in Seattle, that would be as amazing as this apartment. As it always seems with you, he found himself proven wrong.

You didn't let him wallow and guided him with your decisiveness through the checklist of everything he'd need to do. A few months ago he would have waved you off. Decided you were being bossy or nosy and turned down the help with a cold shoulder. 

But now he wants you around for everything and the thought makes him pause with his hand on the doorknob.

He made sure you like his new apartment too because - when he isn't expecting it he imagines you there. Not just as his co-worker or employee or even as his friend. As someone more permanent. Lasting. It's not that he needs you to run his life for him, he's perfectly capable of doing things on his own. It's just that he loves how you barge your way into his world and refuse to let him be alone.

Jongdae doesn't know how yet, but he wants to show you how he feels in return. It's like trying to run with a blindfold on, but he desperately hopes that he can figure out how to care about you in the way you deserve. Bringing you coffee and asking about your day and giving you all the freedom you want at work are a start, but they barely scratch the surface of how much he feels for you.

He's got one idea. A big one. An insane one, that you'll probably call him nuts for suggesting. If he ever gets up the nerve someday.

The buzzer sounds again and he shakes himself out of it. Finally he pulls it open and is greeted by your smiling face in the morning gray light. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in a long black shirt and faded overalls. He leans against the doorframe, wondering if he's ever seen anything more beautiful than you on his doorstep.

'So, I have a surprise,' you start. With a free hand you nervously brush your hair behind your ear. It's so unlike you that he immediately wonders if something is wrong.

'What is it?'

Before you can answer, noise in the parking lot draws his focus. His front door faces the open-air walkway that leads to the stairs down to the parking lot. He expected a moving truck and several buff men in logoed shirts. Instead it's a scrappy group of your friends - his friends now, he supposes - looking tired but ready to help.

Junmyeon and Jane drink coffee and pull furniture dollys and heavy blankets out of a Uhaul truck. Liz and Jongin are leaning against the cab of Sehun's car and laugh at him as he and Yixing sleep peacefully in the backseat. Chanyeol and his girlfriend are paused on the landing below making out, a tape gun in each of their hands. Another car catches a break in the flow of traffic and pulls into one of the guest spaces. Minseok and Bookworm step out and yawn, tying sweatshirts around their waists.

Jongdae repeats his question. Or at least he tries to, but emotion catches his throat and all he can do is stare at you with a mix of surprise and what he's sure is a very naked expression of affection.

'How did you do this?' he asks when he can finally breathe again.

You tilt your head and grin at him, pride making you radiant even in the dull mist of the morning. 'Is this okay?' For a moment you look worried, tucking your hands in the pockets of your overalls and taking a step back.

'I know I said I'd hire the movers, but I thought this might be better? I didn't think everyone would be here, especially after the Halloween party last night. Soo and Sunshine are working, but I think - wait,' you turn and yell down to the group in the lot. 'Has anyone heard from Baek and Hitch?'

Chanyeol reluctantly pulls away from his girlfriend and replies. 'Yeah, he messaged me at the ass-crack of dawn. He said he and Hitch are fine, but they won't be able to make it until later.'

With a curious look you thank Chanyeol and turn back to Jongdae. 'Okay, so almost everyone came.'

'It's because you're incredible,' he agrees, heart warm and in awe of you. Stepping back, he shoves the door stop in with his foot to prop it open and gestures for you to come in.

He doesn't get two steps before your hand finds his bicep, stopping him. 'No, I'm just absolutely amazing at organizing things,' you laugh. ‘But they didn't just come for me Jongdae, they came because they're your friends. They wanted to help.'

The intensity in your voice makes him pause. Like you're trying to say far more than your words. He gets lost for a moment in your beautiful eyes and swallows harshly. His past, the negative parts, haven't come up much - his failed first business, the trail of broken friendships he's left behind him, the ensuing guard he's had up since - but you've paid far more attention than he realized.

He doesn't miss the meaning behind your words, or the look in your eyes; what you're asking of him. To trust you, to trust them. To release his death grip on the walls he keeps up to protect himself. But no matter how determined you are he knows he has to be the one to dismantle them. His heart is nervous and he instead focuses on your hand on his arm.

For a beat he wants to kiss you, then and there with almost all of his and your friends just outside. Instead he lets his actions speak when his mouth isn't able to and pulls you into a hug. You freeze for a moment, stiff with surprise. But after a moment it melts away and you hold him back, wrapping your arms around his waist. His head spins when you rest your forehead against his shoulder, unable to process the fact that you’re in his arms in reality, not just his dreams.

'You're the most amazing person,' he murmurs against your hair.

The sound of loud voices and thumping of boots on stairs make him pull back. You give him another smile, warmer and softer this time. Something that's private for him only. 'I know.'

He barks out a laugh as Sehun and Jongin come in through the doorway. 'Let's do this!' Sehun calls, clapping his hands together.

'We promise we won't steal anything,' Jongin jokes, looking around Jongdae's place with obvious fascination.

Bijoux organizes the packing party while Chanyeol grabs Jongdae's keys so he and Sehun can take the first load of boxes over to the new place while Junmyeon, Jongin, and Jongdae load up the bigger furniture pieces into the Uhaul. Jongdae lets out a rusty laugh as Junmyeon dubs them ‘the J squad.’ You work around them, collecting all the random trinkets and knicknacks that have escaped other boxes.

He closed Chen’s today to hopefully knock this entire project out in one swoop. Ripping it off like a Bandaid. After the first big load everyone splits up into teams. Sehun and Yixing pack and load the rest of the boxes and smaller items into the cars. Jongin, who is absolutely not trusted around breakable items, goes with Junmyeon to return the Uhaul to the rental shop and pick up lunch and drinks for everyone with the cash Jongdae insisted they take. 

And Minseok leads everyone else on a cleaning checklist he’s created with military precision. It's been so long Jongdae doesn't even know if he has a damage deposit. His grandfather took excellent care of the place and he kept it up in his absence, so he hopes it's not too much work to tidy.

Yixing’s boombox keeps up a steady flow of music throughout the morning and lunch time. With everyone’s help, and of course with the added fuel from the pizza and beverages, things are just wrapping up at the old place. You stay behind with Jongdae to take a last look around and turn in the keys, forcing him to take a few photos in the space to remember it.

‘This is it, I guess,’ he says, holding out the key and laying it on the kitchen counter with a small metallic sound.

‘How do you feel?’ You lean your hip against the fridge and drink from a water bottle.

Sunset over Lake Union is his favorite time of day and it’s hard to stand the thought of missing out on a last one. It’s barely two in the afternoon and it’s hours until golden hour. Rather than lie he simply says the truth. ‘I wish I could see the sun go down one last time.’

You come and stand next to him, close enough he can smell the light scent of your perfume and see the flush of your chest from the day’s exertion. ‘We can wait.’

He thinks of everyone at his new place, unloading boxes. ‘But everyone-’

‘Jongdae,’ you start. ‘They’ll be fine. You know Sehun has probably fallen asleep on your couch already. Baek and Hitch and the openers from Barada will be heading over soon. Some people have to head out for closing shifts but it’s already been decided that we’re doing movie night and Chinese take out tonight at your new place.’

‘Oh really?’ He presses his lips together to try not to laugh.

‘I don’t think you have much of a choice,’ you tease. ‘Trust me, they’ll be fine for another few hours.’

‘Alright then,’ he says after a pause.

The two of you sit on the bare hardwood floors and talk until the sun finally sets, just before five pm. He doesn’t yell his feelings for you at full volume like he wishes he could. He doesn’t dance with you or kiss you slowly in the empty apartment, there’s far too many emotions in his heart today to try and cope with more. But after he locks up and leaves the keys behind he does take your hand to help you into the car. And he does hold it for far longer than necessary before pulling back to shut the door. 

It’s not much, but like his new apartment it’s the start of something.

November 3rd, 1997

You’ve got to tell Jongdae now, but nerves eat away at you and your resolve lessens minute by minute. Since the move he’s been warmer, more open, and you don’t want to ruin that. But you can’t keep this from him any longer.

Applying at Microsoft was supposed to be a long shot, a shot in the dark, or some other kind of shot that never meant to lead anywhere. But still it’s one you took and one that ended up paying off way faster and more successfully than you’d planned. After two interviews last week you sit with a job offer on your answering machine back home and a choice to make.

They need your decision by tomorrow and as Monday winds into early afternoon your deadline approaches. You bite your lip and vacillate wildly between thoughts. On the one hand this could be a good thing - if you’re no longer working at the same place, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from being together, right?

But what if Jongdae can’t see past his hurt and freaks out, assuming you’re leaving him like everyone else has? Or worse, what if he never cared about you that way at all?

Your stomach drops at the thought of walking out of here into your dream job, but feeling empty, leaving behind someone who has come to mean so much to you.

Your roommates Liz and Jane, Hitch, hell even Baekhyun weaseled the truth out of you at Shari’s on Saturday. Stone cold sober and still you let out everything to him sitting in your group’s favorite booth. About how you might in fact love Jongdae and how badly you want this opportunity, how utterly terrifying and exhilarating change can be simultaneously.

None of them told you to choose one way or the other. They didn’t say ‘take the job’ or ‘turn down the job,’ they all said that the decision is one only you can make and that they’d support you no matter what you picked. And maybe each time you cried a little and all of them were good enough friends to just hug you and not mention it.

But all of them told you one thing that now sits lodged in your throat. Whatever else happens, you both deserve to know. Jongdae deserves the truth about what you’re considering, and you deserve to finally know once and for all how he feels about you and what he wants.

After he locks the doors and starts cleaning up, you rise, holding your hands behind your back so tightly your knuckles are most assuredly white. ‘Hey, can we talk for a minute?’

Jongdae nods. ‘Of course. I’ve got something I wanted to discuss with you as well, actually. But you go first.’ He folds his arms and leans against his desk, giving you that affectionate close-lipped smile of his. You desperately hope what you’re about to say doesn’t wipe it off his face.

Not one to beat around the bush you dive in. ‘I applied for another job.’ The words sound blunt and harsh. You swallow and try again, hating how his brow furrows in confusion. ‘Not because I don’t like it here. But Hitch told me about an opening and it sounded - sounds perfect for what I want to do in the long run. It’s on the new gaming system division… at Microsoft.’

He doesn’t say anything for a long pause. Instead of meeting your eyes his have dropped to the ground and you wish you could reach out and touch him. Anything to make sure he hears you, understands you. But a whisper of fear makes you keep quiet, worrying the connection you had wasn’t meant to last, if something so trivial could break it.

‘I thought you were happy here,’ he says finally.

You hold your hands out in front of you, palms up in a gesture of entreaty. ‘I do, Jongdae. It’s not that at all. I thought this might - be good for us. If we’re not working together, then -’

When he finally looks up his gaze is distant, his mouth a thin line. The shutters have fallen over his face. ‘By going to work at the one place I despise?’

Anger makes your skin hot and you fold your arms as well, in defiance. ‘But you talk to Hitch and Baekhyun? They haven’t turned into the devil incarnate yet.’

He gives a quick, harsh shrug. ‘I like them both, sure. But being friends is one thing. This is quite another.’

It’s almost a declaration, yet so far from how you dreamed this moment might go. ‘What are you saying, Jongdae?’ You need to hear it. After so many weeks of trying you need him to at least do you the courtesy of speaking it out loud.

‘You know how I feel about you.’ There’s hope in his eyes. But it’s so buried amongst hurt and suspicion it’s not even close to reassuring. ‘I want you to stay. Here.’ With me, he doesn’t say, but you feel it.

Nothing drives you more up the wall than being told what to do. His words fall against your own shield and the plea within goes unnoticed. ‘Would you really shut me off if I took this job? Does hating them mean more than wanting what’s best for me?’ You finally step forward, reaching a hand for his arm.

‘I’ve supported you in everything,’ you start, unable to stop now that you’ve started. ‘In finding community here. In your move. Even in the business, who was the one who pushed you to keep growing? I don’t intend to stop being there for you, but I need you to support me in this. Please.’

He just watches you, not saying a word. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. People outside the glass doors go about their day, shopping or getting an early dinner, unaware of the standoff taking place merely feet from them. You wonder what it would take to make his guard truly ever come down.

With how quickly it snapped back into place you feel tired all the way down to your bones. Maybe it will never be enough, even if you did stay here forever.

‘I’ll pay out your PTO in these next two weeks,’ he says softly. ‘No need to come back into the office. If that works for you?’ His last statement is thrown on as a hasty addendum. Like he’d realized how harsh it sounded and he wanted to dull the sting. It’s a sliver of kindness, a glimpse at the man he almost allowed himself to be. But it’s not enough.

‘Fine with me.’ You move past him, into the supply room to grab your purse and jacket, proud of the way your voice doesn’t waver. Pausing in the hallway you turn to look back at him, still frozen against his desk. ‘I’m leaving this job, I’m not leaving you.’

He turns to look at you, running a hand through his hair and messing up the ends. ‘It will go the same way, I know it. In the end you’ll disappear too.’

‘Jongdae, I’m trying. I need you to at least meet me halfway.’

You don’t wait for his reply, if one was ever even going to come. Instead you continue down the small hallway and push out the back door into the mall. It’s only once you’re in your car that you remember he mentioned something he wanted to discuss. You wonder what it was, and if you’ll ever find out.

Jongdae stares after you for long seconds after you’re gone. He doesn’t hold out hope that you’ll come back, not after the way he treated you. Instead he feels stuck in place, like if he holds his breath and doesn’t exhale then the last five minutes didn’t happen.

But his lungs burn and his chest aches, and when he finally sighs it comes out ragged. He fumbles for the switch and the store descends into darkness. Shafts of light still come through, angled in from the glass ceiling of the mall’s concourse. Jongdae stands just outside of it, protected. With no one to see he sinks into his desk chair and drops his head into his hands.

The tears that clog his throat are at first unexpected, but as the minutes drag on he finally gives into them. He should have known they were coming all along. Not just from the moment you walked into his life, but from the day his grandfather died. From the day his father passed and his mother became a ghost rather than a permanent, tangible figure. 

From the day Julian took Jongdae’s designs and credited them as his own to the investors, cutting Jongdae out of not only the business they were building, but out of their group of friends as well.

Misery and hopelessness whisper against his skin and for long minutes he lets himself wallow. He knows it’s no one’s fault but his own that he ruined things with you. His grandfather taught him long ago that other’s actions are theirs, and that it’s what Jongdae does in response that is his responsibility. But he can’t deny that he indulges in thoughts of blaming the cruelty of life for making him so goddamn stubborn.

He swallows and leans back in his chair, feeling as though his body is made of hard, unyielding stone. Maybe it's better this way, he wonders, drumming his fingers on the wood desk before him. Perhaps he should let his worst fears dominate his life, believing that the risk is far greater than any potential reward that love or friendship could offer him.

Is it better to be alone, knowing that he’ll always be safe, free of anyone who might hurt him?

Jongdae groans. The voice inside him that whispers No sounds first like his grandfather, both encouraging and feisty at the thought of Jongdae giving up. Next it sounds like you. He knows you’d roll your eyes and call him grouchy, always thinking better of him than he does of himself. You’d tell him his bark is far worse than his bite and to get over himself already. At this thought, at any thought of you, really, he smiles.

Familiar voices make him look out into the mall. Sehun and Jongin walk by carrying sodas, rubbing their stomachs. He can imagine how they’re complaining about eating too much Barada pizza, as always. 

They pass by quickly but the image stays with him, of their friendship. Jongdae thinks of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s, how opposite and yet how similar they are. Baekhyun and Hitch, who are always teasing each other but who he knows would do anything at the drop of a hat.

He’s held himself back the past few months. First a reluctant observer. Then a tentative participant. The endless exhaustion of being careful, keeping his distance, catches up to Jongdae as he sits in that chair. If it weren’t for you maybe he’d never be brave enough to try again after how hard it was growing up. But if he is to be the kind of person, the kind of partner you deserve, now is the time to make the attempt.

It’s up to Jongdae to be the one to try, to reach out. He can’t let others find him anymore. For the first time in a long time Jongdae stands up and goes looking for a friend.

Junmyeon still has an hour before his store closes and he looks up at Jongdae as he walks in through the door of Guardians. ‘Hey, JD! How’s it going?’ If he notices that Jongdae’s been crying, he’s kind enough to not mention it.

‘Are you busy?’ Jongdae’s throat is raw but Jun has a young son, surely tears won’t bother him.

‘Not really, I’m just organizing some shipments going out tomorrow,’ Junmyeon answers. He sets down his pencil and rests his hands on the counter. A crease forms between his brows the longer he watches Jongdae. ‘Is everything alright?’

He wants to do this right, but all he can find are inelegant words. Junmyeon is as close as he has to a best friend at the moment, and he hopes he doesn’t inconvenience him. ‘Not really.’

Jun tilts his head and gestures to the door, picking up Jongdae’s unspoken request and running with it, just like he’d hoped he would. ‘I can close up shop a bit early. Want to talk in my office?’

Jongdae runs a hand over his face and nods. Grateful and relieved he manages a small laugh. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

After Jun locks the doors and flips the sign to closed he motions for Jongdae to follow him. The back room of Guardians is much warmer that at Chen’s Electronics, in style rather than temperature. Jongdae sits on a beige sofa that’s even more comfortable than it looks. The walls are filled with framed photos and art prints and various other pieces that give the space an art gallery vibe.

With a sigh Junmyeon tidies up the mess of papers and crayons and various cups with kid lids. ‘Sorry, Sungmin loves to draw but we haven’t quite nailed the clean up yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it on my behalf,’ Jongdae says sincerely. ‘I’m just grateful you’re willing to listen.’

The space has a narrow hallway leading to a back door and a closet that’s probably full of supplies, much like Jongdae’s store. Jun takes the cups to a small sink in the mini-kitchen in the corner. His brow lifts in confusion. ‘Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, right?’

Could it be that simple? No need to prove himself or do everything possible to impress Junmyeon, like he did with Julian. ‘Yeah, we are I suppose.’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to imply I don’t consider us friends, I just - well, have a few trust issues when it comes to that sort of thing.’

Junmyeon dries his hands on a dishtowel and blows his hair off his forehead with a huffed laugh. ‘We’ve all got a few issues, don’t we?’ He moves to the table and takes a seat, sliding a glass of water towards Jongdae and sipping from one of his own. ‘I’ve got the time. So quit stalling and tell me about yours.’

He sags into the couch and drinks from the glass. ‘Alright then.’

For once he doesn’t second guess himself or try to read the minutiae of Jun’s expressions to see if he’s annoying him or being too boring. Jongdae simply tells him the truth, trusting his friend to listen. 

He mentions his family and how hard it hit him when his grandfather passed. How strange and yet unbothered he is by the lack of relationship with his mother. The way he was teased growing up and how he was probably the only person in his Master’s program going through puberty. The fact that the mall is the first place he’s ever had friends his own age since childhood.

It’s satisfying to see how pissed off Jun gets when he tells him about Julian and all the bullshit he put Jongdae through. For a while there Jongdae had convinced himself that he was the one in the wrong, that there’d been something he’d done to earn his exile. That it was a deserved punishment. But his friend’s muttered curses remind him that true friends don’t normally backstab each other for money and notoriety.

And finally, he talks of you.

How much he values you at work and how sassy and insistent you were about bringing him into ‘the fold’ of their friend group. The ways in which he wants to be with you and care for you and all his worries of whether or not he’ll be any good at it, given his lack of experience. Junmyeon is neither surprised by his feelings for you nor willing to let him wallow.

‘I even brought prom tickets,’ Jongdae finishes with a groan. He pulls them from the pocket of his jeans and lets his arm fall to the couch cushion. ‘Me. At a prom.’ He almost snorts.

But Junmyeon just purses his lips. ‘Is that really such a stretch?’

Jongdae hums a noise of contemplation. ‘No. I guess not. All our friends are doing it.’ But before Jun can continue he shakes his head. ‘But I’ve messed this all up, so it doesn’t matter either way.’

Loneliness aches in his bones, his hands tired of not holding yours. Wishing he was enough, somehow, to keep you here and keep you warm; enough to make you stay, to make you happy.

Junmyeon raises a brow. ‘I think you’re missing the point entirely my friend. She told you what she needs. All you have to do is listen. She’s asking you to trust her. This job is something she’s worked for and she’s not leaving you for it. She’s just leaving the job. If you want to know you have to ask.’

He sighs deeply. ‘You’re right. But what if it all goes wrong? What if I try and it’s all for nothing in the end?’

Jun dips his chin to his chest, looking at the ground lost in thought. ‘That’s fair. I know a little of that myself, Jongdae. But all you can do is try. There’s sadly no guarantees here. I think you want to make it work and from what I know of her, she wants you as well. It’s time to make the big gesture. Or any kind of gesture, really.’

He groans and smiles, knowing his friend’s fondness for ‘I think you’re right.’ He even has an idea, two in fact. One that’s lived in the back of his mind for weeks and one that’s brewing right now. ‘Will you help me?’

‘Absolutely my friend.’ Jun claps him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

November 19th, 1997

It should have been wonderful news to you that it was a clean break at least. No mess, just walking out the door and leaving behind the man and the job in one fell swoop. But of course, it wasn’t.

Microsoft was delighted when you told them you could start ASAP, but honestly you did it to jump into work rather than spend your time missing Jongdae. Filling your schedule proves to be the easiest way to avoid thinking about what hurts. You still had your roommates and Hitch and everyone else to hang out with, even if you weren’t ready for any Saturday pizza lunches or Shari’s nights quite yet. Both brought you far too close to him to bear right now.

Liz and Jane and Hitch are wonderful and you’ve had not one but two sleepovers since ‘the Jongdae incident.’ If not for their friendship and constant presence you’re sure you would have walled up the hurt and hid it away, not one to normally speak about your pain openly. Not while it’s so fresh. 

Distantly you hope that Jongdae is okay and that he has someone to talk to. If he’s even hurting. 

For all you know he’s completely fine and unaffected by the entire thing. Maybe he’s already found a new office manager and has forgotten about you. But those are the kind of rude and painful thoughts that only come to you at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, when dreams of his hands and his voice and his smile keep you up.

Jongdae calls one Tuesday to ask you to swing by Chen’s to pick something up the next day and you’re suspicious. He wouldn’t say any more, just ‘please come by at six. I have something to give you and I’d like it to be in person.’

You put on your favorite black dress and blazer that make you feel both sexy and confident and head to the mall. If he’s just calling you to twist the knife in deeper, you’ve already decided to leave and not bother letting him hurt you more. But if he’s calling to reconcile… you shake your head, not willing to get your hopes up. Instead you park in your old space and fix your make up in the rearview mirror.

It delights you to see that your old desk is returned to its former state. Just the computer, keyboard, and mouse remain. No one’s personal possessions have taken over the space like yours used to. It shouldn’t make you so happy to see he hasn’t replaced you, but it does.

Jongdae sits at his desk. His hair is in its usual perfect wave but his white button down and slacks have been swapped today for a dark green sweater and tan chinos. He looks ridiculously handsome and you grit your teeth, wishing you could turn off your attraction to him with a switch inside your brain.

He looks up at your knock on the glass door. For a moment he simply stands, drinking you in. Then he moves, walking closer to unlock the door and let you in. 

‘Hi. How are you?’

You blink and try not to laugh. ‘How am I? Jongdae, how do you think I am?’

‘Right, sorry.’ He shakes his head. Carefully he looks you up and down, not bothering to hide his own attraction to you in his hungry gaze. With a swallow he remembers himself and grabs a cardboard banker’s box from in front of his desk. ‘Here. I didn’t want to come by and drop it off. It felt wrong.’

The box holds all the random photos and personal belongings you’d left in your desk, in your haste to leave. Postcards from Amsterdam and family photos and lotions and your favorite scarf you’d been missing. He steps back, resting against the corner of his desk and folding his arms. When you take it he doesn’t say anything, which is not what you’d hoped by any means, but silence is definitely less painful than you’d feared.

‘Well, it’s been an adventure,’ you manage. You lean against your desk and move the box under one arm, holding out a hand to him to shake. Ready to be done with this officially.

He doesn’t move. You can feel words held on the tip of his tongue. Months and months later you know how to read his tells. The tightness in his jaw and the widening of his eyes and how his hand grips the fabric of his sweater. But seconds tick on and still he says nothing. 

He should speak or you should leave. One of you should do something. Instead you’re frozen in time. Eventually your arm aches and you set the box down beside you. You could go first, but pride demands he be the one to confess, if there’s going to be any confessions tonight.

Neither of you caves; twin pillars of resolution, stubbornness, and desire. It’s a game the two of you could play for hours. The tension in the air pulls tighter than a violin. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, unabashedly. His lids grow heavy as he breathes deeply, close enough to smell your gardenia perfume, but just out of reach of being able to touch you.

So this is what it feels like to meet my match, you think, finally acknowledging just how deeply you want him. Enough nights had been spent imagining kissing him, being with him in far more intimate ways than just a holding of hands or a hug. You want more, but only if he wants you, too.

You'd always been told that you were too driven, too smart, too self-sufficient to attract a man. Even in your MBA program where ambition and intelligence were supposedly rewarded, it apparently made you too something to find a good man to date.

But now there’s one right in front of you, looking at you as if you’re the answer to Fermat’s Enigma; a rare and priceless gem he’d been hunting for all his life. But he doesn’t look at you as if you’re art to be admired, a prize to be won. The guard lifts steadily and when he looks at you now it’s as if you’re the kind of miracle he wants to sink his teeth, his tongue, and his fingers into.

Your cheeks grow warm and you’re sure you look just as amazed and turned on as he does. If you had to guess, you’d bet that the number of people who challenge him these days are few, and the number of people who attempt to see the man behind the curtain even fewer.

While everyone else in the world might just see a monolith of a man, a genius, a hardworking and brilliant anomaly, you see the passionate, warm heart that beats in his chest. You know that the tin man really does have feelings and needs, and your heart almost breaks when you realize he’s been searching for you just as fervently as you’ve been searching for someone like him.

The silence in the room is almost too fragile a thing to break. On one side of the moment is a spark of something, a chance to see if this connection is real and deep, or if this is just chemistry and biology combining into lust. If your mind has taken the small gestures of passion and kindness and friendship from him and built it up to be something more than the sum of its parts.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he breathes, voice catching in his throat. Releasing his folded arms he rests his palms on the edges of the desk.

‘I’ve missed you, too,’ you admit. Your hands curl in on themselves, trying to fight the way emotion and physical longing make it difficult to be in such a close proximity to him.

‘Okay, then.’ He breaks first, moving with purpose and striding to you in two steps, sliding his hands along your jaw with such softness that you gasp. 

And then, finally, you feel his lips on yours. You grasp his hips, hands freed and aching to touch him, to feel his hard body press against yours with surprising heat.

You meet him with equal passion, working your lips against his steady assault on your composure. For a solid minute you’re in awe that you could feel this much, that his lips and his hands could undo you so rapidly. That they could rebuild you into someone who belongs to him in such a short space of time, after weeks of endless doubt.

He groans against your lips in what feels like similar shock and surrender. Who would have thought that he would cave to your touch just as you did to his? How could someone so grumpy and strong-willed also be so open and vulnerable to this tentative thing between you.

But as he drops a hand and brings it to rest securely on the small of your back you realize there’s a name for this feeling.

You could call it fate. You could call it destiny. You could call it that damned four-letter word or you could call it Darwinism for all you care as his teeth bite gently into your lower lip.

You just know that nothing has ever felt as good and right as his hands claiming you for his own and the smell and heat of him wrapping themselves around you and burrowing their way into your heart.

A whine works its way from your throat as he licks along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. When you open your mouth to him, his tongue slides along your own and you almost lose your balance. With a giggle you could swear you’ve never made before in your life you let him guide you up onto the desk.

He steps between your legs instantly, gripping your hips and continuing his tasting of you. Heat and electricity race down your spine as you fist your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you until there’s no separation.

Banging on the glass doors and whistles come from out in the mall and you freeze. Instead of jerking back in shock and alarm like you’d expect him to, Jongdae confounds you once again. He pulls back slowly, opening his eyes and lifting his hands to gently cup your face. It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but in less than the time it takes to watch one episode of Friends he’s turned your world on its axis.

You and Jongdae smile at each other and both turn to wave at your group of friends, who are celebrating and clapping. Baekhyun eats from an enormous bag of popcorn, wearing his theater uniform. Jongin and Sehun take large handfuls and Hitch whoops with joy. Liz and Jane and Junmyeon are all smiling, and attempt to force some of the group away to give you privacy.

Jongdae’s hands flex on your waist. ‘I want to try. You’re everything I want, will you please give me the chance to be what you need?’ His voice is raspy and his lips are red and you can’t help but grin.

‘I just want you, okay?’ You fix his messed up hair with both hands and sigh with relief. ‘And for you to admit you like me.’

‘I far more than like you.’ Jongdae rolls his eyes and kisses you once more. ‘You just want me to say you’re right.’

With a laugh you ease yourself off your desk, standing close within his arms and bending to whisper in his ear. ‘I’m always right. I just love when you admit it.’

‘So,’ he starts with an amused quirk of an eyebrow. ‘Will you let me take you to dinner? Us, officially, on a date.’

Your chest feels as if it’s a balloon, expanding so rapidly it might burst. He looks so young and boyish and hopeful your heart feels like it turns to liquid gold. With a delighted grin you lean forward and press your lips to his again, unable to resist.

Joy swims in his irises as he holds you in his arms. He looks at you through his lashes, his lips tilting into lopsided smile. ‘Is that a yes, then?’

‘Yes,’ you answer. ‘Of course.’

‘How’s right now for you?’ He motions to the doors and your friends have finally been corralled to the side of the walkway, revealing an elaborately decorated table in the food court.

You gasp and grip his arm. Jun and Sehun hold the doors open and Jongdae escorts you out. A red tablecloth is spread out over the circular table. The chairs have added plush cushions and several candles have been lit. A bottle of wine and two glasses rest beside several plates of food. You recognize the pizza from Barada, the rest looks like a mix from the other restaurants in the food court. 

With high fives and hugs from your friends they finally leave you and Jongdae alone. Well, almost alone. It’s not a busy time at the mall, but there’s no way to avoid some of the customers turning to watch with amusement and curiosity as they pass by. You pay them no mind as Jongdae holds out your chair and helps you sit. 

The two of you fall back into conversation easy enough, aided by the enormous amount of food and how you no longer have to move your knees away when they bump under the table. Jongdae reaches for your hand and holds it, in full view. He stares at the joined digits with warmth before looking up at you. 

Doubt passes across his face, marring the beauty that contentment lends his features. ‘I don’t -’ he struggles. ‘I don’t know how to keep this much good in my life. I worry that I’m going to mess it up.’

Neither of you are the type to openly acknowledge such things. Merely the fact that he’s voicing his fears to you shows you he’s doing what he said - he’s trying, he wants to change. And truthfully so do you. 

‘I worried for the longest time that I’d be alone forever,’ you say softly. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who understood me or who could handle all my - well, you know how I am.’ 

Jongdae smiles then, lifting your joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to your skin. ‘I love who you are.’ 

Your eyes mist at that and you groan, trying to blink them back. ‘Good, because I love who you are too.’ With your free hand you reach for his, needing to hold both of them and all of him at once. Not wanting to give his overly-analytical mind a chance to override the fragile hope you’re both building tonight. ‘You know what to do when a computer overloads?’

He nods. ‘Of course. Often it’s just a simple matter of turning it off and on again.’

‘So,’ you say, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. ‘When we mess up or freak out or say the wrong thing, we’ll just start over again. As long as you want me and I want you, we’ll figure it out.’ 

Jongdae softens, his shoulders dropping and ease coming back into his eyes. ‘I didn’t know I was lagging until you jump started my life.’ He waggles his brows. It’s a gesture that’s all Baekhyun, and a pun so terrible that Junmyeon would be proud. You can’t help but laugh and squeeze his hands. 

‘I’ve got one more surprise,’ Jongdae says, reluctantly releasing one of your hands to pull two narrow slips of paper from his pocket. ‘Do you have any plans for Christmas?’ 

The tickets are in both your names. First class round trip from Seattle to Amsterdam. ‘Oh my - Jongdae, what is this? You and me in Amsterdam?’ 

‘I figured it was about time,’ he says with pride. 

You lean out of your chair and reach for him, tugging him closer to kiss him fully. Noise reaches you - clapping and cheering from the shops around the mall. When you look around you see Sehun and his girlfriend leaning out of Starlight Apparel. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo smiling and fist bumping as they work on closing up the shop. 

Hitch nudges Baekhyun from the theater booth and he jumps in excitement. And from Guardians Junmyeon leans on the counter, resting his chin in his hand, giving a thumbs up. 

You roll your eyes and wave. ‘We maybe should have gone somewhere outside the mall, huh?’

'No, I think this is perfect,’ Jongdae answers. He then covers your mouth with his and holds you so tight that it drowns out the chorus of cheering that echos around the space. 

[tiedyexuxi]

Black Mamba | Seo Taewook

Black Mamba | Seo Taewook x Fem!Reader

NSFW, I honestly fried my brain while writing this. This monstrosity was 10 pages in a doc. Also related to the song of the same name by aespa. I also really like Taewook’s tattoos in some of his cards (I’m a die-hard sucker for men with tattoos) so that was the inspiration for this. I guess I’d call this semi-canon compliant but only to an extent, so you aren’t spoiled with something you don’t already know. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always appreciated. Requests are OPEN.

THE CURIOSITY HAD TO BE EATING her alive. Taewook could see it in the way she would send him curious, side-eyed looks when he was present for her shoots; the way she would edge to the corner of an elevator they shared so she could have a parallel view of both him and the door; the way she became blatantly unafraid of him when her mind was running a million miles a minute, eyes fixated on what she could make out of his eyes and then the tattoo peeking out above the collar of his crisp dress shirt.

She had been doing it for quite some time and he was certain she wasn’t aware she had been caught just yet. He found it highly entertaining to just watch her out of the corner of his eye while she stared: she had the most fascinating tics when she was thinking too hard. It usually started out with a furrow between her brows, the elegantly plucked hairs pulling down only slightly to express the thoughts running rampant in her head; then, it would slowly morph into the slightest gnawing of her cheek or lip depending on which road those thoughts had taken; the real hook was when she had almost decided on something and drew her lip into her mouth, holding it between her teeth until it was sore, deliciously red and bereft of the lipstick she had worn that morning.

It was almost like a game between them--albeit one with an undecided outcome. Taewook had long ago decided that playing the long version would be far more satisfying than anything he could have done in pressuring her to consider him as an option. The goblins who clung to her like their very existence depended on it had certainly thrown a wrench in his plans; after all, they recognized him for what he was: a threat. [Name], skittishness and slightly confrontational behavior aside, did not. It was laughable how in the dark they kept her by their own volition, or at least from Taehee’s side of things. When she came to him--and there was no if, he had made sure of that--Taewook had no intention of hiding it from her. After all, even if she didn’t come to him when her curiosity finally broke her, it would be interesting to drive a wedge between the five of them and watch as the show played out.

But, of course, he had to wait for that. [Name]’s debut was coming up and so all of the attention she had focused on him had been temporarily diverted to the public’s view of her and the occasional scathing review posted in an attempt to ruin the girl’s morale. Taewook, of course, had gotten his hands on the worst of the lot before they had been run. They now sat in a harddrive in a hidden compartment of his desk where no one would ever find it unless he wanted them to. Even still, he had to let some criticism past his tight security to keep up appearances--even if it kept [Name] up all night wondering what was wrong with her to make people hate her so much.

And then, as silent as a tsunami, it was time for [Name] to debut her first serial photos as an official model. Taewook had decided beforehand, on the decision of the board, to secure a small facility where they would invite reporters, high end magazine owners, and even news outlets to survey the model’s skills for themselves. Himself, [Name], several other investors, and a skeleton crew would be housed in the hotel across the street before the event; then, when it was over, they would retreat to a small banquet, and afterwards, retire for the night and wait for the articles to be posted.

It was a perfect plan. It was only fitting that [Name] herself ruin it in a glorious shower of sparks and a climax worthy of the ages.

TAEWOOK WAS DRIVING YOU INSANE. Only figuratively, of that you were certain, but you couldn’t drown your curiosity no matter how hard you tried. Thoughts of Taehee, Yooha, Biho, or Hansol did nothing to sway your wandering mind from Taewook. He was like a permanent, foreboding figure standing in the midst of your brain, domineering every single muse that darted past his greedy fingers. He would snatch them up and hold them in his hands like the leash of a particularly disobedient dog, then rip them to shreds and replace them with something of him, something that became a fixation even in your dreams.

All because of that gorgeous black ink crawling up the side of his neck.

You couldn’t help the way your brain had fixated on his tattoo the moment you noticed it. It had almost been an accident, really, when you became aware of it--like ‘oh, that’s really nice’ had escalated steadily into ‘I wonder if it hurt’ and most recently ‘how far down does it go?’. You had buckled down on your thoughts more after that, almost horrified at the turn they had taken, but you couldn’t stop your dreams no matter how hard you tried.

In the months you had been working for Taewook it had only gotten worse. It went from an innocent curiosity about his tattoo to deliberately admiring his eyes from a side profile, of which you could admit without any shame that it was a good one. Other women had parroted the same thing and so you could persuade yourself you were only repeating what they said back at him, as futile as it ended up being. Even in your meetings, with other people there, you couldn’t really tear your eyes away from him even if someone else was speaking.

Honestly, you were surprised he hadn’t caught you yet. But a niggling feeling in the back of your brain told you that he had noticed--you just didn’t know what to do about that and so you wiped it from your mind entirely, but the idea lingered and morphed into something else, something as equally as disturbing: he had noticed, but why wasn’t he saying anything about it?

You didn’t share your thoughts with the goblins. They were, after all, vehemently opposed to Taewook even being in your general vicinity. You almost wished you had a female friend to gush to about your issues, but before you could even find a reason to wonder why, your debut was already upon you.

You were thrown into a whirlwind of photoshoots, interviews, and even ad campaigns. Taewook, throughout all of it, remained on the sidelines, content to just watch--observe?--and let you make a mess of everything yourself. At least, that was what you assumed he was doing; Taewook’s motivations were still a mystery to you. He was like an itch you just couldn’t scratch no matter how hard you tried. He was, in short, an enigma, and that made your curiosity even more fixated on him, consequences be damned.

But your mind just wouldn’t let go of him, not even while Taehee occupied you during the banquet, wondering if you were going to come home with them or stay and mingle among the masses a little longer. You knew it didn’t sit well with him to leave you alone with Taewook in the same room, but you had assured him you would be fine and that if it came to it, you would have a room in the hotel with a lock on it. He didn’t seem all too pleased, but Hansol had pulled him away and they had left with excited farewells to you. You weren’t sure what had been so urgent to pull them away; Yooha hadn’t been very interested in the banquet, only you, but you had been monopolized for the better part of the night and he had been getting tired the more people came up to him to ask for his name and modeling agency.

And so you were alone for the better part of the night until everything was quietly wrapped up around one in the morning. Not once did Taewook approach you in the six hours it took to let everyone get what they wanted and you weren’t sure if that disappointed you more than the goblins had left so early.

“You must be dying in those heels,” one of the staff told you as you walked across the street with her to your hotel. There was no way you were riding a bus home in a thirty thousand dollar dress dripping with diamonds and swarovski crystals, much less in the killer heels they had put you in for the night. “How did you survive?”

“Barely,” you joked, but you knew it was because your mind had been elsewhere. Namely, on Taewook.

He had dressed to impress in a sharp suit with a tie designed to match your dress. How much of that had been forethought and simple coincidence escaped you; but you couldn’t help but notice him whenever he socialized with other high society people, smiling politely although it never reached his eyes. You had thought, almost smugly, that whenever he did smile at you, it did at least reach his eyes--and he had a nice smile, that much you could appreciate.

You were on a downward spiral the entire walk to your hotel room. You didn’t even have the energy to ridicule yourself for the thoughts you were having, or even blame Taewook’s magic--this was all you, and that was a fact you couldn’t deny.

You found your room easily enough. The skeleton crew had put your name on the door hook, but as you fished for the key in your purse, you eyes strayed to the other doors in the hallway. There were only two others but both were suites like your own, and only one had a name on it: Taewook. There were little lights on the locks that indicated the room was occupied, and his was lit up with green. You had to physically stop yourself from walking to the door with a quick pinch to your arm.

With a relieved sigh, you opened your door and kicked off your heels. Your toes sunk into the plush carpet, feeling oddly off balance, and you wormed your way out of the expensive dress and took the first struggle free breath you’d had for the night. You put the dress back in its cellophane bag and began wiping off the makeup, taking off the jewelry, and taking a quick shower so that you felt like yourself again.

You took a few minutes to post your pictures of the night on Wannabe, almost cringing at the likes that popped up the second you posted them. In a few of them, Taewook was in the background, but oddly enough his eyes were focused on you in every single one. You hadn’t even noticed he had been looking at you; he was always around other people and speaking to them.

“Huh,” you mumbled to yourself, bringing a lacquered nail between your teeth as you scrolled through the rest of the pictures in your camera roll. Sure enough he was looking at you in each one, almost peculiarly in a position where he was able to see you clearly over the heads of the people he was talking to. You hadn’t even realized he was that tall; but then again, you were never that close to him to find out. “Weird.”

You turned off your phone for the night and plugged it up to replenish the depleted battery. You thought about watching television, but the moment you laid down on the hotel bed you were hit with the image of Taewook’s face--and it wouldn’t go away. You screwed your eyes shut as hard as you were able until you were seeing fuzzy stars, but it wouldn’t go away. Your cheeks flushed hot with blood when you sat up, hair slightly disheveled, and stared into the mirror of a vanity. You just knew if you went to sleep you’d dream of him, and you couldn’t take that tonight.

So you took matters into your own hands.

You were knocking on his door before your brain had time to catch up with you. You didn’t even care that he was about to see you in your pajamas, plain as they were--you wanted him to stop bothering you in your dreams and every waking moment so you could actually get some rest for once.

When he opened the door, all of your irritation left you in a rush as your eyes darted over his face. He had probably just had a shower, judging by the way his hair was slightly damp, but he didn’t seem as remotely as tired as you were. In fact, he looked almost like he was alive, his eyes taking on an interesting glint as he took you in, standing at his door in your t-shirt and almost indecently skimpy shorts. You almost wanted the floor to swallow you up because all of your words had left you.

“[Name],” he said, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. You almost forgot how deep it was and it rattled you down to your core. “I would have thought you were asleep by now.”

What came out of your mouth made you want to cry out of embarrassment. “I want to see your tattoo.”

Taewook blinked at you for an almost infinite amount of time, staring you down--out of shock or bewilderment you didn’t know--and then visibly relaxing right in front of you. He leaned against the door frame and propped the door open with his foot, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You know, I was wondering when you would ask.” You had to swallow the spit that flooded your mouth when his lips quirked up in a half smile. “You certainly seemed interested in it.”

“Can I see it or not?” You demanded hotly. You couldn’t let yourself back out now. Your pride wouldn’t let you.

That little half smile turned into a smirk. “Testy.” He opened the door wider and stepped aside, jerking his chin towards the darkness of his room. You watched his throat bob with the movement. “Come in. I can’t very well show you in the hall.”

You walked inside without giving much thought to it. You honestly really should have, but your embarrassment was fueling your bravado, and no matter how hard your brain was trying to press the issue that you were, in fact, entering the proverbial lion’s den, you couldn’t ignore how hyper aware you were of him as he shut the door and followed you deeper into his hotel room.

His was a perfect mimicry of yours, except most of his lights had been cut off and a desk was situated against a floor to ceiling window that had a breathtaking view of Seoul and the moon above. You made your way to the window without realizing, staring up at the sky with a look of wonder. You didn’t even hear Taewook slip into his desk chair and turn to face you.

“Why do you have a nice view and I don’t?” You asked, mostly to yourself, but hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud.

“The workers chose the rooms. Not me.” His voice was unusually soft. “Do you like the view?”

You shrugged and turned to him, cupping your elbows in your palms. “It’s nice. So, the tattoo?”

He laughed, then, an addicting sound. It was almost… pleasant. Taehee’s warnings were ringing around in your head, but you didn’t have the courage to face them right now.

Taewook tugged at the buttons of his silk night shirt. Your stomach dropped as each button fell away and the fabric parted to reveal strong shoulders, defined pectorals, and well kept abdominal muscles that tapered down into a powerful ‘v’ between his hips. He shrugged off the article of fabric and tossed it on the desk and with it out of the way, you could see how far the tattoo went.

It was an intricate design of roses, or what you had seen poking out of his shirt, but beneath there was a snake coiling around the stems and accented with falling petals that were in color and not grayscale like you had assumed. The snake looked almost lifelike and you stepped forward before you even realized, wondering if the texture of the scales would be an illusion or real snakeskin under your fingers. Then you paused, eyes darting up to meet Taewook’s, hand outstretched towards the side of his throat.

“By all means.” He reached forward and grabbed your wrist, tugging you the rest of the way to place your cold palm gently against the tattoo. You stood between his legs now, knees pressed against the leather chair and legs brushing the inside of his thighs. “You may touch it.”

Heat crept up the back of your neck. He didn’t let go of your hand and instead kept tracing interesting little circles into your wrist, and you gently followed the lines of the tattoo, tracing each petal and leaning closer and closer to find the lines that were almost obliterated by shadows. You didn’t even realize how close you were until his hair was tickling your temple.

You leaned back at the realization, not far enough to part completely with the tattoo but to look at his eyes, to see his face. His eyes were heavily lidded and half shut, lashes casting shadows onto his face from the moonlight. Those eyes reminded you of a lazy predator, content to lay and wait, and you felt his fingers on your wrist solidify into a strong grip. You almost pulled away, but found that you couldn’t--you were ensnared by his eyes, your fingers pausing over the skin of his tattoo.

“Taewook?” You whispered, a breath in the room.

His lips were on yours before you had even conceived the notion of pulling away.

You had imagined kissing Taewook before, just like you had Taehee, Biho, Hansol, and Yooha. Each of them, in your mind, had a different way, a different feeling they gave you.

You weren’t expecting the savage way he devoured your lips. Savage, and yet thorough, tongue swiping against the raw skin of your bottom lip, teeth grazing the flesh ever so softly but never biting, never brutalizing the skin. You couldn’t help but respond, your free hand coming up to rest lightly on the bare skin of his chest, your other hand darting up and into the hair at the nape of his neck, almost surprised by the softness. What surprised you even more was the way he released your wrist and dug his fingers into your hips, lifting you into his lap in one smooth motion, nestling your legs between his thighs and the arms of the chair, pinning you in place.

A bolt of white hot lightning shot down your navel and left you tingling when the dark haired male shoved his hands up your shirt to draw his fingers on the skin above the waistband of your shorts, each touch feeling like electricity, like fire sundered with sparks. When you made no move of pulling away, your hand fisting in his hair, his kisses became more violent, teeth drawing harsh lines down the swell of your lip. When his tongue entered your mouth it was because you let him, unable to prevent a small moan escaping your throat when his hands traced higher to the smooth curves of your breasts. You were almost painfully aware that you weren’t wearing a bra right then, having forgotten all about it, and could almost envision his hands through your shirt, hands taking a firm grip just underneath them and providing a mimicry of support. His thumbs traced sweeping lines over the flesh, never quite touching your hardened nipples, mimicking the movements of his tongue in your mouth.

Soon you had to part for breath, taking deep gasps of precious air. Taewook continued his assault down your jaw and throat, lips dragging a fire hot trail wherever they went, and soon you could feel the hard pulse of heat settle between your legs, itching for friction. You knew you should have gotten up the moment Taewook found that sweet spot where your throat connected to your shoulder, but you didn’t--Taehee’s warnings completely left your mind. Because this, this was what you had wanted, on some level, as wrong as it was. As evil as they persuaded you he was. As bad as you knew he was.

A high pitched whine had Taewook smiling into the hickey he was sucking onto your neck. “Such a pretty sound. Sing more for me.”

His hand trailed down from your breast and followed the lines of your stomach to rest lightly on the ribbon holding your shorts up. He united them with one quick movement, lips moving to capture your nipple through your shirt. The sparks that erupted throughout your body at the warm, hot contact of his mouth on your flesh, your shirt the flimsiest barrier between you, had you stifling a moan.

“Don’t hide your voice from me.” Taewook’s mouth moved against yours as he spoke, fingers tracing down between your legs over the fabric of your shorts. Your nipple had been abandoned, a damp spot cold against your skin, but you didn’t much care when his fingers pressed against your lower lips with enough pressure to have you wanting more. A desperate whine left your mouth when he refused to move his fingers. “Good girl. Give me more of those.”

“Taewook,” you gasped, moving your hips slightly to gain friction against his fingers. You weren’t even embarrassed by the rush of wetness that he could probably feel. “Please…”

“Please what?” He goaded lightly, lips latching back onto your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please…” You swallowed the words when his fingers moved, finally, dragging across your clit through the fabric. Your hips jerked to follow them, desperate to ride his hand, but his other hand came down and stilled them. “Please touch me. Please.”

You couldn’t stand it. All of the warnings had completely left you until you were focused on one thing: Taewook.

“Your wish is my command.”

You weren’t expecting the way his hand darted up the leg of your shorts, or the way he pushed aside your underwear to sink his fingers into your wet warmth. Your legs almost buckled, but with nowhere to go between his legs and the chair, you had to steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders, fingernails digging crescents into his back. He moved his fingers in hypnotic movements, palm pushing against your clit with every blissful rub of his fingers over your slit. He allowed you to move your hips with him, riding his hand like you would your own, except this--this felt so much better than your own hand. The delicious grind of his callouses against the tiny bundle of nerves was getting you closer and closer, a tight ball building behind your navel.

Your gasps in his ear became faster, louder, higher pitched--and then he stopped.

Before you could angrily pull back, he was already moving you. He pulled his hand out of your shorts and hoisted you up by the back of your thighs, fingers digging red welts into the flesh. You wrapped your legs around his hips on instinct when he stood, burying your face in his shoulder and unable to resist putting marks of your own on him. Your hips moved on their own volition, finding the hardness of his cock pressed against you and rolling into it between the short distance from his desk to his bed.

“Shit.” His curse was light in your ear when you ground against him, wet enough that he could feel you through the thin silk of his pants. “Fucking--[Name].”

You were tossed on the bed unceremoniously, but you couldn’t bring it in yourself to care. He ripped off your shorts and panties in one go, not even stopping to admire the glistening, wet view of you under the moonlight, all ripe and ready for him to devour.

Then your legs were over his shoulders and his face was pressed between your legs, finding your clit almost instantaneously and sucking so hard you were seeing stars. You weren’t even sure if the moans were yours, as wanton and desperate as they were. He slipped a finger inside you, curling it against your walls and touching that spot just-so that you dug your heels into his back hard, tossing your head back with a hard roll of your hips against his mouth and fingers.

He didn’t seem to mind, judging by the groan he let off that had your thighs clamping down on his head, and soon you were gone, your orgasm hitting you with the force of a train. The next one crept up on you like death in the night, ripping through you faster than the last one, Taewook working you masterfully with his fingers and hot mouth. Soon you could barely scream, voice hoarse and faint, and only then did he rise from between your legs, lips glistening with your slick. You couldn’t help the pang of arousal that was almost painful when he licked his fingers off one by one and then leaned down to kiss you.

“Taewook,” you moaned breathlessly against his mouth, legs coming up to wrap around his hips. You settled your hands on his shoulder blades, the taste of yourself on his mouth more than you could take. He was rock hard against your thigh and you rolled your pussy against him, gasping at the friction as his head caught your engorged clit, him groaning in your mouth. “Oh, please…”

You didn’t have to beg this time. He fisted himself with his hand, rubbing his cock between your folds to wet himself, bucking his hips with every movement. And then he was pushing into you, the arousal overpowering the slight pain of losing your virginity. Your fingers caught in his skin and dragged dark red lines down his back, coming back up when his fingers found your clit and began rolling it between his thumb and index. He filled you to the brim, enough that every shallow thrust had you seeing white spots. His hands came up to grip onto your hips and you replaced his hand with your own, fingers darting down to feel him slide into you with a harsh thrust that knocked the breath out of your lungs.

He was rough but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. His hands were tight, bruising fingerprints into your hips, and you could feel them blooming on your thighs as his pace grew faster than you could keep up with, chasing his release, and you somehow felt yourself coming with him, shuddering as the final wave swept through you as softly as a caress.

Taewook caught his breath, softening inside you, and reached up to push his hair away from his face. His eyes weren’t black, like you had thought, but such a deep brown that it devoured his pupil. He looked down at you, breathing hard, almost as if he was waiting for you to instantly feel the regret and leave.

You didn’t.

“[Name]?” He inquired softly, almost confused when you reached up and tangled your fingers in his hair, dragging his head down to your level. “Are you alright?”

“Never been better,” you replied, your voice a rasp, and you kissed him sweetly, pouring all of the emotions you harbored for him into that one kiss because, goblins and gods be damned, you wanted him.

You kissed until the sun rose, casting him in gentle light, and even then, you refused to move, too warm and comfortable and wrapped up in him to care. He was almost like a snake, refusing to part from you, legs entwined with yours and you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

The marks on your skin remained, a permanent reminder as you finally were forced to retreat to your room to retrieve your phone, and even when Taehee and the others came to walk you back home.

It was almost curious when you woke up late the next night, a text from Taewook lighting up your screen. You sat up, casting a glance to the door that you knew was locked, and opened the text with bated breath.

You could barely hold in a horrified breath.

Taewook had attached an image of his back and the grisly lines you had gouged into him with your fingernails. They were still livid and looked to be bruising slightly. Underneath that was a single line: ‘You’re quite vicious when you want to be, aren’t you?’ Judging by the smirk you could see in the mirror in front of him, he wasn’t angry at all. Smug, in fact. A little too smug.

You snapped a quick photo of the enormous hand shaped bruises on your hips, each finger imprinted in ghastly detail upon your skin. You sent him to it and captioned it: ‘And you like to leave your mark, don’t you, you snake?’

His reply was almost instantaneous. ‘I think I like my marks on you. Perhaps I should add more.’

You bit your lip and, with one last glance to the door, replied. ‘Maybe you should.’

‘You know what to do.’

And so you did.

Into the night air, you whispered his name.

“Taewook.”

[daggerzine]

Celebrity Mixtape Party #3 with celebrity musical guest Jonathan Segel!

Big thanks to our Stockholm correspondent for giving a listen to mixtape number three. I had as much fun reading Jonathan's musings as I did making the mix.

The Neats - 6 

I had a thing against this band because of their use of a capital-Lamdba as an A on their band logo, so I always read it as “The Nelts” and by the time I finally understood it was “The Neats” I wasn’t interested. This song is an obvious love poem to 96 Tears, with the organ sound and spy-riff guitar. Nice Pebbles-type music, the lyrics are stupid.

The Chills - I Think I Thought of Nothing Left To Think About 

Chills are great, I have always been a fan of the NZ scene, so many good bands. “Driving yet melodic” as they used to say

The Mantles - Don't Cross Town 

Nice simple melody guitar intro. Indie band quality recording, good for those in the know (I’m not, though.) Again, the classic guitar/organ with the bass and drums. These guys sound like they learned how to play in order toto form this band.

Magazine - Touch and Go 

Nice edgy new wave from Magazine! This is classic stuff, heard on KDVS when I was in high school, making rock music what it needed to be. Listening now, I can hear the glam in it as well.

Naked Raygun - Rollerqueen 

Bass driven rock music with droney scream vocals, I guess it was considered punk at the time. But it’s a love song! About a big legged lady, no less. From the punk styles that used Marshall amps, yet claimed to hate the big rockers of the 70s.

The Names - Floating World

Back to the classic 80s organ/chugging guitar/arpeggios with a chorus pedal. I’m glad people made records like this, nobody would tolerate singing like this these days unless it was from teenagers. “let’s go away, far.” 

Unrest - Vibe Out 

“Vibe out”, vocoded. Bass riff central again, eventually we get to the almost-in-tune girl vocal pair, which I have to say, makes me happy. There’s something about it that makes me happy, especially the suspensions. All strummy strum, downstrokes on the bass, with that pair of crooners melodicizing.

Slant 6 - 30/30 Vision 

Ok now we’re in proto-math rock territory, awesome riffs and key changes, great sounds from the guitars and bass. Spoken vocals, again, the almost in tune girl melodics that just get me. Great build to new sections! Faster pace, and a weird phrase for the chorus “30/30 vision” then back to the slow bass riff. I think I would have loved these guys live, never saw them!

New Order - Ceremony 

The most pop track so far, most of these bands with the bass-riff intros probably copped it from these guys. This is a great track (and I’m not a super NO fan) with great simple melody and strong guitar and bass parts. I obviously stole something from this song for a song on the second CVB album, “Chain of Circumstance”.

The Sound - Unwritten Law (7" version) 

Back to the garage, cool guitar riff on two janglers going slightly stretched tuning wise. I haven’t heard it before. “a hand is a hand a knife is a knife”. Where did these guys come from and where did they go?

Happy Refugees - Enshrined In a Memory 

Another 7”, again I’m not in on this band, sounds cool, sort of Fall-ish delivery but with the REM jangle. I’m gonna get good at music trivia.

Television Personalities - Reaching For The Stars 

I know these guys, had many albums, so my trivia knowledge is influenced by KDVS. And

The Three Johns - Brainbox 

Nice strong song, good recording, complete with the major key anthem fade out.

The Pooh Sticks - Time to Time 

Welsh post punks garage rocking it

The Primitives - I'll Be Your Mirror 

More 80s bands mirroring the Velvet Underground?

Biff Bang Pow - 7 Seconds 

Like UK’s own Paisley Underground. I guess most of this tape is 80s/early 90s Brit snark mixed with a bit of acid.

Party Day - Carousel 

Early Goth! This type of bass and to a certain extent guitar, are why I thought the Cocteau Twins were goth at the start, same early 1980s era.

Mick Trouble - Tales of Hank Marvin 

(Mick trouble, really? Tales of Hank Marvin! The throwback nostalgia to Hank, doing up the old strummy guitar. It also reminds me a bit of TV P’s)

Bad Sports - Can't Just Be Friends 

This is like a love note note 7”. Every time I go you can put me on your stereo.

The Unknowns - Not My Memory 

Early 80s when the new wave was crashing and nobody knew what the genre enclosed. I like the way he clucks like a chicken.

Julian Cope - I've Got Levitation 

Man, Julian Cope. Was high. That super crack midrange snare is like hyped up Rolling Stones, with this blues progression. He was into cutting high and low end to squeeze more volume out of analog gear. Punchy! You can sort of see where this is going in terms of UK drug and rave culture.

Abecedarians -They Said Tomorrow/Wildflower 

I liked these guys, DIY post punk Californians. Sort of into the texture as much as the notes. Moar reeverb!

Red Zebra - The Art of Conversation 

Don’t know them, I think…Belgian punkers. Sounds pretty emo these days. Nice gothy chorus on bass and digital delay on guitar. And freaky ending!

Wire - The 15th  

Monks of Doom covered this song relatively recently on What’s Left For Kicks (2006) so that version almost supplanted this version! Wire is so weird, they’re always great but somehow unknowable. Like what are they actually talking about? Is it as dire as they make it sound? Love their style with all the direct downstrokes on the guitar and the organ.

The House of Love - Road 

Taking the goth and post punk signifiers to the bank via high end production. Emo vocals moving out of the underground. This was toward the end of the A&R

Rote Kapelle - San Francisco Again (partial) 

This is obscure. Cool indie (SF, I guess?) boys and girls

Veronica Falls - Bad Feeling 

Unknown, cool song, more recent indie Scottish boys and girls?

Close Lobsters - Sewer Pipe Dream 

80s Scots, jangly Enigma Records stuff. Nice song, good sounds with the jangles and the fuzz. 80s compulsory snarky lyrics, as usual.

....and here’s the mix!

https://soundcloud.com/user-292047766/jonathan-segel-mix?ref=clipboard&p=a&c=1

[travelleroflands]

My review of Virginia’s Woolf’s ‘To the Lighthouse’

Out of all the extraordinary gifts that books bestow upon our lives, the one that awes me the most is their ability to preserve thoughts, sentiments and ideas and safely ferry them across the expansive reaches of time to stimulate our own minds in a process that seems almost magical. Especially when, while reading a certain book, you cannot help but think: How can this author, born more than a century before the shape of me was even conceived by the universe, know what is in my heart, and know it so well? How do her characters articulate so many feelings that were, until now, ineffable to me? And once you have had this thought, your wonderment can only multiply. You might highlight numerous paragraphs, and still feel as though you haven’t highlighted everything that truly mattered to you in the story. You wish you could highlight every single word, because they are all equally impactful. You are torn between rereading each chapter and setting the book aside to mull over all that you read, all that seemed to overwhelm your mind and flood your senses. And when you have finished, you know that attempting to thoroughly articulate every emotion that you feel is a futile endeavor.

Virginia Woolf’s exquisitely woven modernist story ‘To the lighthouse’, masterfully employing stream of consciousness and free indirect discourse to provide an insight into the rich inner lives of her characters, is indubitably one such book. Effortlessly, she explores complex themes like love, life, mortality and even the agony of artistry. In her capable hands, she manipulates time, expanding brief moments and contracting long years. By magnifying the minutest of details in the lives of the Ramsay family and their guests, she illumines the intricacy of relationships between woman and man, wife and husband, children and their parents and even her characters’ perceived relations with the world itself. Against the eternity of the cosmos, she highlights both the despair and the beauty of ephemerality. The lighthouse, the waves tossing in the sea, the sand dunes in the distance, the wind, geraniums in an urn, a lone shawl flapping in a deserted house, all convey some greater meaning. There is beauty, there are treasures of meaning buried deeply within each word that Virginia writes, enough to pierce one through the chest and clench the heart with force enough to induce profound emotion. As one reads, one soon becomes a part of the Ramsay household, goes down to the beach with their guests and anticipates a visit to the lighthouse.

With her beauteous prose, Virginia establishes the distinctiveness of each of her characters. Mrs. Ramsay, the paragon of loveliness, the reservoir of sympathy and the conductor of familial harmony. She is honoured for her strange severity, her extreme courtesy, like a queen’s raising from the mud a beggar’s dirty foot and washing it. She has the power to influence everyone she knows, directly or indirectly, and generously lends a piece of her own vitality to them. But, beneath it is all dark, she contemplates, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by. Her horizon seemed to her limitless. There is so much about her that the world does not see, that which gives her boundless liberty when she manages to snatch a moment of respite in her life, from all the roles that she must play. Even when she does not wish for time to pass quickly, and to take from her all that she values, she finds solace in the fact that even if the moments she cherished would soon pass, they would live forever as pristine memory in her guests’ minds. And this belief of hers is validated when Lily Briscoe, one of her guests, reminisces about her years later, the clarion image of her beauty, her powerful presence and the impact that she had on everyone still persisting in her thoughts.

Lily Briscoe is a painter, an artist who agonizes over the inadequacy of her art, which she views as a formidable, ancient enemy of hers- this other thing, this truth, this reality, which suddenly laid hands on her, emerged stark at the back of appearances and commanded her attention. She is insecure, and uncertain about her own talent, an uncertainty that is compounded by others’ estimation (women can’t paint, women can’t write) and her own belief that her work would, anyhow, end up hung in a servant’s bedroom or rolled up to keep underneath a sofa. It will not, she thinks, make much of a difference. It is through her point of view that the author gives voice to every artist or creator’s dubiety and misgivings. It is also through her perspective and her thoughts that Virginia contemplates love and its numerous forms- Yet, she said to herself, from the dawn of time odes have been sung to love; wreaths heaped and roses; if you asked nine people out of ten they would say they wanted nothing but this; while the women, judging from her own experience, would all the time be feeling, This is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary. Or even, It rose like a fire sent up in token of some celebration by savages on a distant beach. She heard the roar and the crackle. The whole sea for miles round ran red and gold. Some winy smell mixed with it and intoxicated her, for she felt again her own headlong desire to throw herself off the cliff and be drowned looking for a pearl brooch on a beach. And the roar and the crackle repelled her with fear and disgust, as if while she saw its splendour and power she saw too how it fed on the treasure of the house, greedily, disgustingly, and she loathed it. But for a sight, for a glory, it surpassed everything in her experience, and burnt year after year like a signal fire on a desert island at the edge of the sea, and one had only to say ‘in love’ and instantly, as happened now, up rose Paul’s fire again. She also ruminates over the meaning of existence-The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one. This, that and the other………In the midst of chaos, there was shape; this eternal passing and flowing (she looked at the clouds going and the leaves shaking) was struck into stability or What did it mean? Could things thrust their hands and grip one; could the blade cut; the fist grasp? Was there no safety? No learning by heart the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be, even for elderly people, that this was life? Even the creative process is given unique form in her musings- All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shape themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs and foaming crests. Still the risk must be run; the mark made………And so pausing, and so flickering, she attained a dancing rhythmical movement, as if the pauses were one part of the rhythm and the strokes another, and all were related….

People, and how one views them, and how one attempts to estimate their merit, are also inextricably entwined in her thoughts.

Mr. Ramsay, who is venerable and laughable at one and the same time, searches for, reaches for greatness he knows he can never hope to find. He wishes to make a tangible impression upon the world, and yet finds himself unable to make any great progression in thought beyond what he has already attained, the gradations of which he likens to the alphabet. What is the point of the journey he made, he thinks, if he couldn’t even immortalize his name? What was the purpose to all that he had done? His own frail luminosity would soon be extinguished, or swallowed up in the presence of some bigger, greater star. Even at the pinnacle of his achievement, he feels like he hasn’t done enough, and his desolation and hopelessness prompt him, from time to time, to seek solace in the all accepting sympathy that Mrs. Ramsay has to offer to him. He demands sympathy, devours it almost, to the extent that it makes Lily loathe him for it. His reliance upon her for that which only she can truly give him both exhausts and exhilarates Mrs. Ramsay. Mr. Ramsay, who seeks truth with the coldest clarity, still needs his wife to soften the blow of reality, and even as he scorns her, or looks down upon her, he reveres her and respects her. Similarly, even as she pities him, she admires him. It is through the multi-layered dynamic of their relationship that Virginia Woolf explores the interdependence of woman and man.

With characters as convoluted as these, and vast themes that are applicable even to the seemingly simple, Virginia takes her readers on a journey that colours their perspective and stimulates the depths of their own thoughts. Just as the lighthouse in the story is both a silvery enigma and a stark white entity to James, all that Virginia writes can be interpreted in more ways than one, with each meaning replete with its own significance. For, nothing was simply one thing. Reading this book can be likened to a treasure hunt of sorts, where gold nuggets of understanding can be extricated every time one rereads a sentence or revisits a chapter. Virginia’s descriptions, that bear her own sui generis style, are delightful to read. In my opinion, it makes her work singular and unlike anybody else’s. It is also what, in addition to her skilful use of stream of consciousness to connect readers to the core of her characters’ motivations and actions, made me love this book so much. I do not think any amount of praise or recommendation adequate to express my love, but I truly hope that everyone who reads it finds all that I found, and much more, to take away from it.  

Note: Excerpts from the book in italics.

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found (Chapter 12)

Warnings: there is smut in this. Pure filth. Because that’s what the muse wanted.

tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007 @hemmyworthy

Four hours later Esme finds herself in the kitchen. Barefoot in denim shorts and simple white t-shirt, up to her elbows in soap and water as she scrubs the dinner dishes. Tyler works alongside of her; unusually quiet (even for him) as he dries the items waiting in the drainboard. It is these moments of normalcy that they have learned not to take for granted. That easy, smooth way that they work side by side even during the most mundane of tasks. They have never had to resort to mindless chit chat; their silences had always been comfortable, never awkward. Meshing right off the hop. Easily able to read each other's cues, recognize one another’s body language, allow their eyes and their facial expressions to do the communicating if need be. In the five days they'd worked side by side, they'd become very much in tune with one another.  Their very different skill sets playing off each other well.

And there had been the other aspect as well. Giving in to that sexual tension and suffocating need for physical contact. To feel alive again. To be reminded that they were worthy. That they were broken, but still good.

A year ago they were in entirely different places; he in that rundown shack of a house in the outback as she floated from motel to motel, working her way through North America. Spending an extended amount of time in New York City,  subletting a quaint little studio apartment in lower Manhattan.

A week before they'd met she'd started packing up her things and putting them into storage. Nik had tracked her down through G and offered her a job. She'd have her choice on where she wanted to settle down. The Big Apple wasn't on that list. Her plan had been to repeat the nomad lifestyle of living out of suitcases and ending up wherever life and the job took her. She'd been doing it since leaving the corps and it had become second nature to her. As if it were normal and everyone did it.

I have a job for you, she can hear Nik's voice as clear as day. I need some intel work done. An inside person. A drug dealer in Dhaka has kidnapped another dealer's kid. Information is slow coming. I need you to go there and get your pulse on things. Make friends with the locals. Get them to trust you. Word has it he's being held in or around the market area. But there's a catch. And I need you to trust me when I say I know it sounds crazy but I know it's going to work.

The next day she was on a helicopter heading for Australia. Out into the middle of nowhere to meet 'the catch'.

Only Nik hadn't told her 'the catch' was as insanely attractive as he was. Or as haunted and broken. He was an immensely private person; tortured by the bad decisions and the demons of his past. And she'd been intrigued by him. By the mystery that surrounded him. By the walls that he'd built up around himself. He was an enigma. A challenge. And she had found herself captivated by those brilliant blue eyes, that sad smile, and that voice. Low and steady, his accent dripping off every syllable. Physically he was a tall, cool drink of water on a hot summer day. Pleasing. Refreshing. But it was the way in which he carried himself that had drawn her in. Confident. Not cocky.  A man that lived on the edge and showed no fear.

A death wish, Nik had told her on the way home.  It's why he takes the jobs he does. It's not really the money. It's the hope that one day, the job is going to take him out. That it will make it all end.

A month later she was out of the job. Just as abruptly as she had gotten into it. Back in Australia and in charge of handing over possession of that shack in outback to one of Tyler's friends while he himself teetered between life and death in that hospital.  She'd found herself wandering down a new and often terrifying path. Starting an entirely new existence with the help of Nik and the surviving members of the tea.  A new life in a new country in a small two bedroom bedroom apartment. Spending the majority of her waking hours -a lot of her sleeping ones- at his bedside.

Four weeks after that she started feeling sick. Rundown. Taking the nausea, the headaches, the fatigue, and even her missed cycles, as signs of stress.

Until two little pink lies had told her otherwise.

She had bought the test on a sheer whim. A lineup in the hospital pharmacy bringing her directly into the aisle where they were store. She'd grabbed one, and hadn't even given it a second thought until later that evening and she'd gone into shopping back for something she'd needed.  And she can vividly remember sitting there on that cold porcelain toilet in the washroom connected to his private room. Barely thinking about that test that now lay on the sink ledge. There were too many other things to think about it. She couldn't remember when she had her last meal. Her last shower. Her family was leaving her strings of endless text messages and emails demanding to know where she was. Who she was with. Was she okay? It was too much. All too much. There was already an overwhelming heap of sadness and worry on her plate. Why would whatever higher power (if there was one) just add something else.

And then there it was. Her new reality staring her in the face. Things were already serious enough, and now there was a whole other layer being added. There was a life growing inside of her. During all that craziness in Dhaka....within those four dirty motel walls...she had had a hand in creating another human being.

She can even remember his face when she'd told him. The lucid moments were more frequent by then.  The amount of pain medication being pumped into him had let up and he was conscious more often than not. Still struggling with remembering all of the details of what happened. Things were hazy; he wasn't sure if he was recalling things that actually happened or if it was what he had wanted to happen so his brain was manifesting them as actual memories.  He  could vividly recall everything up to the moment that he'd been shot in the neck. He could even remember the sensation of choking on his own blood and feel it seep between his fingers. He was fairly certain he'd made it to the sidewalk along the bridge.  But after that...nothing. Nothing concrete and clear anyway.  

He still hadn't had a lot of strength. He grew tired and weak easily. But he would smile. Even laugh. He'd even bitch at her when she'd attempt to trim his beard and keep it under control.  And he'd wrap her in his arms and pull her down onto the bed with him and he'd hold her. They wouldn't talk.  She'd just lie there in his embrace as he played with her hair. Her head on his chest, listening to his heart.

Some days, they'd go for walks. He'd refuse to use a wheelchair, even on the days where he felt the most pain and the most weakness following his knee surgery. He hated feeling helpless. Weak. And she'd always try to ensure him that he wasn't any of those things. What he was, was alive. Recovering. And that's what mattered the most.  

It had been on one of those walks that she'd told him about the baby. Sitting on a bench when he needed a break and a chance to rest the knee.  And the sun had been high in the sky and the breeze had been crisp and fresh and the sounds and sights of live continued around them as she dropped probably the second biggest bombshell of his life on him.  It was the first time a silence between them had been agonizing. And she'd been screaming internally at him. To say something. Anything. To tell her that this wasn't the worst thing that could happen.  That this wasn't the end of the world. That this was just another thing that they'd get through together.

He had just stared at her. Shell shocked. Things had happened quick between them. They hadn't had time to catch their breath. And they hadn't wanted to fight it.  

“You're sure?” he'd finally asked, and it wasn't until he spoke that she became aware that she was crying. She usually kept tears to herself. She didn't like him seeing her in that kind of state. She had to be the stoic and solid one now, after all.

She told him about how she'd been feeling. The nausea. The migraines. The inability to sleep. The missed periods. She should have started just after the events in Dhaka. But it had never arrived and she'd just assumed that her body was in shock over everything that had went down.

Then he'd said the single most hurtful thing she'd ever had anyone say to her in her entire life. She'd tried to remind herself that this was all happening so fast. Too much, too soon. What did they really know about each other outside of the walls of that crappy motel? They'd jumped head first into...something. It couldn't really be called a relationship, yet casual sex didn't seem serious enough.  They were falling in love with one another. But they weren't in love. Not yet.

“Is it mine?”

She had wanted to slap him. She'd wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and strangle him. But she didn't blame him for asking. She understood his trepidation. If she'd fall into bed with him that easily, what's to say it wasn't a reoccurring behaviour for her?

When they'd been holed up in the motel she'd told him about her failed marriage. About her ex husband and his issues and the torment and torture he'd brought into her life. And on that bench she told him that she hadn't been with anyone besides him in over a year.  That sex had never been an overwhelming need.

Until she met him.

“You don't have to stick around,” she'd told him. “I don't expect that from you. If this isn't what you want...if I'm not what you want...you just have to say it, Tyler. I won't hate you. I'll walk away and I'll never bother you again. You don't have to be a part of this.”

Those normally brilliant blue eyes had immediately clouded over. His mouth setting into a grim line.

“Is that really what you think of me? You think that little of me? That I'd do something like that? That I'd just let you walk away?”

“You already have a lot on your plate. You're healing. It's going to take a long time. And you don't need me being in your way. You don't need me hindering you.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” his eyes had narrowed, his voice low. Almost menacing. “Is that really what you think? You think I don't want you here? You think I look at you like some kind of obstacle in my way? The only reason I'm doing this...the only reason I held on and I keep hanging on...is because of you. For you.”

That had made her cry even harder. And her face had dropped into his chest; his fingers burying in her hair as he held her to him.

“I love you,” he'd said. It was the first time he had let those words come out. He'd later confess that he'd been feeling them since the beginning. Maybe not love itself. But the realization that he was falling in love.  “I love you and everything is going to be okay. We're going to be okay.”

She'd cried into his chest. Telling him that she loved him. That she hadn't meant to fall in love with him. Maybe it shouldn't have happened. Dhaka hadn't been the ideal place to meet the love of your life.  But it had. And she didn't regret that.

For a long time, neither of them had spoke. They'd just sat on that bench as she clung to him and he consoled her. And then he'd gently yanked on her hair in an effort to get her to look up at him.  Those blue eyes had been sparkling again. There was a smile...a genuine smile...curving his lips.

“We're having a baby,” he'd said. “I'm going to be a dad.”

They have never taken things slow. It simply wasn't in their nature. After that first night in Dhaka, they never looked back.  They'd given into lust. The promise of something new. Empowered by the realization that someone wanted them. Needed them. That maybe...just maybe...their two broken halves could make a slightly dented whole.

****

“How'd it go today?” he asks now, as he stands behind her and reaches over her to place dishes on the higher shelf. “Your little girls day.”

“Good. It was fine. It was nice to forget about everything else for a while.”

When she'd gotten home, she'd run that photograph of Farhad through the paper shredder. Covering her tracks. Something she'd become good at thanks to the job. But the rule of thumb was that no matter how smart and cunning you thought you were, there was always someone smarter and far more cunning.

And that person is Tyler Rake.

She watches the way his hands move as he does something so simple as drying cutlery. They're big. Powerful. Calloused palms, long, thick fingers, scarred and swollen knuckles, and wide wrists that lead into muscular forearms.  And she notices...obviously not the first time...just how attractive he actually is. Those eyes. That mouth. The way his hair falls over his right eye. The scars and the tattoos. All mixing together to create on hell of a man.

“You're staring at me,” he says, snapping out of her reverie. A grin playing on his  lips.  “That's creepy. Stop being a creeper.”

“Dick head,” she retorts, and flicks soap and water at him.

He's mocking her. Playfully, of course. Using the exact words she'd tossed at him during their first massive blow up in Dhaka at year ago. When she'd disappeared from his sight in the market after he'd distinctly told her not to leave his side.

“I told you to stay right next to me,” he'd roared. “I told you not to wander off on your own. That I wanted to be able to see you. At all times. That I wanted to be able to feel you beside me. To even smell your hair if it comes down to it.”

“Is that what you've been doing while I'll sleep?” she'd shot back. “Smelling my hair? That's creepy. Don't be a fucking creeper, Rake.”

She'd meant it as a joke. To break the tension. But it had only made things worse. And the floodgates opened and all the pent up rage just came exploding out of them. His hand wrapping around her neck and his fingers digging into her throat, his eyes menacing as he backed her up against a wall.

“Do you think this a fucking game? Does it look like I'm fucking joking?”

The fight had been intense. His anger raw. And he'd been powerless to contain it.  Or what happened when it had transformed into something so much more.  Greedy hands pulling at each other's clothes. Hungry, needy kisses. His hands biting and bruising as he took her right there and then up against that wall.

****

She clears her throat noisily and fights the urge to splash cold water on her face. Her hormones have been out of control. Especially within the last week. He's always had a powerful effect on her. It took for very little effort on his behalf to rile her up. But this level of intensity...this level of need...was something she'd never experienced before.

“Admiring,” she corrects. “Not staring. I was admiring. In case you haven't noticed, you're pretty easy to look at.”

“Yeah?” he steps behind her once again, an arm circling her waist. Palm against her stomach, drawing her tight against him. He drops his head, his hair and the tip of his nose brushing against the nape of her neck. And he feels her shiver against him when he presses his groin against her ass.

He can't help but smirk.

So easy. It's always been so easy.

“You're not too hard to look at yourself,” he says, his breath hot against the back of her neck.  He's feeling it too. It's always been intense between them. The sex incredible. But since the decision to return to Dhaka, the desire and the longing and the desperate need had only increased. He couldn't get enough. Didn't want to ever get used to getting enough. Afraid that at this time next week, one of them may not even exist anymore.

He swallows heavily and closes his eyes. Desperately trying to rid himself of those thoughts. They'd come this far.  They'd gotten through some serious shit. There was nothing that could possibly come between them now.  He nuzzles his face in her hair; inhaling the sweet of the sweet, fruit scented shampoo she favours. Committing that smell to memory.

Just in case.

His mouth is  soft and warm against the back of her neck. Feathery kisses that make her shiver and her pulse quicken.  And his hand slides from her stomach to her stomach; both palms gliding over the cheeks of her ass before bringing one of his hands down in a ringing, stinging slap. A smirk on his face as she bucks against him, his fingers roughly grabbing at the spot he'd hit.

“You're a fucking dick!” she exclaims, wincing, struggling to turn around to face him. “That hurt. Fuck you, Tyler.”

He uses his body weight to pin her in place, sliding a hand between her legs. Feeling the heat and the moisture that pools there, even through the fabric of her shorts and the panties she wears underneath.

“That's exactly what I want to do,” his voice rumbles deep within his chest. “Fuck.”

****

They make it as far as the living room. Clothes hastily discarded, forming a trail behind them. With the baby asleep, and Nik and the rookie back at their hotel for a remote final strategies meeting with the team, they once more have the run of their own place His hands are rough and needy as they explore her body. He knows every inch by heart; every secret little spot that, when manipulated, drove her insane. He can remember the early days; that fascination and wonder that comes with getting to know someone elses body. With learning what they liked, and showing them things that they'd never experienced before. It had been that way for him. After his first marriage had broken up and he sworn off ever going down that road again, he'd had his fair share of hook ups; randoms he met in bars, friends of friends, women in different countries that -if he was in town- he could call up for no strings attached sex. Esme had been the opposite. Two men before him. Including her ex husband. So Tyler had taken it upon himself to show her exactly what she'd been missing.

Her body is softer now. Her hips wider. She's had a baby. His baby. And while it's familiar, it's still exquisite. A beautiful wonderland that only he gets to visit. And he still worships it...and her...as much as he did when they first met.  And as often as he can.

He stands above her as she lays sprawled on the couch, ready and waiting. Chest heavy, his eyes hooded as they take in every inch of her. Those dark eyes filled with desire, the flushed cheeks, those full supple breasts with their rock hard nipples. Stroking his own cock as he watches her playing with her clit. Exactly like he told her to. Growing even harder when her eyes close low and her head falls back, a long, tortured moan escaping her lips.

“No,” he says, when he senses she's close, and he yanks her hand from between her legs.  “I get to do that.”

She reaches for him but he shoves her hand away.

“Sit up,” he orders. “Back against the couch.”

She does as she is told. The perfect little submissive that she is. He gets off on it. Knowing just what he can get away with.  The kind of punishment that he can not only inflict on her, but that she can actually take. No woman had ever given him that kind of freedom with their body.  None had ever had that pure, blind trust in him.

He tenderly cups her cheek his hand, turning her face up towards him as he kisses her. Soft. Sweet. His other hand still tending to his direction, and he backs away when her fingers come in contact with him.

“Not yet,” he tells her, and then drops to his knees between her thighs. Sliding his hands between her and the couch in order to grab her by the ass, yanking her forward to give him access to what he really wants.

She gives a small cry the second the tip of his tongue makes contact with her clit. Bathing it with long, agonizingly slow licks that has her toes curling and her back arching. His fingers biting into the soft flesh of her ass when when he uses his tongue to penetrate her; jerking himself off as he tongue fucks her. Using it in the same way he could his cock. Spurred on by the obscene noises that are escaping are mouth and the fingers that are scraping across his shoulders.  

“Tyler...” she whimpers, and her hands are in his hair and her hips are rising from the couch to match every move of his tongue. “...shit...fuck...Tyler...”

And when he knows she's close...when he knows she's teetering right on that edge...he abruptly stops. Leaving her a near sobbing, panting mess as his hand drops away from his cock and he stands.

“Get up,” he demands. “I want you to get up.”  

Her legs are trembling. Weak. And he gently grabs a hold her arms and helps her to feet, pulling her into him a for a long kiss. The tip of his tongue briefly touching hers before gliding along the roof of her mouth.

“I want you to ride me,” he says. As if she has a choice in the matter. This is his game. He's in charge. And she never resists when he is. “I want you, to fuck me.”

She nods in understanding, and he runs a hand through her hair and grabs a hold of the tresses. A firm hold. But not hard enough to hurt. Just enough pressure to pull her head back so she looks at him.

He smiles. It's soft. Reassuring. They've been playing these games for almost a full year now.  She knows he'd never hurt her. That with the simplest word or the hint of discomfort, he would stop.  She trusts him. Maybe too much at times. An almost blind faith that both flatters and frightens him.

It's his turn to sit on the couch. Thighs splayed, his hand finding his own cock again. The other reaching out for her, resting on the small of her back and giving her that extra sense of security as she straddles him. Those small hands resting first on his shoulders and then sliding down onto his chest. He guides her with that hand on her back and the other around his erection, lining it with that warm, moist, welcoming entrance.

“Fuck...” It's his turn to groan, eyes closing and head falling back as she sinks down onto him.  And she pushes her hips forward, a movement that has him bottoming out inside of her.  And he releases more profanities and a low hiss when her nails dig in; scraping down his chest and over his nipples.

She pushes her torso forehead, and laying a hand on the back of his head, pulls him forward. His face buried between the valley of her breasts as begins to ride him. Slow, smooth movements that is torturous for them both. His hands slid up her thighs and over her hips. Up her back to her shoulders. And he takes one of those hard nipples into his mouth. Rolling it along his tongue before stepping up his game; fingers pressing into the soft skin of her shoulders as he aggressively sucks. And she moans at the sensation, her fingernails digging into his scalp as she moves faster.

His hands drop to her hips, removing his face from her chest and allowing his head to fall back onto the couch cushion. Sweat beads on his brow and at his temples. His chest heaves from the work it takes just to hold back. Allowing her to have this moment. Where she is the one in control. Temporarily giving her that power.

She smiles down at him and kisses him; her teeth painfully digging into his bottom lip when she pulls away.  

“You like this, yeah?” he asks, as he fights to keep his hips still “You like being in charge, don't you.”

She nods, and drops her head into the space between his neck and his shoulder. Where she kisses, licks, and nibbles at the side of his throat and bulging trap muscle.

“Jesus...fuck...” he winces when her teeth dig in. Hard enough to break the skin. And that signals the end of their little game. It's time to take that control back. He wasn't a submissive man. He never could be. Never will be. And curling an around around her waist, yanks her off of him and tosses her onto the couch.

“Kneel...” he orders, and she's watching him over her shoulder and running the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip as she does so.  He smirks, loving that innocent look she gives him. Those huge eyes and her hair wild and tumbling over her shoulders and swaying against the sides of her face. “...fucking do as I say,” he snarls, when she hesitates. “...I'm in charge here. Got it? I said fucking kneel.”

He snatches her by the hips, positing her exactly where he wants her, using his own knee to push her legs apart.

“Down...” he lays a hand on the back of her head, pushing her face into the back cushion of the couch.  “...just do as I fucking say, alright?”

She nods.

“What? I didn't hear you.”

“Yes. I'll do what you say.”

“Yes, you'll do what I say, who?”

“Tyler. Yes I'll do what you say, Tyler.”

“Wasn't so hard was it? Huh? What did I just ask you? I asked you if that was so hard. Was that hard to do?”

“No.”

“But you want it be, don't you.  You want something hard. Inside of you. Say it. Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

“I want it,” her body shudders as she talks, and she shoves her ass out towards him. “I want you.  I want you inside of me.”

“That's a good girl. Such a good girl,” he kisses his way down her spine, runs the tip of his tongue over the small of her back. Over that tattoo that she'd gotten when she was eighteen and regretted ever since. He'd laughed when he'd first seen it. Not because it was horrible. Far from it. But because she'd actually wanted to leave her shirt on so he wouldn't see it. Mortified at her teenage decision.

She shivers at the sensation of the cool air on her skin, and her eyes close and her head drops forehead as he pushes into her. Not the brutally hard thrust that she had expected. But slow and deliberate. Letting her feel each and every inch until his balls are settled against her ass.

“I love you,” he whispers against her back, a deviation from the stone cold and demanding persona he'd been just minutes before.  “I love you so much. And I can't lose you. I can't.”

She opens her mouth to tell him that she loves him. More than he could ever possibly comprehend. But all words are lost as he pulls out and then pushes back  in, listening to that low growl that he emits, feeling those fingers digging into her hips.

He says nothing more. Neither the calm and quiet Tyler or the rough and demanding one. The hand on her shoulder that holds her in place is gentle, barely touching her. And those fingers on her hip release their painful grip and his hand slides around to her stomach. He moves inside of her. Long, smooth strokes that she swears can feel the way into the pit of her stomach.

He grunts when she pushes her ass against him, and he reaches around to pull her hand away when she attempts to reach between her legs for that extra pleasure. Replacing her hand with his own, fingers easily finding her clit and rubbing deftly at it. Until her body begins to quake and her back stiffens. His name leaving her mouth in a sob that's muffled by the cushion underneath her.  

He continues to rub that painfully sensitive nub until he's coming as well.  His head falling forward, eyes closing, profanities spilling from his lips.

****

“You realize we're probably never coming back here, yeah?”

They lay in the middle of the living room floor. Naked bodies wrapped in the flannel throw that's kept on the back of the love seat. A cushion from the couch serving as a pillow.  Moonlight streaming through the patio door.

She raises her head from his chest to look at him. One of his arms wrapped around her, the other behind his head. Brow furrowed as he stares at the ceiling. She hates that look on his face. Dark. Intense. His adrenaline is starting to kick it up a notch, driven by the nerves and the bizarre sense of excitement that you feel before every job.  The softness in his features his gone.

This is the old Tyler. She recognizes him well.

And although she'd encouraged it, his emergence scares her. Just a bit. More for him than for herself. Even the old Tyler was trustworthy when it came to her. Protective. Almost too much so. He would never hurt her. But when it came to his own well being, he was reckless. And she was worried if he crossed that line, that she may never get him back.

She moves onto her side, propping herself up in her elbow. Side of her head resting in her palm as she watches and waits. Her free hand on his chest, fingertips softly gliding against his soft skin and over the scars that use his body as a canvas.

“You do realize that, right?” he finally looks at her. His eyes are hard. Lips set in a grim line.

“You mean come back here as in here here or as in...” she lets her voice drift away as he gives an annoyed scoff and looks away.

“I don't mean it that way. I don't mean death. I mean here as in Australia. As in this apartment. This room.”

This is definitely the old Tyler. The one that was easily aggravated if she said something he viewed as stupid. Or if she dared challenged his power and control over situations.

She lets it go. She feels the stress and the nerves and the fear herself. The old Tyler always struggled to express those kind of emotions. He was stoic and solid. He hid his true thoughts and his true feelings. Locking them deep down inside and throwing away the key. The new Tyler had worked hard to give over that. Struggling to learn how not to close himself off and push her away.

Their return to Dhaka is less than twelve hours away. A place that holds a lot of memories. Some good. Most bad.

Most horribly, horribly bad.

“There's no way we can come back here,” he continues, and as if doing battle with his former self, he closes his eyes and then opens them again. His arm relaxing around her, knuckles brushing against her shoulder.

 “This will never be finished,” he says. “Well and truly finished. For every one Asif we kill, ten more will pop up. And each one will learn about what happened. What we did. How Asif himself failed. They won't let that shame go. They'll avenge him. Six months from now, six years from now. It doesn't matter. There will always be someone that wants revenge.”

She remains silent. Fingers skimming along his chest and over his collarbone. Nails scrapping along the underside of his chin, palm coming to rest his cheek. And he turns his face into it, beard scraping against his skin, lips finding her palm.

“If they know our names and know where we are, we can't stay here,” he reasons. “It would never be safe. We'd always be looking over our shoulders. We'd always be jumping the second we hear something moving in the shadows. And I don't want that for you. Or our daughter.”

She finally speaks “What about for you?”

“That doesn't matter. It's my job to protect you. It's my responsibility to make sure you're safe. That she's safe. And I know neither of you ever will be if we stay here. What's happen if I'm not here? I can't be here twenty four seven. And that's when they'd make their move. When they know I'm not here. And I can't take that chance.”

She rubs the back of her hand along his jaw. The top knuckle of her index finger skimming over the scar underneath his right eye.

“You deserve better than that,” he says, as he struggles to contain the emotion that chokes at him. “So does the baby. You deserve better than this life. Better than me.”

She pushes his face towards her and silences him with a kiss. “Stop that,” she gently orders. “You're perfect for us. We're safe with you. I never doubt that. I never will.”

He manages a smile and lifts his head kisses her softly. One on the lips,  then the tip of her nose, followed by her forehead.

“Where will we go?” she asks, when he settles his head back onto the cushion. Her fingers now move to the chain around his neck, the pad of her index digit running along it.  

“Colorado.”

“You actually want to throw yourself into that? You really want to subject yourself to my family?”

“I would be nice to have a family. Outside of the three of us.”

“We have Nik. And the rest of the team.”

“That's a fucked of vision you have of a family.”

“Like I've said. You've never met my brothers. You might meet them and wonder what the fuck you were ever thinking. What kind of fresh hell you ever got yourself into.”

“They can't be that bad. And you need to go home. Your mom misses you. And I know you miss her. And your step dad.”

“I don't miss them enough to force you to be somewhere you don't want to be.”

“I'd follow you to the ends of the earth. You know that. It's what you practically did for me.”

“This isn't a competition, Tyler. You don't have to do something because you feel you have something to make up for. I didn't come here and stay here because you forced me to. I came here because you needed me. And I stayed because I love you.”

He smirks “Not to mention I knocked you up.”

“A surprising little turn of events, but yes. That too.”

“A good surprise,” the smile is softer now. “A very good surprise.”

“We could always go to New York City,” she muses, sighing wistfully at her memories of the Big Apple.

“Isn't that where Crocodile Dundee ended up? Isn't one Aussie enough?”

“Hmmm...yeah...you might be too much for even them to handle,” she teases. “There's always Boston. Boston was nice. Chicago wasn't bad. Or Texas. I enjoyed Houston, actually.”

“We could also move to Canada,” he suggests.

“Won't work. You hate hockey.”

“It's not that I hate it. I think it's stupid.”

“Bite your goddamn tongue, Tyler Rake. How dare you.”

“I also hate that shit that you tried to feed me once. With the french fries and the gravy and the pretend cheese.”

“That wasn't pretend cheese. It was cheese curds. Very much real cheese. And poutine is a delicacy, I will have you know. Just because you can be an uncultured swine...”

He chuckles, then wrapping an arm around her waist, hoists her up on top of him. His hands on her thighs as she straddles his hips.

“There's always the west coast,” she says, as runs his hands along over her knees and up her legs. “I didn't mind Seattle. They have great coffee. California would probably be the best fit for you. There's lots of beautiful beaches. You do love to surf.”

“Colorado,” he insists, his hands settling on her hips.

“There's mountains. And snow. You need beaches. The ocean. Surfing.”

“I don't need those things. I can live without those.”

“San Francisco is supposed to be nice. I've never been there but I hear it's decent. And they apparently have a good football team.”

“Let's not start that argument again, love. That is not fucking football. And I already said it. Colorado.”

“Los Angeles.”

He shakes his head. “Colorado.”

“San Diego.”

“Nope. Colorado,” he slowly stresses the word.

She sighs. “Why do you always have to be such a stubborn little shit?”

“Because I can. Because you let me get away with it. Because you love me enough not to strangle for me it.”

“Not yet anyway,” she leans down to kiss him, her hair falling over both of them,  brushing against his chest when she sits back up. “I know you think this is what I want. Going back there. But you don't have to do this.”

“I don't think it's what you want. I know it's what you need.”

“Since when did you become an expert on what I need?”

“You seemed to think I was an expert at knowing what you needed half an hour ago,” he teases, and then winces and laughs when she grabs the part of his beard under his chin and yanks. “Actually, I think I proved I'm an expert. At least at those things.”

“You're like a fourteen year old boy. Mind always in the gutter.”

“You blame me? You're sitting on me. Naked.”

“You put me here. And then you complain? That's fucking rude.”

Curling an arm around her, he unceremoniously drops her onto her back. “That better?” he asks, a hand on the floor beside her head as he bends down to kiss her.

“Much better,” she says against his lips, and then sighs into the kiss.

He pulls back to look at her. Giving her a wink. “Colorado.”

“You are an insufferable bastard, Tyler Rake.”

“I am,” he agrees. “But you love me.”

She smiles up at him. “Only on days that end in Y.”

“That's good enough,” he declares, and kisses her once more. Longer this time. More passionate. Pulling away with a wide grin. “Colorado.”

“You can be a real annoying little bastard,” she teases, as she pushes his hair out of his eyes “You always have to have the last word?”

“Always,” he says, giving her a wink and then kissing his way down her entire body.

No more words are needed.

[vannahfanfics]

Yo, I just read your Haynette fanfic, and I gotta say, I'm impressed with what you've written. Would you mind making another one of this couple? They're super cute together, and I feel like they're the most "normal" couple in KH since they're just two teenagers who live normal lives in comparison to the other KH characters. How about a Part 2 where Pence finds out about the 3 a.m. meeting, and starts coaching Hayner on what to do in relationships (with copious amounts of teasing, of course). 😋

Hey there, Anon! Sorry it took me such a hot minute to get to this; this last year has been crazy for me, as you can imagine. But, at long last, here is your Haynette story! Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for one of my favorite Kingdom Hearts rarepairs <3 

3 a.m. Musings and Cherry Lip Gloss Part II

Before you read, here’s Part I! 

Hayner groaned loudly as the persistent chirping of his alarm clock finally bled through his feather pillow down into his eardrum. While using one hand to press the soft, downy pillow further against his head, his other blindly slapped at his nightstand. After his palm thumped uselessly against the wood a few times, displacing a few knickknacks, candy wrappers, and coins, he finally smashed the snooze button. He groaned miserably again, burying his face into his mattress as he clung to the last shreds of sweet, sweet sleep. As he smacked his lips, the succulent taste of cherries bloomed across his tongue. 

“Oh my gosh!” he cried, jerking upright in bed with owlish eyes. His pillow sailed across his bedroom to smack into his dresser, shaking the framed posters and other baubles crammed on its top surface. Still bleary from sleep, Hayner’s hands rummaged nonsensically through his sheets and comforter a few times in search of his phone until he realized it was sitting on his nightstand. He snatched it up, using muscle memory to pull up Pence’s contact information to dial his number. 

“Yello?” the cheery boy answered quickly. 

“Pence! Hey! I got something important to talk to you about! Get your butt over here!” Hayner screeched into the phone. As he crawled across his bed, his foot became tangled in the linens; when he tried to step off, his leg lurched back and he face-planted into the carpet. He heard Pence hiss at the very loud thump Hayner’s body made as it hit the floor. “Agh… Just get here, man!” 

“All right, all right, I’m coming! I’m getting milkshakes.” 

“What? No, I don’t have time for—” His stomach yowled ardently, making the words die in his throat. Groaning, he smacked his forehead down against the floor. “Chocolate, please…” 

“Roger that!” Pence quipped before ending the call. Hayner dropped his phone down onto the carpet, just continuing to lay there with one of his legs still trapped in the blankets and reclined up over his body. He swiped his tongue gingerly across his bottom lip again; yep, faint as it was, there was the saccharine flavor of cherry lip gloss. His cheeks heated with a fierce blush. 

“I… kissed Olette…” he whispered. A giddy smile spread across his face, pulling on his cheeks until they ached a little. However, after a brief blip of dreamy euphoria, reality came crashing down, as did his stupid grin. Hayner had kissed Olette. He had confessed to Olette. Gasping, he snatched his phone back up to check his notifications— specifically, his text messages with Olette. A quick review of the conversation confirmed that they had in fact snuck out at 3 a.m., and unless he had blacked out on the road somewhere and had a strangely realistic fever dream, that meant everything in the Secret Hideout had also occurred. 

“Oh, man,” he groaned anxiously, fisting his tousled honey-blond hair. “What am I gonna do now?” Should he text her? No. No, that was stupid! Hayner would make a great big fool of himself for sure. No, he needed advice, advice from a smart person— and Pence was the smartest guy he knew. Surely Pence would know what to do. 

He plopped the phone back down before melting back onto the floor. If he was lucky, the molecules of his body would blend with the fibers of the carpet, turning him into a puddle of goo so he could avoid this situation. That did not happen. Instead, Pence found him still lying there after tromping up the stairs, following a jovial exchange with Hayner’s parents, of course. 

“Man. You weren’t kidding when you said you needed to talk,” the brunet said and took a loud sip of his milkshake— cookies and cream, probably. In reply, Hayner released a frustrated scream that vibrated the floor as the carpet muffled it. Pence clicked his tongue reassuringly as he rolled Hayner’s computer chair over and plopped down, his chest pressed against the leather back and his legs hanging over the sides. “Come now, talk to Pence,” he crooned as he set the milkshake down next to Hayner’s head. 

Hayner just groaned again and rolled onto his side so he could drown his anxieties in sweet, thick, sugary chocolate milkshake. He sucked the chunky concoction through the straw for two minutes straight before popping his lips off of it. His stomach whirled as the last dregs of cherry lip gloss slipped in, making a flavor reminiscent of chocolate-covered cherries. Should he provide context? 

Nah, better to rip it off like a bandage. 

“I kissed Olette.” 

“You did what?!” Pence spluttered. He had unfortunately been drinking his milkshake at the time, leading to him spitting it out all over his front. He scowled as he scrubbed at his face and shirt. “Dude! Are you serious?!” 

“Yeah, I’m serious! Do you think I would joke about something like that?” Hayner reported hotly as he pushed his upper body up with his arm. Pence sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his half-empty milkshake cup with the other hand. 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait… Tell me the whole story…” 

So Hayner did. As he explained it, taking long, stressed sips of his shake in-between, Pence listened intently. He pinched the end of his chin and nodded his head sagely, and when things got especially good, he took a long drag of his cookies and cream shake. By the time Hayner finished, the other boy was scraping at the bottom of the styrofoam cup to scoop ice cream chunks out with the straw. 

“So this morning you woke up and now you have no idea what your relationship with her is gonna be like?” 

“Exactly!” Hayner cried and slapped his hand down into the carpet. He followed by thunking his head down again. “Ugh, man… I should’ve known better. I’m too stupid in the early hours of the morning.” 

“You certainly do lose all common sense. Remember the time we stayed up for the new year and you tried to steal one of the trams?” Pence chuckled. Hayner rolled his head to glare at him from underneath one of his golden strands of hair. “Right, not helpful,” Pence said, adjusting himself in the computer chair. “Now then, do you like her?” 

“Uh, yeah. I wouldn’t have kissed her if I didn’t.” 

“Look, man, I’m no judge. People do what they do,” Pence shrugged while waving a hand placatingly. Hayner rolled his eyes and shoved his face back down into the carpet. He should have stayed in bed; dust bunnies and crumbs were definitely not a good substitute for soft sheets. “Anyway, so then, do you want to date her?” 

Hayner could feel his face flush so hot that it was a wonder that the heat didn’t singe the carpet fibers. Despite his immense embarrassment, he didn’t have the urge to refuse; even doing so defensively seemed sacrilegious. As his face continued to burn, he meekly spoke into the carpet, “Yeah… I do…” 

“Then date her!” Pence exclaimed, making Hayner jerk violently in surprise. The blond pushed himself up onto his forearms to see that his friend had thrown up his arms in exasperation. “What’s the problem, man? It’s pretty clear to me that Olette likes you back, considering she didn’t slap you silly when you planted one on her.” 

Hayner pursed his lips dourly. Pence made it sound so simple as if girls weren’t complex beings, like the inner machinations of their minds weren’t complete enigmas. Could it be that simple? Frowning, Hayner pushed himself into a seated position, crossing his legs and slumping over a little as he took out his phone again. As he pulled up his chat history with Olette, he found a goofy smile worming on his face just seeing her name. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he shot her a message that simply said, Good morning. 

The bubble with three little dots popped up immediately, followed by a cheerful, Good morning! I hope you finally got some sleep~ Hayner leaned back a little as his smile widened, a warm and fuzzy feeling bubbling up inside of him to spread from his toes to the crown of his head. Pence, realizing that his work was done, strolled out of the room to call down to Hayner’s mother and ask what was for breakfast. Rather than text a response, Hayner took it as Pence’s silent demand to put on his big boy britches, so he hit the call button. 

It only rang once before Olette’s curious voice chimed on the other line, “Hello?” 

“Hey, Olette.” 

“Hey.” He could hear the coquettishness in her voice; she was probably lying on her belly in her bed with her ankles crossed, twirling a lock of her bouncy brunette hair around her finger. “So, um… Last night…” 

“Yeah,” Hayner gulped, turning to lean against his bedframe as he nervously scratched at the back of his neck. “Last night.” A silence fell between them. Hayner felt like a balloon was swelling in his chest, stretching him to the point of bursting. Unable to take the tension, he decided to burst the bubble himself. “I hope you know that wasn’t just 3 a.m. delirium— me kissing you,” he said, blushing at how silly it sounded. 

“I hope you know that kissing you back wasn’t delirium, either,” Olette giggled girlishly. Hayner melted against his bed in relief; if she was joking so casually about it, then perhaps he really had been freaking out over nothing. Olette grew silent on the other end of the line again, but he knew her well enough to know that she was chewing on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. 

Hayner drummed his fingers nervously on the floor, trying to find an eloquent way to ask her out. Instead, impatience got the better of him and he blurted, “So you wanna be my girlfriend?” 

He turned beet red as she snorted in laughter on the other end of the line, momentarily panicking. Did I misread the situation? I couldn’t have, right?!

“Sorry!” Olette hastily said though she was suppressing giggles. “Sorry, that was just— that was really cute.” Hayner never, ever thought he would think fondly of being referred to as “cute,” but he’d be damned if he didn’t admit that it made his heart flutter in his chest. “Anyway, I would love to be your girlfriend, Hayner.” 

“Great!” he exclaimed, unable to control the extreme burst of happiness that shot through him. Once he realized he’d said it aloud— evidenced by Olette laughing again— his face turned a deep burgundy color. “I-I-I-I mean, um, great. Um. Would you… like to come over for breakfast at my place, then?” He smacked his forehead immediately after. What was he thinking? It wasn’t romantic to have breakfast with his parents and Pence around! God, he needed smooth 3 a.m. Hayner back. Luckily, Olette was too sweet for her own good. 

“Sure! Your mom makes the best pancakes.” 

“Pancakes! Right!” Hayner jumped up, slipping and sliding on his carpet as he tried to scramble to the door so he could shout at his mom to make pancakes. He relaxed when she called affirmation (and demanded he tell Olette she said hello). Smiling wryly, Hayner turned around to lean against the hallway wall. He chuckled lightly as he threaded his fingers through his wavy blond tresses, still blushing a carnation pink. “Um… See you when you get here, then.” 

“See you soon, Hayner,” she said, and the warmth in her tone made Hayner melt against the wall in adoration. He continued to hold the phone up to his ear even after she hung up, smiling dreamily as if it made him closer to her somehow. He finally lowered it when Pence came tromping up the stairs, chewing on a cereal bar. 

“So?” 

All it took was Hayner’s big grin and Pence exclaimed excitedly. “All right! Good for you guys, man!” he said as he sauntered over, doing a happy dance for Hayner’s benefit. The taller boy laughed and gave Pence a high-five, then looked adoringly down at Olette’s contact information. After a moment of consideration, he smirked and hit the edit button to add a heart and a lip gloss Emoji to her name. Pence peeked over his shoulder, then laughed dryly and punched Hayner in the shoulder. “Man, you’re such a sap already.” 

“Shut up,” Hayner laughed and shoved him in the side of his head before stowing his phone. “Which one of us is single?” 

“Bro! You were single, like, two minutes ago!” 

“Keyword: were,” Hayner teased as he flashed him a wink. Pence groaned, muttering something about how he should’ve just ignored Hayner’s phone call, while the blond sauntered to the bathroom to do his hair. As he wrangled his locks into submission, he licked his lips again, smiling widely at the faint taste of cherry still lingering there. 

Maybe 3 a.m. Hayner had some sense after all.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[goldenhemmings]

When You Love Someone | Streetfighter!Shawn (Part Three)

Here we go, friends!! Thank you so much for sticking with me through the time it took to get this part up and thank you to every single person who has taken the time to read, comment on, and message me about this series. It means the absolute world to me. You can read parts one and two linked in my masterlist, but if you’re all caught up please enjoy just over 7k words of Streetfighter!Shawn. I’d love to hear your feedback, and I hope you like it!! Credit to @/nbaroses on Twitter for the edit and @fourtristattoos for sharing it with me >:-)

Thursday. It had been nearly two weeks since Y/N and Shawn had met and five days since she’d last seen him, but Y/N swore she hadn’t gone a single hour in that time without talking to him. She’d started leaving her ringer on when she studied--something she never did, nor would ever admit to--to ensure that she never missed one of his messages. So, as she sat on the front porch of her house that afternoon studying, there was no exception.

Nose in a textbook, she was twenty minutes deep in a chapter about some economic principle she couldn’t care less about when her phone rang from beside her on the table. She picked it up with cat-like reflexes, immediately answering when she saw Shawn’s name lighting up the screen.

“Hi,” she chirped, and Shawn could hear the smile in her voice. He stared out the large window in the living room of his apartment, locating the light posts from her university’s baseball field towering in the distance. He focused on them as he spoke; it made him feel closer to her.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Um,” Y/N mused, looking up as she combed through her schedule in her mind. “Just studying, I think. I have a quiz on Monday.”

“Would you be willing to take a night off from all that?”

She laughed, and it made Shawn grin from the other end of the phone. “I don’t know,” she teased, but she was just stringing him along. She was already sold on whatever he had in mind. “Being this bright takes constant work.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he scoffed, eliciting a giggle from Y/N. “Let’s pretend like you weren’t born smarter than everyone on this damn planet.” Y/N laughed again, louder this time, and Shawn’s cheeks flushed. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to be able to hear that sound.

“What did you have in mind for my potential night off?” Y/N pressed, absentmindedly biting the corner of her lower lip as she focused on his voice.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“You never said anything about a surprise.”

“Did I forget to mention that?”

“Yes!” she answered, through the giddy laughter that hadn’t stopped since she’d picked up Shawn’s call.

“Well, I’m mentioning it now. It’s a surprise.”

Y/N was willing to let this go on a bit longer. “What if I’m too busy?”

She could hear Shawn shrug from the other line, though by this point he knew she was only messing with him. “Then I guess you’ll never know.”

“We can’t have that.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“What should I wear to this surprise of yours?” Y/N asked, picking up a blue pen to doodle on the corner of the paper she was taking notes on.

“Whatever you want.”

“I need a little more to go off of than that.”

Shawn blew a puff of air out of his cheeks as he thought. He’d really assumed this would be as simple as her immediately agreeing to be ready at seven. “Shit, I don’t know. Jeans?”

“Okay,” Y/N assented, already mentally skimming her closet. “Is this an indoor surprise or an outdoor surprise?”

He loved how careful she was. “Outdoor. Might be a little chilly.”

“Noted.”

“And be ready at seven.”

She grinned. “Also noted. Now let me get my studying done.”

She could practically hear him roll his eyes. “Whatever. See you in a few hours.”

“Bye,” she replied, and (reluctantly) ended the call in favor of turning back to her textbook, although being able to focus was an ambitious goal now that she had something to look forward to.

When 6:30 rolled around, Y/N put a pause on her schoolwork to go inside and change. She traded out her frumpy gray sweater for a denim jacket and exchanged her worn-out Converse for booties that looked a bit nicer with the black jeans she’d slid on. Content with her outfit, Y/N quickly fixed her hair until it looked how she wanted and then swiped her trusty cherry Chapstick over her lips.

She headed back out to the porch to grab her textbooks and bring them inside, and as she finished scooping everything up into her arms she noticed Shawn’s familiar black Jeep turn onto her street. Suddenly hit with a fresh wave of giddiness, she dashed back inside, threw her books haphazardly on her bed, and then raced back out to meet Shawn.

He hopped out of the driver’s seat, smiling at the sight of Y/N coming down the driveway towards him. “Eager, eh?”

“I saw your car pulling up,” she grinned, not bothering to defend herself. He laughed and strode towards her, and she squealed as he unexpectedly looped a leather-clad arm around her waist to lift her up and spin her in a little circle.

“Where are we going?” she asked when he set her down, but he was still stubborn.

“You’re gonna have to wait and see.”

She laughed. “That makes me nervous.”

He shook his head, reaching to open the passenger door for her. “Don’t be nervous. It’s a good surprise.”

Normally, Shawn would find something like where he was planning to take her stupid and cliche, but he was past the point of caring about the trivial things that would usually make him roll his eyes, too focused on Y/N instead. She brought a different energy to his life, perhaps because she was so separated from the world in which he existed. Being with her was like an escape, in a way, from hiding on the other side of the wall that he’d lived his entire life behind. He didn’t have to put up defenses by constantly watching his back or maintaining a tough demeanor when he was around her; he could just be. And while it was a feeling with which he was unfamiliar, he knew he liked it. He liked Y/N.

As they drove, Y/N carefully took in her surroundings in a curious attempt to figure out where they were going before they got there. Shawn couldn’t help but smile to himself as he warded off all of her incorrect guesses, and it took everything he had to keep his eyes on the road as opposed to the adorably focused expression he was sure she was wearing.

“We’re going downtown,” Y/N suddenly remarked, confidently this time, as she began to fully recognize the roads he was taking.

Shawn finally hummed his affirmation, and Y/N’s eagerness grew. “I can’t remember the last time I came out here,” she said, mostly to herself, the memories of familiar buildings and streets beginning to flood back to her. It had likely been a year since she’d been downtown, which was atypical considering how immensely she’d always adored the area. But most of the memories she’d made there were with her ex-boyfriend, and the eventual but necessary end of their relationship had soured her love for what was, in Y/N’s opinion, the best part of the city.

However, the fact that she was now going downtown with Shawn essentially erased all of the bitterness and replaced it with a thrilling feeling of anticipation. Y/N already recognized Shawn as a dangerously exciting presence in her life; uncharted territory that both electrified and frightened her at the same time. He was so unique compared to the people she had always been surrounded with, and the fact that he was a bit rough around the edges only further exhilarated her. He was still almost entirely an enigma, and she never knew what to expect from him or their time together. Structure and preparedness had always been, in Y/N’s eyes, critical; if it were anyone else, Y/N wouldn’t be willing to give that up. But, needless to say, Shawn was clearly not just “anyone,” and Y/N felt as though she deserved to finally feel the excitement that came with venturing into the unknown with him. It was about time she broke free of the structure that she’d always ensured was guiding her life and instead just lived. Without knowing, Shawn was beginning to show her how.

Shawn parallel-parked his Jeep at a meter on the street, adjacent to a fancy hotel that was so tall it seemed to disappear into the sky. Y/N slid out of the car and waited for him to meet her on the sidewalk, her lips curling up in curiosity. Shawn nodded his head in the direction of the hotel’s entrance as a signal for Y/N to follow him, so she wordlessly reached for his hand and trailed after him into the lobby and straight to the elevators.

“What did you do?” she giggled, unsure of whether she was more nervous or excited.

Once inside the elevator, he pressed the button for the floor right below the penthouse. “You’ll see.”

Still flush with anticipation, Y/N allowed Shawn to pull her by the hand off of the elevator once the doors re-opened with a ding. He led her around the corner to a door that read hotel staff only on a gold plaque, ducking over his shoulder to check that the coast was clear before reaching for the handle and pulling her inside. In his experience, the door was rarely locked; the sign alone was usually enough to keep people away.

“Wait,” Y/N whispered, suddenly uneasy. “What are we doing?”

Shawn flicked the light on, simply pointing to a short flight of stairs off to the right that led up to another door labeled roof access. “Are we allowed to be here?” she continued, checking back behind her to make sure the door was fully closed.

“Relax,” Shawn cooed, turning to place his hands on her upper arms. “I come here all the time without getting caught. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

He felt her shoulders rise as she took a deep, calming breath. Y/N had never been keen on breaking rules, and she knew the staff only sign on the door was there for a reason. But she trusted Shawn, and the gleaming look of excitement in his eyes was enticing her to lower her inhibitions for once and just go with it. She sighed, biting back a smile. “Fine.”

Shawn grinned, dashing up the stairs and pulling Y/N, her nerves forgotten, after him. He pushed open the door that led to the roof and held it open for her, allowing her to go out first. An involuntary gasp slipped from her mouth as she stepped out onto the roof of the hotel.

“Holy shit,” she mumbled, eyes wide as she took in the view before her. They were on a rooftop that towered above the city, offering 360-degree visuals of the skyline laid out in front of them. City lights glistened from all angles, casting a dim light by which they could see. Y/N looked all around her, her face surely showing just how awestruck she was by the view and how beautiful the city truly was from above. She couldn’t believe a place like this existed.

Meanwhile, as he watched Y/N wondrously take in the scenery, Shawn began to feel a slight nervousness bubbling up in his stomach. For most of his life, this had always been his spot. He came here all the time when he needed to be alone, and sometimes when he was just plain bored. He’d never shared it with anyone--until now, at least. It would never be exclusively his spot again, and he was beginning to grapple with this idea. But then Y/N turned back to look at him with a light in her eyes that made his head spin, and suddenly he no longer cared. He remembered how badly he wanted to share his rooftop with her, how he wanted it to be hers just as much as it was his.

“How do you know about this place?” Y/N beamed, her face cloaked in shadow due to the fact that the only source of light was from the city down below and the waxing moon in the sky.

“I’ve been coming up here for years,” Shawn replied, avoiding her question, but Y/N decided to temporarily let it go in favor of walking closer to the wall at the edge of the roof to take in the skyline. Her features lit up so beautifully that Shawn swore it made the city lights cower in comparison.

She stared out at the city a little while longer, until her curiosity once again got the better of her. “Seriously, how did you find this place?”

Shawn cleared his throat, trying to decide just how much he was willing to share with Y/N. He hated talking about his past and his own life, that much was clear, but he had a desire to be honest with Y/N; to tell her the things he’d never spoken aloud. She compelled him so strongly to let his guard down, though he knew it would only come piece by piece. He sighed. “One of the owners of this hotel lived next-door to my family when I was younger. She was awesome. Used to let me come stay here sometimes as a kid, and she’s the one that showed me this place. I still come up here all the time when I need to think.”

He left out the explanation of why she would let him spend nights at the hotel, but was relieved by the fact that Y/N didn’t seem focused on that. “That’s amazing. I wish I’d had somewhere like this growing up,” she mused softly, stepping over to lean against the thick, shoulder-high wall that bordered the perimeter of the rooftop. She watched with a mesmerized gaze as the city lights danced before her, and was so caught up in the beauty of the scene that Shawn moving to stand next to her was almost startling.

“Do you see that dark region over there?” he rasped, but Y/N’s eyes couldn’t locate it.

“Where?” she asked, hoping for clarity, but getting so much more than she’d bargained for when Shawn moved to stand directly behind her, extending his hand over her shoulder to point at the area. Her eyes followed the length of his arm until they found what they were looking for.

“There,” he answered, his breath hot against her ear. She was painfully aware of his chest pressing against her back and effectively pinning her between him and the wall. She swallowed hard as he finally lowered his hand and stepped away from her, and she felt like she could breathe again. Shawn smirked to himself at the way she sucked a breath through her parted lips.

“I see it now.”

He studied her face; wanted to memorize every detail of it. “That’s where Dynamite is. Where I have my fights.”

“I remember,” Y/N smiled, looking up at him. “Why is that area so dark?”

“It’s not very developed over there,” he shrugged. “Most of the buildings around Dynamite are abandoned. That’s part of why it’s safe to fight there.”

Y/N nodded, then hesitantly posed a question. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Shawn replied, reaching up to move a strand of hair that the breeze had blown into her eyes. Y/N’s skin burned under his touch.

“Why do you fight?”

Shawn took in a breath. “I’ve told you that,” he mumbled, but they both knew it wasn’t true.

Y/N sighed, turning to look back at the city in time to see a distant stoplight turn from red to green. “You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, but I hope it’s not because you don’t trust me. Because you know that you can.”

He shrugged, running his hands through his hair. “I know, sweetheart, I just—I don’t know why, honestly. I’ve just been fighting for so long that it’s a part of my life now.”

Y/N gnawed on the side of her lower lip, thinking. “How long?”

“I’ve been streetfighting since, like, my last year of high school, but I had a thing for fighting in general long before then.”

Y/N felt her stomach twist at his words, but she still wanted to know more despite how unsettled it made her feel. “What do you mean you ‘had a thing’ for it?”

Shawn huffed, reaching a hand up to scrub at the underside of his jaw. He was quiet, staring off into space as though he hadn’t heard Y/N’s question. “It’s okay,” she continued after a prolonged silence. “I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, no,” Shawn interjected, turning to look at her with a troubled expression. “I want to tell you, I’m just trying to figure out how.” And, shockingly, he really did find himself wanting to tell her. He paused for a few more seconds as he formed the words in his head, and Y/N waited patiently.

“My parents,” he finally began, looking out at the horizon as he spoke, “never gave me much attention when I was growing up. I have a sister who was born when I was five, and from then on it was pretty much always all about her. My mom and dad never helped me with my homework, never played with me, never did anything that didn’t involve either working or being with my sister. And it fucked me up.” He laughed dryly, shaking his head with his eyes still pointed up. “She was the perfect child, and I just...wasn’t. I felt like I was invisible to them. When I got to be around thirteen or fourteen, I started getting in trouble at school on purpose. It was the only way I could think to get their attention, even if it was bad. And it worked, so I kept doing it. Being loud in class eventually escalated into me picking fights with random kids in the hallway, and after getting caught enough times we just started arranging fights behind the school after hours. Somewhere in there, it stopped being about getting my parents to notice me and more about me just wanting to fight.”

A long silence followed Shawn’s words as Y/N took them in, her heart twisting for the man standing in front of her. She finally spoke. “Do you like fighting?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he sighed, turning to look at her with suddenly red-rimmed eyes. “But it helps me cope with my feelings, in a fucked up way. It’s familiar. And I don’t have much familiarity in my life.”

“It’s made you strong,” she offered. Then, with a playful nudge, “In more ways than one.” Shawn smiled back at her, but it was forced. “You don’t have to be a victim of your circumstances,” she continued, serious this time. “You’ve clearly always been a fighter, and now a part of your life is a physical tribute to that.”

He scoffed, returning his focus to the sky. “I’m not a victim. I never will be.”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” she sighed softly, reaching over to take his face between her hands. He resisted her, gently tugging her wrists away, but she wasn’t going to give into his stubbornness. She pushed off the wall and walked to the other side of him, delicately placing her hands to rest on his abdomen, and suddenly she knew the reason he had refused to look at her: He was trying not to cry.

“Hey,” she murmured, moving her hands from his biceps to his face. “What’s going on?” He cleared his throat, taking a breath and pinching his thumb and index finger on the bridge of his nose. His eyes were squeezed shut, and Y/N delicately and silently ran a finger over each of his eyebrows to relieve the tension in his face.

“It’s all just fucked up,” he eventually mumbled. “Hate talking about it. ‘S why I never do.”

“Then don’t,” she sympathized, moving to place her hands on the leather jacket covering his upper arms because she didn’t know what else to do. This certainly hadn’t been a turn she’d expected the night to take. “You don’t have to.”

Shawn simply nodded, finally opening his pained eyes. He grabbed at her jacket, pulling her into his chest and resting his chin on top of her head. They stayed like that for quite a while, Y/N staring out at the city while Shawn just held her until his breathing returned to normal. Her head moved with his broad chest as it expanded with a sudden, deep intake of breath.

“Tell anyone that I actually have feelings and I’ll kill you.”

Y/N giggled softly at Shawn’s abrupt outburst, pulling away from him to be met with a small smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “You wouldn’t,” she joked quietly, feigning offense.

Shawn sucked in a breath of air through his teeth, teasing. “I don’t know. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“I can imagine,” she retorted, extending the joke. “But I see right through you, Mendes.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. You’re not all intense and tough like you appear.”

He raised his eyebrows, conveying his dissent in regard to her claim. “I’m not tough?” he challenged, immediately reaching for Y/N’s hand. He curled her fingers into a fist and pressed them against his chest, which was--as Y/N could have guessed--rock solid. “Tell me I’m not tough one more time,” he smirked. “I dare you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she laughed, tugging her hand away and rolling her eyes as though her cheeks weren’t suddenly burning. “Arrogant much?”

“Defending my honor,” Shawn corrected, but he was joking by this point, too. “You’re so honest with me,” he continued, his eyes glued to the first face that had ever made him feel physically weak. “No one ever is.”

“It’s that reputation of yours,” she mocked. “Someone says the wrong thing and suddenly the patterns from your rings are imprinted on the side of their head.”

She was only messing with him, but Shawn was suddenly stoic. “You know that’s not how I do things.” Her smile faltered a little as she took in his serious expression, but a mischievous glint soon came into his eye. “I’d take the rings off first.”

“You’re bad,” she laughed, and Shawn was immediately grinning in response to her joy. “But you don’t intimidate me.”

Shawn chuckled breathily. “You’re probably the only person in the world who I don’t, then.”

Y/N quirked her head to the side, looking up at him curiously. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I’m different when I’m around you,” he answered, still smiling, but Y/N’s intuition told her he wasn’t kidding around anymore. “It’s like my personality split or something when I met you, I don’t know. You’re not intimidated by me because I don’t present myself to you the way I do to everyone else. And I don’t know why that is.”

She breathed in heavily, taken aback by his confession. “Just because the world sees you a certain way doesn’t mean that’s who you really are,” she responded truthfully, noticing his eyes widen ever-so-slightly. “I think it’s all just a front you put up because you’ve been on your own basically your entire life. When you’re constantly thrown into situations where you have to be tough, being tough eventually becomes your reality and you probably forget how to be anything else.” She paused, her eyes cast to the sky as she continued to concentrate on her words. “You said you’re different when you’re around me, but I don’t think I’m changing you, or anything. I don’t think you’ve ever been surrounded by people who cared about you enough to want to know who you actually are, but I do. And I don’t think that this so-called ‘split personality’ is actually separate from you. It’s more like two sides of the same coin; what you see, and what you don’t. It’s just that you’ve always kept people from getting past what they see.”

Shawn tipped his head back, harshly scrubbing both of his hands over his face. “God damn,” he muttered, barely audible, turning to stare her right in the eyes. “What are you doing to me?”

“Can’t answer that,” she answered sheepishly, staring down at her shoes and pretending that her heart wasn’t racing a million miles an hour. “I’m not you.”

He breathed out, focus unmoving from her face. The color of her eyes was his favorite color in the world. “Guess not.”

Y/N turned to look back out at the city, and Shawn stood frozen in place as he studied the side of her face. He didn’t have the strength to tear his gaze away, nor would he want to. Y/N, on the other hand, was burning under the heat of his stare and tried with all her might to act as though she wasn’t.

“What time do you have to be home?”

“Never,” she answered, smiling slyly. He was a fool if he thought she’d be willing to leave him any time soon.

Shawn raised his eyebrows to convey an exaggerated sense of shock. “But it’s a school night.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl. Plus, my first class tomorrow isn’t until eleven.”

“Okay,” Shawn assented, more thrilled than he’d ever admit about the fact that he’d have more time with her. “Then what should we do now?”

“I want to see Dynamite,” she admitted quickly, though fully expecting him to say no.

Shawn reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Really?”

She nodded. “Just wanna see what it’s like.”

“There’s no fight tonight,” he mused, thinking out loud. “It’s probably empty.”

“Are you okay with taking me there?”

“Would love to,” he answered, and he meant it. There wasn’t any part of his life that he wouldn’t be willing to share with her.

The corners of her lips pulled up. “Seriously?”

She had her answer when he began walking towards the door that had led them onto the roof, and Y/N giggled like a child as she darted after him, reaching to take the hand he’d extended towards her.

--------------------

Shawn parked his Jeep on the street closest to the alley that led through to Dynamite, then raced around to the side of the car to help Y/N slide out. She laughed, not because anything was funny, but because she’d built up so much giddy excitement that she could no longer contain herself. She linked the fingers of her left hand through his right one and followed his lead, eager and nervous all at once to finally be able to see the infamous Dynamite where he spent so much of his time.

“It’s okay,” Shawn said, squeezing Y/N’s hand as though he could sense her anxiousness. “These buildings are all empty. There’s nothing else over here.” Y/N nodded, reaching her free hand up to wrap around Shawn’s arm as though that would provide her with added security. It wasn’t exactly an inviting area, but she was safe with Shawn; she was sure of it.

They reached the familiar courtyard, Shawn letting out a sigh of relief when it appeared to be empty. He turned to Y/N to begin explaining his favorite parts of Dynamite to her, but then he heard a voice that made his blood run cold. The smile dropped from his face.

“Is that you, Sugar?”

There was only one person in the world who called him Sugar, and her tone of voice immediately signaled that she meant trouble. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone rigid. Leave it to Raven to ruin my fucking night.

“I come here when I need to think,” Raven answered, stepping closer to the pair, but then trailed off as she pretended to notice the figure at his side for the first time. “Who’s this?”

“This is my, uh,” Shawn stumbled, reaching a hand up to pull at the front of his hair. “This is Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Raven repeated, the name tinged with a sort of bitterness as it rolled off her tongue.

“Hi,” Y/N greeted, her cheery demeanor a stark contrast to Raven’s sour one. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” she spoke, her tongue coming up to run along her top row of teeth. “It’s Raven.” She turned to Shawn, a glint in her eye that told him nothing good was about to come out of her mouth.

“So,” she continued, Shawn’s skin crawling over the way her narrowed eyes stared Y/N down. He instinctively reached over to loop a strong arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her all the way into his side. She looked up at him, confused, but he just stared straight ahead in anticipation of Raven’s words. She didn’t miss how tightly his jaw was clenched. “This must be the reason you’ve been acting different.”

“No. I’m not doing this,” he spat, the feeling of Y/N curling further into his side no longer enough to make the tension in his chest dissipate. “We’re going somewhere else.”

“No, no!” Raven replied, reaching her hand out as a mocking smile graced her lips. “Don’t leave on my account.” She gestured to Y/N, whose confusion was manifesting itself in her facial expression. “I just cannot believe you went from me to this. Can’t say it makes sense.”

Y/N frowned as her eyes took in Raven’s tall, slender figure and clearly agitated expression. I thought he didn’t date? Confused, she tilted her chin up, only to still be met with Shawn’s profile. “What is she talking about?” she whispered. This was enough to get Shawn to look at her, and his eyes immediately softened.

“I promise I’ll tell you all of it. Let’s just go somewhere else first, okay?” His hands slid from around her waist down to intertwine their fingers, but before he could pull her away the sound of Raven’s witchy laughter cut the air.

“Does she not know, Shawn?” she gasped, feigning shock.

“Know what?” Y/N asked, growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Hey,” she demanded, pulling on Shawn’s hands in an attempt to force him to meet her eyes. “What’s going on?”

But his focus was still laser-sharp on their unwelcome visitor. “I’ve only known her for a few weeks, Raven. And besides, you give yourself too much credit. Sitting around telling people about you is probably the most unbearable thing I could think of doing.”

Raven laughed bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You villainize me because you’re too weak to accept that you’re the one who’s fucked up here.”

“You’re delusional.”

Y/N was beginning to get whiplash from all the back and forth, and quite frankly, it was annoying the hell out of her. Furthermore, she didn’t appreciate being ignored. She broke free of Shawn, pushing her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket. “You know what? I’m just going to wait by the car until you’re done with this,” she cut in, but Shawn was instantly blocking her path.

“You can’t be by yourself this late at night, especially not here,” he stated, his tone of voice much gentler than it had been. His concern brought her back to the night they’d met, which had been extended due to his unwillingness to knowingly let her walk home unaccompanied in the early hours of the morning. Y/N huffed, but stayed put as she muttered a fine under her breath. Shawn turned back to the dark-haired girl staring back at him.

“We’re leaving,” he stated, voice flat but still tinged with an obvious frustration.

“Don’t bother,” Raven smirked. “I’m bored anyways. Have a good night, you two.” With that, she was retreating down the alley towards the street to finally leave Y/N and Shawn alone. Shawn was almost convinced she’d somehow been tipped off to know that they were coming.

“Bitch,” he mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief as Raven sauntered away knowing exactly what she had done. He turned to Y/N, who looked just as small and unnerved as she had when he’d first spoken to her in the bathroom of that bar. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d be here.”

“I thought you didn’t date,” she said quietly, attempting to seem nonchalant despite the bubble of anxiety rising in her chest. She was worried that he’d played her; unleashed his supposed vulnerability to make her feel special by taking advantage of her empathy. It terrified her to think she’d fallen for it.

But Shawn was quick to refute her doubts, though clearly taken aback. “I don’t date. Not before you.”

“So what was that about, then?”

Shawn let out a heavy huff of breath, bringing a hand up to anxiously tug at his hair. “Raven is a complicated story.”

“Tell me,” Y/N implored softly, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth in the chilly night air.

“I was never with her, ever,” Shawn began, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his leather jacket. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t...with her.”

Y/N’s eyebrows quirked subtly as she put together his words. “Oh.”

“I never felt anything for her,” he added hurriedly. “I don’t even like her. At all. She’s crazy.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you have a history with someone you never even liked?”

“Because I’m an asshole,” Shawn quipped, a humorless smile crossing his face. Y/N quirked her head to the side, challenging his answer, but not realizing just how serious Shawn was. “I mean it,” he continued, emphatically. “I knew I was leading her on and I didn’t care. I wish I had a better explanation, but I don’t.”

Y/N exhaled, not knowing how to respond. While his confession concerned her, she knew she wasn’t upset. She was nothing close to it, because she had no reason or right to be; it didn’t involve her. She was, however, suddenly plagued with a wave of insecurity the longer she thought about it. This girl, Raven, was stunning. And confident. And a part of Shawn’s lifestyle. And they obviously had some sort of history together. Moreover, the nonchalance with which Shawn treated that history was off-putting, to say the least. Would he disregard me like that?

Shawn finally speaking pulled her from her thoughts. “Say something,” he pleaded, swallowing hard.

“There’s nothing to say,” Y/N shrugged, batting her eyes at him. “It doesn’t affect me.”

“But it bothers you, anyway,” he deduced. His expression bordered on smug.

“Yeah, a little,” she admitted. She averted her eyes to a piece of fence off to the side. “It doesn’t bother me that you were with her, I just don’t get how you could write it off so easily.”

He was quick to defend himself. “I told you the second time we ever saw each other that I don’t ever get attached to people. Except you, now.”

“Well when did you end things with her?”

“The night after I met you,” he replied immediately, and Y/N’s eyes snapped up. She hadn’t expected that.

“That quickly?”

He nodded, reaching to pull Y/N closer to him. Despite her uneasiness after seeing the side of him Raven brought out, it was impossible for her to be tense when she was close to him. “I’m serious when I say that you’re different to me,” Shawn started, and Y/N really did believe him. “I knew it as soon as I met you. Yes, I’ve been shitty to Raven, and I know that. I’m not trying to excuse it. But I’d never be able to blow you off like that, if that’s what you’re worried about, and that’s a complete promise. You mean something to me. I want you around. I’ve never had that with someone before, especially not with Raven.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile that came to her face, her body warm all over. But the way his demeanor had shifted so suddenly in Raven’s presence was still weighing on her, and she’d be remiss to not speak her mind. “Can you at least try to be a little nicer to Raven, though?”

“Not if she’s going to keep coming at me like that,” Shawn argued, and Y/N sighed.

“Did you ever think that her aggression might be a defense mechanism to hide the fact that she actually felt something for you?”

Shawn ignored her question. “Why do you care so much?”

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Something tells me she could use a little kindness, that’s all.”

“You sound like a kindergarten teacher.”

She laughed, lightly hitting his chest. “I’m serious!” she emphasized, but her giggles conveyed the opposite. “Just promise that you’ll at least be civil around her.”

“You don’t even know her.”

“Shawn.”

“Fine,” he assented, letting out a dramatic sigh. “But only ‘cause you’re the one asking.”

“Thank you,” she answered, drawing out the ‘u’ sound.

A smirk made its way onto Shawn’s face, and Y/N quirked her head at him in bemusement. “Sure you won’t get jealous?”

She laughed, reaching up to brush a stray curl off of his forehead. “I’m not too worried,” she said, but it wasn’t exactly the truth.

“No reason to be,” he answered, more quietly, reaching to pull her closer by the waist.

Her heart skipped. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Promise.”

His grip tightened around her waist, and she reached up to place her hands on the lapels of his leather jacket. The chill in the air was almost unnoticeable when she was pressed up against him, and Shawn’s poker face was in full effect as he hid how intensely his stomach was fluttering. He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had made him nervous; the last time a girl--or anyone, for that matter--had made him feel anything. Admit it or not, he was wrapped around Y/N’s finger.

The longer Shawn looked at Y/N the more slowed her breathing became, and it stopped altogether when he hesitantly took one of his hands from her waist and brought it up to place gingerly on the side of her face, his thumb resting adjacent to her ear as the rest of his fingers slid back into her hair. Before her racing mind could register what was happening, he was asking if he could kiss her.

She didn’t trust that her voice wouldn’t fail her, so all she could do was helplessly nod. He stared down at her, and the soft smile he wore combined with the look in his dark eyes was enough to have Y/N convinced she’d never breathe properly again. He leaned down, tantalizingly slowly, and finally pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was delicate at first, but it wasn’t long before Y/N was feverishly grabbing at Shawn’s shirt as though it would somehow pull her closer to him. She’d been waiting for this since the night they’d met; the sheer heat of the moment knocked the wind out of her in the best way possible.

The hand of Shawn’s that wasn’t on Y/N’s face slid from the side of her waist around to the small of her back, anchoring her against him as though he were worried she’d float away. He swiped his tongue softly along her lower lip, eliciting the faintest of moans from Y/N that nearly made his knees give out. He finally pulled away to take in a deep breath, his forehead resting on hers.

“I hate to do this right now,” he began, voice low, “but I really should get you home.”

“No,” Y/N panted, still clinging to his shirt.

He frowned, slightly amused. “But it’s late. And you have class tomorrow.”

Is he seriously asking me about this? “I don’t give a shit about class right now, Shawn,” she sassed, moving to link her arms around his neck and reattach her lips with his. He gave in, kissing her back until he reached the point of realizing that if he didn’t stop now, he never would.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, pulling back to fully look at her this time. Her hair was slightly tangled from where his hand had been, parted lips more plump than usual. His cheeks were flushed, and without thinking, Y/N dragged the pad of her thumb along one of them.

She sighed. “If you’re ready to drop me off at me home, that’s fine. But I want to stay with you a little longer.”

“Shit, no I--” he stuttered, so fucked for her he could hardly speak. “I want to stay with you, too. I just don’t want you to miss school because of me.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I never said anything about missing school. And regardless, it’s my decision to make.”

He groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. This elicited a laugh from Y/N, who reached a hand up to thread through his hair. “I don’t want to be a bad influence on you.”

“I’ve known you fight people for fun for how long now?” she asked, teasing. “But when I’m staying out late on a school night, then you start to think that you’re a bad influence?”

He let out another groan, muffled from his face being pressed into her neck. He finally picked his head up to look at her, still undecided as to whether or not she was thinking straight. “Are you sure?”

“Stop asking me that!” she cried, eyes wild with anticipation.

He threw his hands up as if to say I surrender, but Y/N was grabbing at them in an instant to place them back on her waist. He grinned. “Okay, well...We could go to my place? I have wine. Shitty, cheap wine, but it’ll still do the trick.”

She giggled, nodding vehemently. “I’d love some cheap wine.”

That was all it took to have him grabbing at her hand, pulling her along with him as they raced back to his Jeep and laughed like little kids along the way. Shawn felt like a different person, and Y/N was all the way up on cloud nine. It was plain to see that each was quickly becoming addicted to the feeling that accompanied being with the other, and a perfect, unstoppable storm of a relationship was undoubtedly brewing.

Thank you endlessly for reading!! Should I continue?? Feedback makes me very happy.

Taglist: (I’m so sorry if it wouldn’t let me tag you! If you’ve changed your username or want to be added/removed from the taglist just shoot me a message.)

When You Love Someone - @joyfullyswimmingface @fourtristattoos @goldiean @justmesadgirl @shawns-curls @iam-a-painted-whore @quit-it-stilinski @min-amani @implicitmendes @ashwarren32 @rare-breed-of-human @curlsofshawn @thewackywriter @whoopcalpal @pastelshawns @daisychains4 @falling-stars-never-cry @accidental-miracle

Permanent - @nedthegay

[an-ambivalent]

Meaning of Flowers [Yandere! BTS]

I thought of this AU in regards to what flower, regarding it’s meaning, would best suit yandere! bts in terms of how I have characterized them. 

Warning: As this post contains yandere themes, the characters display behaviors that can be uncomfortable to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fiction. I do not believe any of the mentioned members would display any sort of this behaviour irl, and I do not condone this behaviour. 

Jin 

Flower: Bellwort

Represents: Hopelessness 

With Jin doting nature, he would be determined to want to do everything for you. In his eyes, you were a fragile and delicate being and you needed him to take care of you. For this reason, he would always make all the decisions concerning you, stripping you off completely of your autonomy. His presence was smothering to say the least, and due to the lack of your own autonomy, you would begin to feel hopeless. 

Hopeless that you would never have your freedom again, never have the power to make your own decisions even for something as simple as choosing your own clothes. You were forced to be completely dependent on him, and be at his mercy. 

Eventually, you would end up in the state that you would be so reliant on him that without him, you would be completely hopeless; just like what a bellwort represented. 

Yoongi

Flower: Marigold 

Represents: Cruelty, Grief, Jealousy

There would be times when Yoongi may be too busy to give you any attention; however, when he did, then his focus would be solely on you. He would expect you to be the same way -- only have him at the centre of your focus. Anything that diverted your focus from him would be destroyed. 

Yoongi was a needy person so he would require a lot from you. More often than not, he would force you to be with him whenever possible. If he was cooking, he would want you to be in the kitchen with him. If he was reading, he would want you to be lying in his lap so he could brush his fingers through your hair, and vice versa, just to be close to you -- he was clingy. Absence of your presence by his side would aggravate him, and lead him to lash out with his anger on something, someone else, or you once he had you by his side again. Due to this cruelty, unfit jealousy, and the grief you silently suffered from by being forced to endure his so called ‘love,’ the flower Marigold was perfectly suited for this. 

Hoseok

Flower: Hyacinth (yellow)

Represents: jealousy 

Being with Hoseok meant having little to no freedom at all. Due to his immensely possessive nature, he would keep you restrained, and confine you within the premises of your shared abode with him; you were never allowed to leave. Additionally, he would not allow you to have access to any electronic devices either in order to prevent you from communicating with someone else. On very rare occasions when he was in a good mood, or wanted to reward you for being on your best behaviour and did not feel that possessive of you, he would allow you to have some screen time. Of course, he would be supervising you the entire time to make sure you did not do something you were not meant to. 

Hoseok believed that you existed solely for him. So, it only made sense that he was all you would ever need to think about. Anything else that preoccupied your thoughts, he would have to get rid off. 

It was excessive jealousy and it was the driving force behind most of what he did. A yellow hyacinth fit him just right. 

Namjoon

Flower: Aconite (Monkshood)

Represents: hatred / be cautious 

As long as you submitted to him, and obeyed and fulfilled everything he said, Namjoon would be a happy man, and you would have an easy life. Sadly, that was not the case for you. 

You were a fighter, and to have some stranger who had developed an obsession with you, suddenly take you away from your life and expect you to live by his expectations -- it was obviously something you did not take well. Your instant rebellion that caused you to curse him out, and demean him through profanity and other insults, caused Namjoon to develop a hatred for the you that was in that moment. Through your immature tantrums, it became obvious to Namjoon that you needed to be reconditioned in order for you to behave the way he wanted you to. 

So, he composed a plan, and planned to manipulate you into becoming his ideal lover. 

Aconite; be cautious of the man who hated who you truly were, because once captured in his clutches, he would break you, and turn you into someone you never wished to be. 

(makane line under the cut!)

Jimin

Flower: ivy (sprig of white tendrils) 

Represents: anxious to please 

For the most part, Jimin did not demand too much from you. Instead, more of his focus was set on him pleasing you, and doing his best to do whatever he could to make you happy. His happiness thrived on yours, and he eagerly looked forward to hearing your compliments and praises for all of his efforts. 

If you refused to acknowledge his efforts, and thought of getting revenge on him for forcing you to be in a relationship with him by upsetting him, you would succeed in the beginning. After a while, your lack of praise and not being grateful for how much he did for you without asking for much in return, would start to infuriate him. As a result, he would eventually punish you by forcing you into poor and abhorrent conditions to make you realise how grateful you should be. Then, afterwards, once he was satisfied with how he punished you, he would become overwhelmed with guilt, and things would go back to how they were -- him trying to please you, make you happy again. 

This time, it would be in your best interest to start praising him if you did not want to live through another punishment again. 

Ivy (Sprig of White Tendrils) fit Jimin because this flower highlights his desperation to please. 

Taehyung

Flower: amaryllis & primrose

Represents: splendid beauty & I can't live without you

Taehyung’s love was suffocating, and it was damaging. This was because rather than being in love with the person you were more like obsession, he was obsessed with the idea of you, with your potential, of who you could be under his guidance. 

He was especially quite fond of how beautiful you were. He thought so highly of how you looked, the expressions you made, the emotions you portrayed and of you that he felt the need to capture as many moments he could; Taehyung took countless of pictures of you, and filed them in scrapbooks with incrinate notes of what he thought about the taken picture, and would attach mentioned notes to them. 

Due to his overwhelming obsession and fondness of you, he was quite clingy. You were his muse, his reason for existing. For that reason, an amaryllis because he was besotted with your splendid beauty, and a primrose, because he would not be able to live without you. 

Jungkook

Flower: Petunia 

Represents: anger / resentment 

More often than not, Jungkook’s actions are driven by his anger towards you. In your relationship, it sometimes felt as if your current breath was going to be your last because of how cruel Jungkook was at times. For this reason, you were always on edge when you were in Jungkook’s presence because you never knew what could set him off and make him lash out on you. 

Jungkook was an enigma because on one hand, he would proclaim his endless love to you, and say he did whatever he did to you because he loved you so much. On another note, with how cruel he was, it not how someone sane would treat their partner. 

The truth was that Jungkook bore anger towards you because you showed him affection only out of your fear for him, and not because you actually liked him. In the first place, he held indignation for the fact that you didn’t even know he existed until he had kidnapped you. He was so hurt by all of this that he could not help but hurt you in return too so you would feel an ounce of his pain. 

Therefore, due to anger and resentment being one of the main emotions which resulted in how he treated you, petunia flower fit perfectly. 

                                         _________________

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed reading this! Sorry I’ve been mia for so long :’) writing is difficult for me these days, but nonetheless, I hope I can still post some content for you guys. Please share your thoughts, I would really appreciate it. ☺ until the next post ^^

[melnchly-a]

Pls talk about your thoughts and headcanons regarding Camilla's relationship with the other Greek club members!!

CHARLES: charles is, of course, her twin. her brother. her best friend. he’s the only other member of her family to survive, except for the grandmother/great-aunts they live with. he’s everything to her, and he was all she had before they met the others. they’re extremely codependent and nearly always together. it’s odd to see one without the other. they finish sentences, complete movements, have a whole unspoken language the others really can’t access. part of this is simply sibling behavior, but there are darker currents of codependency running underneath. i think camilla does at the very least enable charles’ alcoholism, whether she does so out of a simple need to defend him no matter what OR because she doesn’t actually see it is a question i’d have to explore further. up until the point of bunny’s murder, she trusts him completely. 

HENRY: i honestly think henry and camilla are meant to be the split-soul idea of soulmates you see from arisophanes in plato’s symposium. even richard remarks on how much alike they are, and the narration comes back to that time and time again: the solitaire games spread out on the ends of their beds, the glances shared, the code for his phone. henry and camilla, i think, understand one another in a way no one else has ever understood them. both the good and the bad. i think they have a lot of the same strengths and a lot of the same flaws, though with, obviously, variations. camilla does love henry, but their relationship is also deeply complex and happens mostly in semi secret. 

FRANCIS: camilla adores francis. she really does. i think that if she had to chose a member of the group to bear the title “best friend” it would be him. charles is her brother, henry is something else, richard she doesn’t know all that well, bunny she’s more or less ambivalent toward, but francis is her friend. she’s very comfortable around him, she likes being in his company, and she often seeks out his conversation/advice. she’s very openly affectionate with him. she cares very deeply about him, and i think she considers him family to almost the same degree as she considers charles family. 

RICHARD: honestly i think one of the tragedies of tsh is what the friendship between richard and the twins could have been. the all genuinely seem to like each other, and he fits in well with them - - - better than he does with the others. they make him feel welcome and included, and are constantly reaching out to him even when he doesn’t reciprocate (see: the letters over winter break). camilla genuinely likes richard (though that doesn’t stop her from manipulating his feelings toward her). that said, though, she definitely feels that there’s a distance there, a remove both because of richard’s stand-offishness and because she knows he has different feelings toward her than she does for him. he’s sort of an unknown, which makes her a little wary from time to time. she never shows her whole self to him, preferring to keep herself at that enigmatic remove. i think if the relationship had had more time to develop, if richard had had the time to actually get to know her as camilla and not as an enigma, and if richard had been able to get over his infatuation toward her, they would have been the same level of friends that charles and camilla were at the beginning. 

BUNNY: camilla never really liked bunny. his disdain for women is clear from the beginning, and she doesn’t like the way he treats anyone else in the group either. she isn’t ever outwardly antagonistic toward him, just like she’s never outwardly very much of anything to anyone. but deep down, she doesn’t like him at all, and while she feels a sense of moral guilt for what happens, i think her sense of relief outweighs it. and i’m not sure how much of that regret is for having killed bunny so much as it is for having killed. there isn’t too much to say here, except that she does try to like him for the sake of the others, particularly henry, but she never truly succeeds. it’s exceedingly rare for her to spend time with bunny when the others aren’t present. 

ask me headcanon questions about my muses : always accepting

[danddymaro]

My Love For You | Loki  x Reader

Italics in quotations are thoughts:  'Sample.’

Regular italics are Flashbacks  : Sample

word count :  5875

This would be set during Thor and The Avengers (2012).

  Summary:  She couldn't see him anymore, and she desperately wanted to believe that he was alive, that he lied there, waiting for her reach… just holding on to the idea of someone wanting him as he was.

My Love For You

"Barbaric woman." He muttered while watching the (h/c) haired woman and his brother spar.

It was a pastime going back to her years of infancy with the two men.

Usually, she'd center herself into the field, opposite of the thunder god to test her skills, better advancing with every fall she'd take, and growing more confident with each triumph she'd hold over him, which were too few in her book.

Off to the side, Odin's other son usually situated himself, paying mind to his own activities, occasionally glancing over to the fighting two with mild interest.

(f/n) and Thor had originally started off with sticks, advancing to using anything they could find to pretend to be true warriors, much like the mighty Valkyrie.

They'd boast on, cry out their names with elatedness as they declared their future victories.

Later on, they grew, maturing alongside each other, and while Thor grew to be a man worthy of the title of a warrior and ultimately named would be king, she blossomed into a woman, a beautiful one at that.

She grew to be a true goddess, both lovely and virtuous, holding qualities of a delicate creature, but with skills of a mighty combatant.

- And she prided herself in that fact.

She prided herself on being strong and valiant.

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Loki also matured, both in body and mind, and while his two other companions grew to excel in a more brutish manner of offense, he found his own talents in the witchcraft his mother had a mastery of.

He was an eager learner, keen to master every trick she could advise him on,  and doing so impeccably.

As time progressed, and they grew, so did the growing affection the young goddess held for the princes of Asgard, moreover, so did the feelings of longing affection she had for the younger, dark-haired one.

Whereas most other women were more drawn to the powerfully built form and golden locks of the elder brother, Thor, (f/n)'s eyes always strayed to the more graceful of the two.

Somehow, she always found herself drawn to Loki.

He became the center of her attention and sight, stemming back to when she was still an innocent young girl and without say, the dark-haired god of mischief was somewhat of a harbored crush for her, a sentiment that only grew into love.

He'd grown up to be beautiful, having shining dark hair that was undoubtedly soft and silken, the locks always kept neatly maintained, brushed back to show his lovely sculpted face. His eyes, which were a lovely color that perfectly reflected the mystical side of him, shined like polished gems, their emerald color always showing a small tease of his inner heart.

Truthfully, she always saw them as gateways into another realm he commanded, and that she was always drawn into.

They glowed with playfulness when he caused mischief because he just loved the attention he received from his little tricks.

They dimmed whenever he felt lonesome, the wonderous vibrancy of them being affected as his heart fell weak, something he didn't like showing off.

Through and through, he gathered up all his pain, tucking it away in hopes to make it die out, but fragments of it would still make itself known through his gaze.

Yet, later on, it seemed that there wasn't much to find within his eyes, only brewing emotions that tinted his lovely orbs dark, stealing away the pure light within them, something that she caught onto far too late.

As he matured and grew into a man, he hardened, mastering illusion.

He mastered tricks to hide his inner self, leaving him to become an enigma.

Her heart was always soft for him, and with time only became more feeble to his whim.

It yearned for his attention and affection, but he wasn't as easy to read as Thor. He had become too much of a mystery, and he wasn't as simple to please, being far more secluded with himself and his emotions.

Nevertheless, she wanted to serve him, to protect him at all costs, despite the fact that her duties and as well as loyalty were meant for the next in line, and for the current time, the all-father Odin.

Her (e/c) eyes quickly dashed towards the lonesome young man, seeing him pick at the upper corner of his book, turning over to the next page with a rather placid smile, one she found breathtaking despite its simplicity.

She'd seen him read the same book for years, somehow never getting tired of the old tale and always visiting it back, finding the same enjoyment as he did the first time,

'What makes you love that old worn thing?' she wondered with curiosity, wanting to ask him.

During then, the golden-haired god opposite to her took advantage of her preoccupied mind and toppled her over with a single sweep of his mighty hammer.

The force of his strike quickly snapped her out of her daydreaming and she threatened him with a harsh glare as she picked herself up from the ground.

He knew it was cheap to attack while she wasn't even in the mindset of battle yet, but he held no regard to clean fighting with her, nor the fact that she was a woman, and it had been like that for some time now, because she was everything but delicate on the battlefield.

He knew she was able to stand up again, bloodied or not, wounded or not, and even an inch close to death.

In the end, she would always rise up again, and he found it admirable.

"- Thor, mighty Asgardian prince, at the will of a woman!" She said grinning wildly as her boot came down on his chest harshly, letting her full weight and more fall upon him.

"Tis no woman I see here, " he responded in a wheeze, courtesy of her vicious stomp, "More like a beast," he commented, laughing heartily as she stepped off from him.

She giggled slightly and shook her head, "Don't flatter me!" she said, still smiling jovially.

Extending her hand out to the prince, she smiled triumphantly as he took it.

"You tend to use dirty tricks. " he huffed before standing and dusting himself off.

"I know...but in the end I was victorious," she replied with a smug tone and at that, Thor rolled his eyes at her.

"That's all that matters," she said with a small smile, "You taught me that remember?" she asked him as she walked alongside him.

Discreetly, her eyes trailed to the side, off to where the younger of the two princes still remained.

Loki sat far off to the side, still reading his book, completely oblivious to the lovestruck gaze that melted upon him.

'He's so lovely,' (f/n) thought while smiling, ignoring Thor's idle talk for just a moment, something he took notice of quickly.

Peering down at her, he found her glancing at his brother and rolled his eyes,

"Again with the wandering eye lady (f/n)," Thor mused, crossing his beefy arms as he waited for her response.

"Yes, again with my silly, little wondering eyes, Thor," she replied huffing, soon glowing red, because it hadn't been the first time she'd been caught staring by him, and it certainly was not going to be the last either.

"I am sure he wouldn't mind your company," Thor said while smiling lightly, nudging her shoulder with his elbow.

"- I'm sure he would." She retorted.

" For someone so cute, he truly is a grump," she added while gently shaking her head.

"He always acts like conversation pesters him," she explained, "And even if I could ignore his obvious brush offs, I'd only make a fool of myself yet again," she added, deciding to turn to walk away, intent on heading back into her chambers for a refreshing wash.

Passing Loki while on her way, she could see his eyes follow her, the gaze making her feel light, little feathers tickle her insides, teasingly brushing over the walls of her stomach.

During then, while trying to ignore his stare, her boots touched the ground, increasing the distance between her and her charming prince, something she detested.

Unfortunately, the timidness he arose from her always bested her. It never failed to settle in, no matter how hard she tried.

Furthermore, if it wasn't difficult enough to be in his presence already, her past encounter with him the week prior was still fresh in her mind, and she desired nothing more than to go back in time to play it off better,

"Hey, Loki-Dokie, you want to play too?" She asked happily, forcibly swallowing down her nervousness, inviting him over to join her and Thor, even if it was just for a moment.

'- Again with that stupid name.' he thought sourly in regards to the pet name that followed him from his childhood, courtesy of the (h/c) haired female.

He scoffed and continued to read instead, only sneaking a slight peek at her.

And as his emerald eyes landed on her, he noticed the way her fingers played with each other, relentlessly poking one another, all while she waited for his worded response.

"Why are you fretting?" He asked nonchalantly, slowly flipping to the next page and skimming his eyes over the handwritten words.

At his question, her eyes grew wide, and instantly, she bawled her fists, setting them to the sides, and by doing so stopping the little display,

"I'm not nervous!" She said all too quickly, huffing out the swift response .

"I never said you were nervous?" He asked her while being utterly perplexed, and altogether he set the book aside and began to focus on her, wondering just what had her so shaken.

He offered her a dull look, propping his chin on his palm, ready to entertain her in whatever silly conversation she had in hand, because honestly, it'd been far too long since they'd stood face to face for longer than a fraction of a second, and he wouldn't be honest if he said he was entirely pleased with that.

In the past, she'd always trail behind him, following his every step, however, That was of course before she grew older.

- Before she'd changed.

" what in the 9 realms is wrong with you?" he questioned her with wonder, receiving back an aggravated sigh before she turned to her heels, walking away without any response back to him that left him satisfied.

Immediately, he raised a brow in inquiry, "Am I missing something?" He asked himself.

"What in the world did she want?" He muttered to himself, not being able to think about anything else but their little conversation... if he could call it that.

He rolled his eyes and nibbled at his bottom lip before getting up abruptly,

"Honestly... that strange girl..." He huffed while trailing behind her, stopping immediately as he noticed her standing before Thor.

Hiding behind a pillar, he looked onto their interaction, his hold tightening onto the stone as he saw them showcase their obvious comfort with one another.

He couldn't hear them speak as they talked lowly to one another in a secretive manner that was only amongst themselves, but, even so, he felt green envy fester as he watched the way they stepped closer to one another.

From where he stood he saw a hidden romance, something he'd been growing suspicious of as of late, and much more despised.

"Perhaps...if you'd simply be straightforward, you'd get somewhere rather than turn back to me. " Thor grumbled with exasperation, snickering at the way her face colored cherry red.

" - You fight grand beasts, and yet fall under my brother's heel the second he sends you a look. Lady (f/n)...you truly amaze me." He chuckled before placing a hand to her head, ruffling her hair before trailing his hand down to grab her ripened cheek, pinching it.

"Teasing me doesn't help me," she sighed, brushing his hand off and hanging her head.

"Alright, Alright, forgive me," he said softly, grabbing both her hands in his, before raising them up to set them between their two bodies, tightly cradling them with true affection.

"- But I don't think you understand how much I love you both, and it brings me great comfort and joy to know that there is a woman here who truly loves my brother, and much more would do all she can for him." He confessed. "When you are ready to step forward and proclaim your love for him, I will do all I can to make sure you both see nothing but joy." He told her with sincerity.

Smiling largely, she brought her forehead down to their linked hands and thanked him, her voice soft and sweet as she was struck with tenderness,

"Would you truly accept me as part of your family?" she asked him breathily.

" A foolish question to ask," he stated, " I'm certain mother and father would both be pleased to have you as well." He told her. "But first you have to win over my brother," he reminded her, with a small bit of tease,

" Just remember, I will always be on your side, and I trust he will not overlook an amazing person such as yourself," he told her, quickly boosting her spirits with his uplifting words, giving her budding hope.

She remembered Thor’s promise of help as she trailed behind him, her heart soaring all the while, coming back to life once she'd heard the news that Loki was still alive.

She had mourned greatly over his presumed death, crying heart wounded tears at his passing, but now, she felt hope as she discovered he was alive, and in Midguard of all places.

"- I want to go with you," she said to Thor, a beautiful smile stretched over her face, illuminating her features. "You have to take me with you," she told him, her shining eyes filled with brimming optimism as she continued to speak.

She then playfully slipped herself to stand before him, wearing the same elation, her jubilance soon melting as she noticed his less than pleased look,

"What...What's the matter Thor?" she asked him with concern, not understanding his grave face.

Was he not happy to know Loki was alive?

She figured he would be the first to jump for joy, possibly surpassing her own enthusiasm.

Thor looked down at her, his blue eyes both filled with conflict before he closed them with a hard breath, pushing her aside and walking past her altogether.

Stunned and wide-eyed she whipped back to glare at his back in disbelief, storming over to him, and making her way in front of him within a few stomps, her hands both pushing him back.

"What's wrong with you!" she asked him, growing alarmed. "Did you not hear me? " she asked him, her voice rising to a higher pitch as her eyes hardened, demanding not only to go alongside him but an answer to why he seemed so ominous.

Again he stayed silent, his chest rising and falling hard as he reached for both her hands with the hand not holding Mjolnir.

"Why...Why won't you talk to me...?" she asked him in a small voice, "Are you not happy he lives?" She questioned him, her eyes wide as she looked up at him with innocence.

His hand then shook as it grasped hers, tightening at her question, "You'll see him when I bring him back," he told her sternly.

"Why are you refusing to answer me?" she asked him, stepping forward to get closer, her chest touching him as she looked up at him with question, searching for the truth.

" Answer me Thor!" she cried out, knowing that something wasn't right and that she was being held in the dark.

She then wiggled her hands out from his grasp as a sense of dread draped over her shoulders like a cold, wet blanket.

Glaring down at her, Thor dropped Mjolnir from his hold, placing both his palms on either side of her face, peering down at her with hurt blue crystals, " Have you heard of why he's there?" he questioned her in a low rumble.

Shaking her head she answered truthfully, " I just know he lives, " she admitted to him.

" Why?" She breathed. "What are you not telling me?" she asked him, her head tilting as she tried to see his eyes in a better light, desperately searching for answers in any way she could.

"- My brother has been on a downward spiral," he began, " and he has only sunken lower," he informed her.

"He's become a tyrant," he told her. "He's wielding power he cannot be entrusted with, and reigning down on Midguard as a wicked oppressor, already having taken lives for his gain.

So, I'm not there to simply speak to him..." he informed her.

"- I need to do this alone," he told her. " You love him so, but only the man he once was. I've seen him grow wicked. He's -"

"He's still Loki!" she stubbornly input.

"He's still your brother..." she said while growing glossy-eyed, fearing the worst for the younger Asgardian male.

"which is all the more reason why I must be the one to go. I have to convince him to come back, to give up that mindset in which has placed us in conflict.

To stop this madness...

To bring back the tesseract... And if I cannot... then..."

"Then what?" she questioned him, watching as his jaw tightened while he struggled to find the right words.

"Then...You'll kill him..?" she said with a hitch in her breath, pushing him off.

"Are you going to kill him?" she said anxiously, her aching chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

"The Earth is under my protection," he answered her, not being able to stomach the idea of harming his brother.

Blood or not, they were still siblings, and love was not something that could be fabricated.

He loved his younger kin and would stop at nothing to bring him back safely, but with that being said, he understood the possible outcome, the probable outcome that is -

' He won't come easily,' He told himself.

Thor wanted to convince Loki with just words, to make him understand his wrongdoings with simple talk, but he knew his stubborn brother. Muchmore, he had come to see the pain held within him that had only manifested into resenting and spite, all of which only plunged the younger into more darkness.

"Please..." (f/n) said softly, "Y- You can't!" she said in disbelief, shaking her head.

"You can't do this to him! You can't do this to your own brother!" She cried out in desperation, her hysterics stopped by his booming voice,

"Do you think I want to !" he cried out to her. "Do you think that if I had any other option, I'd avoid all of this!" he went on.

And in his split moment of vulnerability, she could see his truths, all of which left her even more brokenhearted.

Her hands then tightened at her sides as she took in his words,

" Then with more reason..." she murmured, " with more reason I need to go. Because if he doesn't make it back...

I want to at least see him once more." She told him. " I already know punishment awaits him as he returns, I already understand that ... but even so, I will still love him," she told him.

"Even after knowing his true heritage, I still mourned him, and I still continue to cry for him and yearn for him. " She admitted to him, wanting him to understand the true depths of her affection,

"Can you not see, Thor?" she asked him, her voice soft and filled with plea,

" So please have mercy on me," she begged him. "I not only ask you as a wounded woman, but as a warrior without heart.

Without true purpose anymore...

I beg you as a friend to please take with you. Please let me be at his side once more." She rambled. " I will do all I can... I will do all I can to save him," she promised him.

" Please... let us share this pain, for if it comes to be that his heart has grown black, and too far gone into villainy...then I will help you carry his body back," she told him, bowing her head.

Gazing down at her, he saw her own defenselessness, taking it in with understanding, blue orbs.

With a small, silent nod, he slipped his hand into Mjolnir's leather strap before tightly holding onto the hammer and picking it up.

"We have no time to waste," he told her after a strong heave, "We will have my father transport us to earth," he then told her.

Nodding quickly, she placed a hand onto her sword at her side.

"It is not just Loki that is there, There are others who want his head now," he warned her, "His actions... they have been...unpleasant," he continued to caution her, letting her know what lay ahead.

"Then I will protect my prince," she stated firmly, her hand that had already been placed on her weapon, tightening, "From others and himself," she said sternly.

"And I will aid you, Thor, " she said with certainty.

" I know there is good in him," she told him, clinging onto the former image of him, " I know We can bring both he and the Tesseract back," she added, a crooked smile twitching at her lips.

And he wanted to believe her.

He wanted to agree with her words, but far, deep within his heart, he knew she was being nieve.

Yet, he said not a word to confront her, because he had felt love too. He had come to know the feelings within her breast, identifying the same naiveté that had once been his own heart.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Once she found herself before him, she'd already been exposed to his wrongdoings. She knew of every wicked act, and yet, she still felt the same for him.

' I know there is good in you...I just know there is,' she thought with faith, firmly grasping onto the belief.

"Please Loki", she begged, both her eyes pleading with him as every ounce of her being was doused in mercy and benevolence, wanting nothing more than to stop him from falling further into the dark abyss he had stepped into.

She threw her weapons aside, making them fly out to land many feet away from her, striping herself of everything she'd strived to be.

She made herself vulnerable for him, throwing aside her blade to show him he was above her pride as a warrior.

Because, truthfully, all in which she had prided herself in would have never been obtained if it wasn't for her devotion to him.

Her prince was hurt, he was wounded beyond the flesh and punctured deep within his bleeding heart, and in response, her own cried out. And it only began to fall apart as she watched him sink furthermore.

Like many times before she was weak for him, but this time, rather than shying away, she stepped forward, finding new strength.

"Have you come here to beg for my mercy ?" he questioned her with animosity.

His dimmed evergreen gems bore into her (e/c) eyes with anything but the innocence that once lay within them in the past, and yet, she still approached him.

' You are there Loki... I just know it,' she thought to herself.

"I said did you come to ask for my mercy ?" he repeated, seemingly savoring the moment he had at boastfulness, enjoying having the world under his whim and in submission.

And to him, it was almost laughable.

He'd easily evaded their "mightiest." and was now only steps from ruling.

He'd assumed that he couldn't reach a greater high, and that things couldn't have gotten better, until she showed up.

"I came to help you..." she spoke softly. " I came to aid my prince, " she told him, and at her words, he laughed the sound evolving into an unhinged state.

"Prince?" he questioned her with mock. " I am no prince, I am a king!" he told her.

"Don't you dare insult me with such a low title, with such pathetic words, as though I need your good virtue to 'save me'." He told her.

"I know you're reasoning." He started, " Of course...you came here for his sake," he said lowly. " You came to beg under his word, to bring Odinson his victory, have you not?" he asked her, sounding certain.

" Thor Odinson, or should I say Only son...Only worthy man ..." he added, his voice drifting into a low rumble.

"You are still Odinson aswell," she uttered, causing his teeth to bare,

" Don't belittle me, I've told you once to not provoke me." he sneered. " You must know well enough I am no son of his...That I am nothing but a trophy... A monstrous creature you, yourself also swore to slay!" he said angrily, spitting out the words that were laced with hurt.

"I came here for you Loki, not under Odin's command, nor Thor's will." She declared.

"I came because..." She started, taking in a shaky breath, "because..." she struggled, "Because I ...I Love you," she said softly, still feeling the same sentiment for him, her heart almost popping as she said the words.

"You...love me..?" he breathed, stepping closer to her by three steps.

Nodding she spoke, " I swear I do Loki, I have loved you for years, and I will continue to for more to come ... " she confessed.

She'd always imagined the moment she finally confessed to him her love, and now that it was happening, she felt once again as she did when she was younger; and soon, bashful, beautiful little fuzziness teased her from within.

As he approached her, the feeling became almost unbearable, very near to consuming her.

He hung his head as a smile curled at his lips, a deep chuckle rousing from his chest, "then do as I wish... under my whim, bow down." He said with the utmost vainglory, seething the words to her as he looked down at her.

She stared at him glossy-eyed, her lips trembling as she heard him speak,

"Loki?" she said softly, taken back by his order.

The harsh tone in which he had spoken to her shook her, making her (e/c) eyes moisten, wearing the heartache that lay in her breast out on display.

"Kneel, " he ordered again, the second time sounding even harsher, outraged at her disobedience, "Show your loyalty to me, Show me your supposed love," He told her, taunting her.

With the glowing sector in his hand, he brought it down to the floor with a harsh clunking sound, making the length of her spine run cold as ice.

She jumped slightly, never having heard him sound so irate, especially not with the spite directed at her.

The gleaming light in his eyes that showed merriment at her terror also was captured by her wide eyes, and bowing her head down in mercy she trembled, placing her hands flat to the floor as she kneeled down to him.

She shook with harsh tremors, but not with fear, nor lividness.

She shook with sorrow as she released her withheld tears and let them descend down to the filthy, debris-covered ground. The small drops of salted water spilled to the spot, creating small, dark specks for him to witness.

Her heart still ached for who she thought he was.

Kind, sweet, and misunderstood Loki.

Loki, the young boy who played with her as a child.

The same one who was enchanted by the uses of magic and filled with wonder boundless by the existing dimensions.

The same Loki that never liked to fight, but nonetheless stayed to entertain his brother and her.

Loki, the one who'd smile every so often and melt her heart with the soft showcase of affection.

The shield in which her eyes had once set on him became cracked and slowly crumbled, soon seeing nothing but a bitter, cruel person cackling at her showcased sorrow.

The kind Loki she knew wouldn't do such a cruel thing, even if he rejected her affection.

And by then, she couldn't see him anymore, despite desperately wanting to believe that he was alive, waiting for her reach and holding on to the idea of someone wanting him as he was.

' Loki... where are you?' she thought sniveling, raising her gaze up to him, not knowing the man before her.

" I came to beg you to come back," she said kneeling before him, this time sounding uncertain.

'All I've ever wanted... Was your happiness, Loki. I wish I would have been clear with you, because if I had known you were so troubled, I wouldn't have wasted time with my own fears. I would have let go of my insecurities to assure you of yours...'

" Please. Please just come back." She said imploring him, her voice shaking.

"You're as annoying as that oaf." He said snidely. "But once I rule over Midguard, and make all those pathetic humans fall to their knees as you are now, you will understand." He told her. " You will come to realize...No... Everyone will see how fit I was to be the one in rule.

Everyone will know much mightier I can be, " he said with certainty.

"- How much better I am than Thor!" he claimed. "I will prove I am filled with glorious purpose," He told her.

"Tell me, did you truly come here thinking I was a fool?" he asked her. " No... much more, did you believe your ploy as a wounded damsel would work on me?...when I know the truth?" he asked her.

"What ploy Loki?" she asked him, utterly perplexed. "what truth are you speaking of?" she said in confusion.

" Don't insult me any longer foul wench!" He said angrily, crying out to her with frustration as he saw her look up at him so wretchedly.

She dared to look at him as though he was deserving of pity, and it scathed him.

"You think I'm that stupid little boy, don't you?" He asked her, " You think I'm the same fool you constantly teased, as you went to that idiot time and time again, following him like a dog! like a bitch in heat!" He cried out.

His words struck her as he spoke so coldly and full of spite, and she did nothing more than listen to him, knowing none of it was true.

Did he honestly believe such a thing?

Her love for Thor was brotherly love, admiration, and nothing more.

It was her strive to be just as powerful and mighty, all so she could be worthy of Loki's affection.

- So she could protect him and keep him safe.

- So she could love him and be deserving of him.

She suddenly stood up, quickly stepping towards him before daringly touching her hands to his cheeks, "Please believe me," she told him, " please know that  I am here for you, that I came here for you only," she insisted, staring deep into his jaded eyes.

She searched for something, anything that showed his true, inner musings, but she found nothing yet again.

"I truly do love you..." she said before stretching to capture his lips, salty tears melded with the taste of her lips and she poured her entire heart within that single, long kiss.

All the years of her harbored love, as well as all the suffrage she felt at his absence, were there, mixed with all the heartache she felt while seeing his current state.

It was all there, and he eagerly accepted her, one of his hands fisting her (light/dark) hair as he pulled her closer.

"So you believe me..." she said softly, her crying face blossoming with young optimism as he stared down at her.

He gave her a soft smile as he tightened his hold, once again capturing her lips, and with a staggering breath, she willingly let herself melt.

Her arms desperately held him as her body gravitated to him, never wanting to part.

He pulled away slightly, his lips still grazing hers, also unwilling to part, "It doesn't matter now," he said softly, " because now I have you... And I'll make sure to keep you tied down.

- At my order and whim," He said tearing away from her, his hold on her strands still there as he restrained her.

Her (e/c) colored eyes opened wide, staring at him with obvious hurt as she watched him use his other hand to raise his weapon.

He felt his heart tighten as his body reacted with aggression. Admittedly, her touch had affected him, because he'd loved her for years.

He'd always been longing for her, but wasn't convinced that her love was true,

'It's no coincidence,' He thought to himself, unable to overlook the timing of her confession,

'You do it for him.

You do it to toy with me again...' He thought with lukewarm amusement.

Through a tightened jaw he touched the tip of the scepter to her heart, "Temptress... I know you play dirty," he mused as a blue light emitted from his scepter.

She felt a surge of its power spreading throughout her body in shockwaves, making her feel suffocated at the overbearing power. Her pounding heart came to a sudden halt as she felt quakes of snake-like bursts course through her body.

Her pretty (e/c) eyes then turned pitch black before an electrifying blue settled into the irises, and it was only then that he let his grip fall.

"Now... you'll be at my side instead.

As you always should have been., as you'll remain for the rest of eternity, my (f/n)," He said sweetly, running his left thumb beneath her tearing (e/c) right eye.

'All I've ever wanted was your happiness...

Loki...All I wanted was to keep you safe...' she thought with sorrow.

Behind her glassy eyes, she stared out into the world from her puppet state as she was bound to him by a wicked spell. A colossal excess of woe weighed down her lacerated heart as she watched him fall further into the dark abyss he so eagerly drove through headfirst.

She watched him destroy himself, falling more from Grace with each wicked action he gleefully took part in,

'if only I had known...Loki ... Loki- Doki...Are you still in there? Are you still waiting?'

A bittersweet feeling overcame her as she came to a realization that now she was at his side, cuddled with him in the same dark, empty corner he had previously occupied on his own.

Together...

' I won't fail you again,' She thought with a small glimmer of light barely flickering in her expressionless eyes. 'And you won't be alone ...Because I'll always be there.' she thought with selfless commitment.

'I'll always be at your side, and when you fall, I'll make sure to do so as well, ' She swore, ready for the inevitable demise awaiting them.

'My love for you is boundless...'

[wildpawed-moved]

THREES.

  ❥ TAGGED BY: stolen from @divisus bc she said so   ❥ TAGGING: @deadmenanddemons ( kane ), @murderousbitch, @90smagicalboy, @crackedmxgic, @panamastayed, @blackinkbloodstream, @atlantisking, @anditsxsorrows, @witheriingsouls ( buffy ), @magaprima, @cardinalrot and literally everyone else who wants to 

MUSE: Sebastian Matthews bc all dash games go to him automatically unless specified and i’m just not even slightly subtle about him being my favourite muse on this blog

3 strengths

He has genius level intelligence and is highly analytical. It’s almost a flaw that he can’t just take things for what they are and he has to get into things and figure out how and why they work, which is why he takes to mechanics and chemistry so well. Honestly, big maths equations ( whether it’s chemistry, physics, aerodynamics, anything really ) are just so much fun for him and he loves to get his mind working over drive.

Animal thing aside, he’s extremely observant. He’s often ignored by outside ( not people of the pack and even then those on outside the inner circle tend to brush him to the side ) people, them just seeing him as a domesticated bird of prey ( thanks curse! ) and pretty much ignore him, which leaves him in the background and lets him just observe one’s behaviour, mannerisms and so on. With all this said and done, while he watches he can listen in to conversations and things and just mention things that might have gone unheard or misinterpreted.

While birds aren’t olfactory hunters, you’re not going to be able to do much without him hearing or seeing it. While the pack always bicker about who has the best sense of sight or hearing or smell, their ears and eyes don’t have much on Seb. He’s extremely valuable, though the wolves aren’t super willing to admit it.

3 weaknesses

He trusts no bitch. Like when he was living as a completely as bird in the wilds, if you had a human shape you were completely evil to him. While going full bird could be seen as extreme, he was in an extremely abusive relationship with his father which ended in him finding out that Vincent actually got his wife killed, so Seb’s faith in humanity as an entire entity was completely obliterated. Is he working on fixing that? Not entirely. In the wilds, you know where you stand. Predator or prey and if something wants has intention to kill you, you know about it. Humans can lie and mask their intentions with smiles and kind words and he’s just super cautious about it and pretty much won’t bother trying to make any connections unless B has something established with them. He still watches out for her though.

With his curse cutting himself off completely from the rest of the world except for some super specific circumstances, he really doesn’t put in the effort to reach out to people, really not helped that he’s ‘just a bird’ at face value. And his whole not trusting anyone thing. He’s paranoid with good reason, but he also really does get in his own way about making friends and having other connections with people.

He’s super patient but also impatient. It’s all about context. He’s a bird of prey, so he waits when he hunts. But in his human form ( or through the translations through B ), when it comes to tutoring his children / other kids of the pack and just other people in general, he gets a little short tempered. He’d never lash out, but he becomes easily frustrated. He often forgets that what might be super simple and easy for him can be extremely complicated for others ( read: his idea of a good time could reduce me to tears ).

3 secrets

He sucks at communication, but he’s not as big of an asshole as he presents himself as. He used to get beaten up all the time at school and that whole population treated him like crap, so being on the defensive and being a sarcastic, bitter d-bag is a defense mechanism and the only one he has in his human form. If you can break through his five billion layers of wall, he is a soft bean that’s just been through a lot of struggles in his life.

He thinks about hurting, even killing his dad a lot. His past isn’t something he’s open about ( unless you’re Blaez ) and he’d really rather forget the guy exists ( or even his life pre-curse was ever real because its strengthened him in so many ways tbh ) because he’s got such a better life now, curse aside, but he also believes he’ll never be completely free of Vincent’s chains until the bastard ceases to exist. When he has bad mental days / nights, he has his moments where he expects the guy to randomly appear to do what he always used to do and a part of Seb wishes he did so he can take the fucker down.

Because I can’t think of anything super specific for this last point I could pretty much say him as a person because like, he’s something of an enigma as a whole. Doesn’t say much, when he does speak he speaks in a way that leaves heaps up to the imagination, always has something of a super harsh or vague expression because bird’s don’t emote. He’s just a big ol’ mystery if you don’t have the patience to let him trust you so you can actually get to know him.

3 fears

Ya boy has a big fear of abandonment / being forgotten! And he also fears being forgotten and also being in an abusive relationship ( platonically speaking, as he knows B wouldn’t hurt a fly ). He can / can’t recognise the signs ( it really depends on how long he’s spent around the other person ) and while he feels he’s mostly safe, there’s always that thought in the back of his mind that things can and will turn to shit when he least expects it.

He has a very rightful fear of owls. Like those birds move perfectly silently in the night and could easily take a hawk down while his eyes aren’t very useful and the lack of warm air makes flight more of a chore. If he sleeps in his territory as a bird, he’ll sleep on a branch as close to the trunk as possible and won’t move until sunrise. He feels people underestimate just how hard it is to survive his life but that really is a whole other post for another time.

He fears failure a lot to, whether it’s in his chosen fields of study or just in life generally. He was told he couldn’t do a lot of things as a teenager and while his curse does put a stopper in his tracks occasionally, he is completely driven to spit in the face of his father and not reaching his own goals makes him super frustrated.

3 goals

Not to quote that Cab song or anything, but he wants to live, not just survive. Bird life is hard and while he can juggle it with normal life ( depending on how dysphoric he is at the time ), he really does want to live his best life, whatever that may be.

He genuinely ( though also spitefully ) wants to do every single thing in the world, however big or small, that his father told him he never could or would.

The bird thing makes it hard as hell, but he does want to have a scientific breakthrough or some big achievement that he can have his name on and be recognised for it. He can’t really have a 9-5 career in the industry, but that’s his tiny little goal that would fulfil him the most.

[angedemystere]

Bagginshield headcanon fic: wedding ring gemstones

Gemstones are not required in Dwarven rings, but they are common enough that they’re worth considering when the king smiths a ring for his consort. If there is a gemstone, it must perfectly suit the future wearer like the rest of the design. Everyone agrees that it’s an important part of the courtship process and should take as long as needed to complete. But Thorin hates deliberating as much as he does. He is dissatisfied with his uncertainty as he scours over the vast stores of jewels that have been harvested and cut, mostly before Erebor’s fall. Gems never fade in quality from just lying in untouched, moldering carts. As the physical and cultural structures of the kingdom are restored, many returning folk are eager to exercise their crafts, including the jewelers and gem cutters. Thorin is more than pleased for them, but he’s also anxious about making good use of the functioning workshops to hunt down the appropriate stone for his future husband’s ring.

“I doubt Hobbits care much about the meanings behind them,” Balin says after a couple months of fruitless, frustrated searching. “Bilbo certainly doesn’t care. He’ll appreciate whatever you make him.”

Bilbo’s Hobbit nature and only burgeoning knowledge of Dwarven customs is no excuse for laziness. But Thorin does know when too much fretting tips his efforts into self-defeat--eventually. In time, he lets other duties distract him. The matter sits for nearly a month. The respite untangles the complications he’s made out the issue. It shouldn’t be so difficult to decide if a ruby or an emerald or a sapphire or a diamond deserves to sit on his beloved’s finger.

Like most personal matters, it comes down to one essential question. What truly reflects Bilbo’s character and importance to him? There’s an obvious answer--no one gemstone could capture the breadth of Thorin’s feelings or Bilbo’s beauty in heart and spirit.

The real answer comes in two parts.

Thorin sometimes seeks reflective solitude in the Hall of Kings. The reason might seem obvious, but in fact it has only partly to do with the statues of Thror and Thrain now at the far end of the room. It isn’t comfort but a sobering reminder that grounds him. There’s still the gold on the floor. Removal might be possible, but it would be an extensive process, one not presently demanding urgency. Silver might be a welcomed change to better match the white light falling from high above between Thorin’s father and grandfather.

The Arkenstone, he decided shortly after the battle for Erebor, should not return to the throne. Some Dwarves questioned this, naturally. Was it not his goal to reclaim it with the very throne it once adorned? In another state of mind, Thorin would want nothing less than to have the gleaming jewel above his gold-wreathed head. That gives him strong reason to resist the desire. And he does believe, with encouragement from all the Company, that the Arkenstone does not make him the King Under the Mountain. Even Dain has relented and promised his full support if any Dwarf lords make a stink about it. So the Arkenstone stands guard above Thorin’s predecessors. It feels more and more right. It isn’t his jewel. It belongs to his family. It will forever shine on this proud legacy, and it will forever recall to Thorin the dangers that sprout from unchecked pride in that legacy, and from the desperation to meet its merit. In this very room, Thorin nearly lost himself, and he found himself again. In the piercing, unforgiving reflection of the gold floor, he heard the voice that brought him back.

“Hello.”

A gasp leaves him even as he recognizes the speaker. A playful apology comes as Thorin turns to meet him.

“Hard not to give you a start when you’re in one of your reveries, though,” Bilbo continues. “If I get through to you at all.”

Thorin smiles. “You manage, somehow.”

“I do hope so.” He soon has Thorin’s arm in his hold, almost like he’s anchoring him so Thorin doesn’t slip into the past. “Is there anything you wish to discuss?”

By reflex, Thorin thinks he means matters about Erebor’s reconstruction. A list of topics runs through his head before he knows better. He sweeps a look around the room before answering. “I’m not troubled, exactly. But I’m still ... anxious, I suppose.”

“About anything in particular?” Bilbo offers to give him some direction. He’s patient, knowing, calm and steady.

“Many things,” Thorin admits with a scratchy laugh. Bilbo’s mild reprimand in his tilting head is answered with a raised eyebrow, followed by a more sincere half-smile. “If I’m a little anxious, I take that as a sign I’m doing the best I can to be worthy of this crown.”

Bilbo brushes some hair underneath that crown--silver and more understated than its predecessor--before giving one of Thorin’s braids a gentle tug. “You’re allowed to be king and be at peace, you walnut.”

“You’re living proof of that,” Thorin teases.

“Hah. I’ll turn your whole head gray in a couple years.”

“Then it will match my crown.”

With a frown that tries to be truly annoyed, Bilbo grips the large hand that makes his own dainty in comparison. One of Thorin’s rings catches the soft light from the Arkenstone. Bilbo regards it with unsettled feelings. Thorin follows his sight-line and waits for him to speak.

“Up there, it looks rather pleasant,” Bilbo delivers dryly.

“I agree,” Thorin says, more lighthearted. “Like one of the stars that Durin the Deathless saw above his head when he awoke.”

Bilbo hums and absently strokes Thorin’s fingers, utterly unaware. Thorin’s pulse jumps a little happily at the chance to watch his beloved in his own reverie. His pensive scowl pulls at the lines of his face but brings out the strength of his stare. Such a stare, full of depths Thorin would never have seen in that cozy, warm domicile Bilbo once called home.

His thoughts run in a few directions. Perhaps there and then they realize they’ve hit on a gem of an epiphany. Consciously, though, Thorin only thinks of Bilbo’s dark, lovely eyes, then of the Arkenstone with radiance that’s both divine and deceptive.

Two days later, Thorin is taken by the inclination to visit the gem cutters’ workshop again. He warns himself not to look for anything in particular. If Mahal wishes it, the answer will make itself known. It might help being preoccupied by the most recent diplomatic meeting with Bard and his advisers from Dale. They still have much to negotiate, especially the pricing of goods on both sides. Bilbo threw in his own opinion, that they should err on the side of generosity. A fine sentiment for Hobbits, many Dwarf lords said, not entirely kindly, but they could not be expected to adopt Hobbit customs.

Dwarves are who they are, and they value their crafts very highly. Mahal instilled this love of precious metals and stones and the desire to fashion them into the most beautiful workmanship. It would be wrong to deny this simply to appease to a neighboring kingdom. Yet Thorin reflects on what the opposite extreme can effect. He recalls his own words when he was certain death was upon him: If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place.

No, Dwarves are not Hobbits. But he, a Dwarven king, loves a Hobbit and has learned much from him. Wisdom and courage, blended in measure. He will find some fair measure with these trade deals. Yes, even with the Elves of Mirkwood, Durin help him.

These thoughts tread through his mind as he treads through the workshop, attentive enough not to be in the way of the laborers so devotedly engrossed in their work. Not but a minute or two after his musings have moved on from the above point, a box of black gems snatches his eye. Not the blackness itself, but what catches the light within it. Thorin’s heart jumps. His feet stop. He respectfully but intently leans over the shoulder of the Dwarrowdam. She’s holding one of the gems, and he asks her about them. She has only to answer a few questions before he knows he’s found the answer. He wonders if he’s known for even longer.

Thorin asks Bilbo for a private audience almost a week later. They meet in the Hall of Kings, beside one of the pillars so they will not be surprised by anyone. He will make a formal presentation when the ring meets Bilbo’s entire approval. Custom allows any dwarf to consult the wishes of his spouse-to-be once a prototype is made. Bilbo, ever practical, insists that he does not demand perfection, that it matters more for Thorin to not lose sleep over an impossible ideal. Thorin nods, wise enough to respect his good sense while determined to take whatever pains necessary to please him. Still, he didn’t resist placing the ring in a little box and having Bilbo open it. For all his repeated assures that alterations can be easily done, Bilbo doesn’t pay it mind. He’s too busy gaping for close to a minute before even saying a word. That has to be a first.

“It’s stunning!” he finally proclaims. He fixes a narrowed eye on the stone. “I’ve never seen a jewel like this.”

“I’d quite forgotten it myself,” Thorin says. He scoops up Bilbo’s other hand and leads him to the middle of the hall so the light can dance on the stone. Another gasp leaves Bilbo. He sees now what Thorin saw in the gem-cutters’ workroom. When he holds the ring at a favorable angle, any light--from torch or lantern or starry jewel high above--the heart of the black deep flares into a rainbow.

“It’s a black opal,” Thorin says.

“Goodness! It’s quite mysterious. Why did you choose it?”

“The gemstone represents the character of the wearer and what he means to the giver.”

Bilbo smiles with a little mischief. “So this is how you see me? I must be quite the enigma.”

“In many ways, you remain so, and I cherish it.” Thorin needs only one hand to cup Bilbo’s wrist, but holds the ring-bearing hand with both of his. “At first, a black opal may appear to be a simple black stone. When we first met, you were, to me, just as plain and inscrutable. I underestimated your worth. But in time, and often in my darkest moments, your brilliance and beauty shined through.”

“Oh,” Bilbo grumbles, trying not to appear moved, though he swallows and struggles to hold Thorin’s gaze.

Thorin likes his Hobbit brash, yet it’s all the more satisfying when he is bashful, and grumpy over being bashful. But he has hopes for yet another reaction. “Look at the inscription inside the band,” he says.

Bilbo slips off the ring. Indeed, there are runes carved in a minute hand. He has studied runes enough to read them. These translate into Westron, so it does not take long for him to glean the message.

“For my ... greatest treasure, a light ... oh. A light ...” The words stop up Bilbo’s throat, no matter how he tries to clear it.

“For my greatest treasure,” Thorin says smoothly. He doesn’t need to read the words. “A light in the darkness.” He keeps holding and faintly brushing Bilbo’s fingers. “So, what do you think?”

Bilbo blinks, slightly shakes his head, still wrapping it around what he’s been given. He tries to hold the reins of his facial expressions, and does it fairly well. That’s why Thorin nearly falls forward when Bilbo grabs his collar and drags him down into a kiss. 

“Forget what I said about not wanting perfection,” he mutters after a long wordless embrace.

Thorin doesn’t doubt that anyone passing anywhere near the Hall of Kings can see him being claimed in another kiss. Any worries about propriety, witnesses and modifications can wait.

[mallory-michael-langdon]

my beginning and end, started with you

(AN:  I might revise this whole thing later, but I feel like this chapter came out pretty decently. Also, @natalielivesformusic I know you wanted to be tagged so here you go! 😊)

Chapter 2

2018 December

Michael Langdon was an interesting specimen.  The boy-no, the man was more intelligent than he let on.  He could fool you, with his charming smile and the seemingly innocent guise he hid beneath but Mallory knew a brittle mask when she saw one. Could see the cracks in his demeanor, the sudden bouts of melancholy and brooding.  He kept a small notepad, with a hardcover in which he spent endless hours writing in, only God knows what.  But he was intent on letting his thoughts and plans seep by way of ink and paper.

But when he wasn’t confined to his room, pacing back and forth whilst his mind drifted and mused, he was in the lobby or cafeteria exercising his mind with board games, Mallory as his partner of choice.  He always insists and she can’t help but feel he’s testing her, weighing her merits and finding her wanting.  Still, she played along to his games, more out of pity than anything else.  After all, this would only be for a moment, before she leaves the hospital, then California altogether.

He has somehow managed to coil himself around her daily routine.  Of waking up in the morning and freshening herself in the women's restroom, brushing her teeth with a toothbrush and toothpaste from the Rite Aid down the street before heading to breakfast in the cafeteria, only to find him sitting there, waiting for her with a nice board game from the children’s sector.  

He’d initiated their companionship, true, but she had taken him up on the offer.  And she admits, she does enjoy her time with him.  It is very lonely in the day when no one has a reason to call her, and even lonelier at night.  When the lights shut off, and only the pale moonlight that manages to peak through the curtains give her comfort. This is how it must feel to be old, she thinks, the last of the last, a pitiful scion, and it makes sense why some would like to die young and beautiful.  

She couldn't imagine someone like Michael, as beautiful as he is, old and frail and alone, on his cold deathbed. She could see him, however, in a pool of his own blood, steaming and fresh or maybe no blood at all.  Maybe a bottle of pills and a side of alcohol, how the youth are wont to die these days. He’d be immortal in death, forever young.  

How he got in here anyways is still beyond her. Her imagination ran wild when it came to it.  Sometimes she just sits and ponders on the scar on his right side when she’s bored enough but she never has the courage to pry the truth from him.

The nurses ask why she doesn't just leave and come back when it’s time to pick up her mother, but Mallory refuses to leave the woman’s side.  Not when she’d been so close to death, and was barely alive now.  Mallory was content with sleeping on the stiff cushioned couch beneath the thin cotton and woolen covers the staff gave her if it meant she could keep her mother safe and above all else alive.

She called Cordelia, letting her know that she'll return soon enough but the Supreme was in no hurry to rush her, forever an understanding and patient woman.

Sleeping in the hospital has brought back every haunting memory that feels too strong, too real to just be a simple dream.  But depriving herself of sleep was a death sentence within itself, and so despite her reluctance, she slept.

The sky was grey, covered in thick clouds that rained ash.  The air was hot and humid, with a sting that watered the eyes, and infiltrated the lungs better than any cancer. Fallen debris and a thousand broken pieces of the grand foundations that once kissed the sky littered the ground, as soft as grass.  In the distance, fires raged and so did chaos in the streets that remained. Screams rose higher and higher, before going still.  A tree stood proudly, with a dark, sweet fruit, while a murder of crows and ravens hovered around it, taking their share. It was disquieting, but she found the sight beautiful.  That amidst all the madness, joy could still be found, life could still be cherished.

“I’d rather chase them away and take the fruit for myself.” the boy said suddenly, a sneer marring his beautiful face.  They sat on the ruined ground, shoulder to shoulder.  She in white and he in black.

Once upon a time, that response would have startled her, but she’d long grown used to it.  Michael wasn't a good person, she wasn't daft enough to believe otherwise no matter how much she tried to find that dying light.

“Would you at least leave the rotten fruit behind for someone else to eat?”

The boy chuckled, eyes heavy with a particular glint as he gazed on at the tree. “No.  Why would I do that?  When you can just…” he waved toward her nonchalantly. “Make them fresh again, maybe even make something new.”

“Would you share, at least?  If you were full and there was more left?”  Michael looked at her then, his stare long and hard, sultry and intent.

“I would share with you Mallory.”  Michael wasn't a good person, but he wasn't bad either.

Mallory woke to the sound of beeping machines and faint breathing. Sounds she had long grown used to. It was still night, the hospital quiet and nearly void of life. She leaned up on her elbows, the couch dipping in response, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark. And became paralyzed with fear at the figure that stood at the corner of the room.  She could see it's-his shape, lean and tall, staring dead at her. Could feel his gaze carved into her skin.

The amygdala part of the brain settled into a deep freeze, to unstable to fight or flight after waking from the cusp of sleep.  Her tongue might as well have shriveled up and rolled to the back of her throat to because she could not speak.  What would she say anyhow to the stranger that was steadily making his way to her? The air was thick, sweet and rotten like a batch of roses. It made her head feel as if it were stuffed with wool.

She felt a hand gently grab her arm, a new weight shifting on the couch, a cool and heat hovering above her. “Mallory?” She let out a shaky exasperated breath, not quite sure if she should be relieved yet. It was just Michael.  Mallory knows his voice well, has heard it long enough to know whom it belongs to, both in life and sleep.

“W-what are you doing in here Michael? It's too late to play games.” she was all too aware of his hand lingering on her arm.

“But I had a bad dream,” he reasoned. “And I don't want to go back to sleep.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

He flinched at the harshness of her voice.

“I don't want to be alone, and you're the only one I can go to.”

Her disposition softened, vexation and fear fading away.

“Come with me,” he said, letting go of her arm, fingers trailing down her skin to take her hand. The second time their hands have ever touched. Something happened then, a feeling like no other, cold and warm, electrifying even. Something that persuaded her to go, in spite of everything that screamed in her head, that warned her not to.

They raced down the dimly lit halls, he in black combat boots, she in sandals. Holding hands all the while, as he pulled her along. She couldn't help but stare at their joined hands or bite back the comfort it gave her, the sense of familiarity.

It was strange to feel this way. She vaguely recalls ever having feelings for a boy, ever wanting to be around one or one wanting to be around her. A stolen kiss beneath a tree, one that tasted of the cotton candy from the Orange County Fair aunt Val had dropped them off at. This was different, however, more than just a high school crush, perhaps nothing romantic at all.  It was deeper than that, something spiritual, a bond old and true and ancient.

They raced up a flight of stairs, taking two steps at a time. “Where are we going?” She asked breathlessly but thrilled for the first time in a long time. It didn't matter that her thighs stung and chest burned, or that she could barely keep up.

“You’ll see.” Was his only response.

They went to the stars, the sky, and the moon. All from the flat surfaced roof of the hospital, a wide and extensive hard granite.  Side by side, for there was no other way to take it in. They gazed longingly at the heavens for hours, brushing off the cold and discomfort in favor of looking on. She could feel his hard lean body beside her, the energy that flowed in waves, both light, and dark. Grey. And her?  There was a heat of excitement, of desire to be around him, one that hadn't been there before. Ready to combust like a dying star.  He was beautiful beneath the pale moonlight, the moonglow painting his skin an eerie white and hair a startling silver, eyes a bright crystal blue.  No man should be this beautiful, this innocent. A twisted enigma of good and bad, right and wrong.  And she knows the bad is there, the wrong lurking beneath his well-practiced facade, she just has yet to see it.

Is he like me? Pretending to be something he’s not? An imposter stealing another's life?  There was a girl buried beneath the magic, the powerful light that consumed her. The real girl, a normal girl, the true owner of this vessel Mallory inhabits. The human half that people so rarely see. It is her life that Mallory leads and sometimes she wonders if she should let go and let that girl fully take over.

“Where are you from Michael?” The question could have meant anything. Sometimes she wishes the wings on her back would return to her, no matter how ugly and big and obnoxious, just to touch the sky and dance with the stars. Just to go home.

He doesn't respond, just looks down at his hands, too ashamed to tell her. But she has an inkling. Can tell by the way he smells, how cold his skin is, as cold as a corpse. How his eyes darken to a deep onyx when frustrated. Or maybe it was all in her head and she was having one of her moments again, projecting her own fears and insecurities onto him.

“Nowhere.”  

She hearkened, leaning closer to listen, fixating her eyes onto him.

“I’m from nowhere. I have no one to go back to, not really. I’m alone, I live alone.” that was all he dined to say. He looked fit to cry, voice filled with pain and bitterness, and her chest twisted at the sight. For all that Mallory has been moved about all her life, she has always had a place to go, someone to turn to. Who did Michael have?  ‘You’re the only one I can go to’.

“The thing you did the other day, with the ball,” she started. “You know that wasn't normal right? Maybe you're a witch...no, a warlock.  I know there’s a school somewhere, that’ll take you in. Teach you and train you.” She recalls Miss Cordelia speaking on them briefly, the male counterpart to witches.

More silence followed, his dilated eyes never leaving the sky. They were filled with spite almost. As if he were ready to curse God himself. What did he see that she didn't? We live in the same world, and yet see two different things when we look at the stars, she thought.  

“Can you teach me, Mallory?” He asked suddenly. “Teach me what you do?”

“You mean magic?”

He looked at her then, lips pursed and eyes sharper than steel and as hard as granite. “I mean everything.” the words left no room for discussion.

lust. i

In the beginning, the one thing Michael liked most about Mallory, was that she didn't want to change him, not really.  No, she only sought to understand him, and that in of itself lit a path on a long dark road.  Her essence was enough to draw the light out of him, without her even trying to, and it was entirely up for him to decide what to do with it.

It was hard not to be drawn to her, for her beauty was otherworldly when she was in her true form, a girl-child composed of inhumane loveliness. Her wings were the most entrancing, the way they’d open up when she was excited or happy, how warm they were when wrapped around him during the coldest nights. Mallory had been his friend, his companion. The only one who truly understood.  They were both vessels put on this earth, to be used at the whims of their gods.  People loved the idea of them, but not them.  Mallory was going to be the savior to conqueror darkness and Michael was going to be the darkness that brought the end of days. Their lives have been led by prophecies, even when they were completely oblivious to them, and in the end, they’d bring about each other's downfall.  The irony, that a bond would be formed between the champions of light and darkness, of god and devil.  How their masters roared in protest, their fathers raging at the rebellion of two kindred spirits together alas. This had defied everything they had wanted, had blown every piece off of their chess board.  No longer were Michael and Mallory their little pawns, weapons in a feud that has gone on for a thousand years, long before he and she came about.

Something had had to be done, the irony, that in separating their children, god and the devil had come together on that one little thing. She was there for a moment, and then she was gone.  Mallory, his angel, his light.

For all that it was a few months for him, he’d felt every year that drifted by without her ever caring to remember him.  They’d forged a bond that exceeded the laws of time itself, that transcended the bounds of space, and she had left her end cold, had let her god win when Michael had tried to fight back against his. Had left him in an alliance that couldn't simply be broken. He was hers and she was his, and they were a being in and of itself.  She had no right, no right.

Even in his star gazed fascination of her, he’d wanted to corrupt that light, that blind faith, had wanted to taint her, to put the seed of darkness in her as she’d put the fruit of life in him.  And in all those years, those long years, he’d been with her how she’d been with him.

A presence that she had yet to identify, the drop of ink that stained her white conscious.  Every horrible thought, every ounce of anger and bitterness was his own, manifested into her.  In truth, those intrusive thoughts had always been there, more of the world's fault than his, but he was the match that ignited every moment of passion.  The rage, the lust, the envy.

He’d been there when she shared her first kiss with another.  The things that they did, the stolen moments they had beneath the stars,  lost in wild abandon in Mallory’s clumsy attempts to be reckless had been at Michael’s own command, little seedlings he’d planted in her head.  She’d never see him, but oh was his presence strong.  He had made himself suffer and watch, had felt every touch. Every wet sloppy kiss, the hand that was slowly edging its way further and further up her thigh and to the soft cotton lining of her panties.  And when the suffering was too much to bare he’d put the thought into her head to strike the boy hard and red, with a force not entirely her own.

He’d loved her and hated her all at once.  Had thought how it’d feel to wrap his strong hands around her delicate little neck and squeeze and squeeze until he heard that satisfying sickening crunch. Michael Langdon was a jealous man. Yes, he knows he influenced her, he made her do it, had put those wanton thoughts in her head, yes yes. But the satisfaction of corrupting her, little by little made up for it.

He’d been there when she set her... father aflame.  And why shouldn’t she have? The man wasn't her real father anyhow, just some lowly scum who succumbed to drinking and raping his wife.  How the man's blood must've burned to know that another had laid with her, an angel she claimed.  Michael had understood him almost, but that empathy had ended when it came to Mallory. Why shouldn't she have gotten angry, why shouldn't she have defended herself, why shouldn’t she have been cruel when the man was cruel to her? Because it was a sin? Because it was morally wrong and she should have turned the other cheek and the man was her father and, oh did he love her once?  Michael pissed on that, in fact, he had helped her start the flame.

That house had been just as deadly as the one he still dwelled in.  Christ this and Christ that, it was fucking with her mind.  She was crumbling, he saw it, felt it.  A monster, she had called herself, a monster of all things, because of her most beautiful feature that the world would have her feel ashamed of.  Her mother was a raging lunatic, a fanatic, waiting to use Mallory for some divine godly plan, waiting to sacrifice her own daughter for the sake of a world that’d sooner tear her protective wings to shreds. And the man Mallory called father was a drunken fool, a madman, it was only a matter of time before her “father” would start looking at her the way he looked at her mother. It had been time to set her free.  Of course, no good deed goes unpunished, but it was a small price to pay. The attack had happened, when his astral body left his physical one to go visit his angel.  

That bitch, mother, wouldn't have dared tried it had he been awake, but she caught him unaware, in a deep stupor, and he’d woken to the feel of a sharp pain on his side.  He had brought the flames back with him when he woke and there was hell to pay.  

Michael had made a deal with his father, his true father, many oaths and vows that intersected the other.  If he could have Mallory, if Michael could have his angel, he’d bring destruction to the world, to humanity. Sup on the hearts of innocents. He’d start a thousand wars, set off a thousand bombs. He’d dry the seven seas and leave the fish to rot and stew in the air, he’d freeze the earth twice over before turning it into flame and ash, he’d travel to the depths of the world, to the very ends of hell and tear it all asunder if it meant he could have her, if it meant he could get back to her.  And he’d be the king of ashes, the prince of darkness, building a world anew out of chaos and destruction and every deadly sin there is if only she could rule it by his side.  It was their future, their destiny, their fate,  he knew it was because they had gone and saw for themselves.

Life is hell but heaven is a place on Earth with you, he thought with want and longing.  Mallory was still Mallory, even in her physical form. Dressed in a white summer dress with long lace sleeves, golden highlights in her brown hair that complemented her dark hazel eyes. It was truly meant to be, he and her, him and she, together. What were the likes that'd he’d find her here, of all the places? Tending to her mother, using her power, her light to bring the undeserving woman back. He knew it was her, had felt it in the air, and when he saw her in person for the first time in a very long time he saw a brief glimpse of her true form, the white angel. Apart of Michael was frightened of the power she wielded, afraid of what that meant for the world he wished to wrought havoc upon.  But he knew better now.  They’d make a new world together. She’d bring life anew, beings of her own creation and he’d destroy the ones that weren't needed, burn away all the hypocrisy and lies, create a new set of laws and do away with the old ones.  

She was the sun and he the moon, and when they held hands his soul felt fit to soar right out of his body in glee.  This is how it was meant to be, but now it was steadily coming to an end again, separated once more.

Mallory has been with him, ever since that night on the rooftop, their bond rekindled.  It was to the point that she sought him out, talked to him about everything and nothing at all.  And he was content on listening to her speak, could listen to her go on for hours on end.  The fear, the reluctance had melted away like dew and he had his friend again.  She taught him what she could, in the little time they had.

He scribbled idly in his book beneath the writings, the poems, and drawings of his imagination and dreams, all of them about his destiny.  Sometimes he even took the bus to the nearby junkyard, filled with rusted metals and broken relics that he could piece back together, and he always scribbled down his designs and thoughts. The pen twisted violently on the thin lined paper, waning under the pressure and heavy ink.  

“So...Michael was your name right?” the woman spoke. A tall and athletic woman, the complete opposite of Mallory and yet the two were related, and above all else close. Val wore her hair up in a messy styled bun, hair a dirty blonde and eyes a penetrating blue.  She wore simple and bland colors, black pencil skirts and white blouses, a grey blazer or a trench coat depending on the weather.  Her looks were sharp and strong instead of soft and delicate, and he could only guess she was the runt of the litter when it came to Mallory’s brown haired and hazel eyed family.  The woman has been coming in for the past few days, the second week of Mallory’s stay, checking up on her niece and was disgruntled whenever she saw him around.  She tried to put on a sweet smile, but she failed in that endeavor, her face was too dominant for that.

In truth, Michael actually liked her personality.  Blunt and straightforward, no nonsense whatsoever.  Could probably command an army if she wanted.  He just didn't need her commanding an army against him, or staring at him like some strange insect newly discovered.

He nodded his head and she smiled one of her tight smiles in response.

“You two are friends correct?” she folded her arms, looming over him.  He sat on the cushioned couch, where he had been talking to Mallory about spells and hidden covens hours before the woman arrived.  Now Mallory was downstairs, checking out with her barely conscious mother. She’d been expecting her grandmother, and was just as surprised as he was when the blond haired woman popped up out of the blue.

He nodded again, clenching his jaw.

“Oh, how long have you two known each other?”

Michael pondered on whether he should nod again or speak. He chose the latter. “For years.”

“You have other friends?” she countered.

“She’s my only friend.”

She wanted to say more but before she could Mallory walked in, breathless. Val smiled at her niece.  “The nurse is waiting downstairs with mom. I filled out the paperwork and everything.”

“Good. Are you ready to go, Mally?” Michael tried not to cringe at the nickname.

Mallory looked hesitant to respond, eyes flickering between him and Val. The woman didn't miss a beat.

“Michael, isn't today your check out day as well?  Perhaps we can give you a ride home young man.  Wouldn't that be nice, Mally? Maybe even invite him over for dinner.” she spoke, eyes sheening with a hidden intent. “You two are old friends, aren't you?”

Mallory smiled, oblivious to her aunt ’s sickly sweet words. “Yeah! I mean, if Michael’s cool with it.” she looked at him, almost pleadingly. And it was hard to say no, to refuse her anything with those deep magnetic pools of gold.

[moodring89]

Espresso Marmalade CH.2

Pairing:  Taehyung / Yoongi (ft. side Jikook) Rated: M / NC-17 Genre: BDSM!AU Tags: Dom!Yoongi, Sub!Tae, Shibari, Master/Slave, Canes, Impact Play       Summary: Jeongguk was more eager to get inside the club, taking long strides to the set of black steel doors. It was the younger’s idea to bring Taehyung to Void. Seoul’s first fetish house, an upscale BDSM parlor that was legally permitted and licensed. Or the one where Tae’s a meek virgin who catches the eye of Void’s most popular dom. Previous chapters: 01

- Problem with the layout? Read on ao3 here.

A/N: Uh…so, first of all, THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to comment, kudos, subscribe, and bookmark this story. I’m not at all used to having such a big response to my work. I usually write het stories with side bl, but my friend challenged me to write a full bl, and that was how this story came about, and I was super pessimistic about it. I thought no one would like it, but you guys kind of popped the bubble to that belief. As far as my writing schedule goes, I never know how long a chapter will take for me to write. If it’s rushed, then it runs the chance of being sloppy, which I don’t want to do to you, ever. I don’t think I’m particularly fast at getting chapters out and I’m sorry for that...I like writing long chapters and this story requires lots of research. Thank you all for being patient with me though. I wouldn’t mind making friends, either! I always follow back, so please don’t be shy: tw Extra note: This is a JiKook heavy chapter. COME NOW. THEY DESERVED IT. Just know that you will never get a chapter with Jikook like this again. Thank you @Bangtan_Trashbag and Melissa for pushing me, beta-ing. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Two: A Rabbit's Heart It was halfway through Professor Min’s lecture that the reality of the situation had fully started to sink in. Sugar was Yoongi, Yoongi was now taking over one of the most important Art History courses of Taehyung’s precious student career. He loathed the idea of it, completely and wholly, as he watched Yoongi go on about 12th century France, pouring so much passion into articulating the beauty of Gothic churches. He especially hated how attractive it was that Yoongi knew so much about his world, and yet Taehyung still knew so very little about anything else. The class ended with no homework being assigned. No mentions of an exam – just lazy, lazy nonsense. Professor Jung would have had the students groaning by now, save for Taehyung, because he actually enjoyed homework. Unfortunately, his fellow classmates ate Professor Min up like he was a damn buffet, falling into his many examples of how the Christian faith was cultivated through the power of art. Everyone appeared to be sipping the Kool-Aid, except for Taehyung, because he knew that there was a monster in their midst. They just didn’t know any better.   He shoved his belongings inside his bag, the note section of his book completely blank, since he’d been unable to pay attention long enough to jot down anything useful. Or maybe it was the fact that he was paying too close attention to Yoongi, that he’d forgot all about it. Several times he found himself distracted by the way the professor’s mouth drew into a deep pout, like he was frowning around every syllable. The professor even smiled at one point. It was unreasonably gummy and so big that it reached his eyes, which caused Taehyung to momentarily forget himself, and who he was dealing with. “Ridiculous,” Taehyung muttered at the memory of it, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and was about ready to head straight for the doors, when he heard his name being called. Typical. It was fucking typical.   Yoongi glanced at him from behind his glasses, “Can I see you for a minute?” It wasn’t really a request – Taehyung knew this, as he took his time walking towards the professor’s desk. The room was emptied out, leaving just the two of them. Great. The elder was hunched over a mountain of paperwork, attempting to retrace Professor Jung’s steps, not wanting to divert from the original lesson plan. Taehyung waited a good two to three minutes in silence, before he decided to break it, “Professor?” The title of respect was sour on his tongue, leaving its aftertaste twice as bitter. “I’m sure that I don’t have to tell you that my working at Void is to remain hushed,” Yoongi said, as he peered up at him then, boring his dark penetrative eyes through Taehyung’s – holding him very, very still. “Can you do that for me, Taehyung? Can you stay hushed?” “You shouldn’t put me in a situation where I would have to keep one of your secrets, professor. It’s irresponsible of you and it’s also wrong,” Taehyung said, deciding to be perfectly candid about it. He was never any good at keeping quiet over something he felt strongly about and right now, the current situation begged to be screamed out loud to all his friends. Then he briefly wondered if Yoongi had to have this talk before. How did he make sure they stayed silent?   The professor chuckled, softly – endeared, because he’d expected Taehyung’s answer to go exactly like this. However, he felt that he had nothing to worry about when it came to the younger, knowing a good boy when he saw one. He leaned back against the old leather chair, allowing the silence to fester for a few more seconds, before he finally responded, “Fair enough. It wasn’t my intention to offend you, Taehyung.” ‘Taehyung…’ He wanted to swiftly end Jeongguk for saying his name the other night, although Yoongi would have found it out eventually, but it seemed like the professor was saying it purposefully, and intimately…   He sighed, feigning disinterest, “Can I leave now?” “No, Taehyung. You may not,” Yoongi said, tearing his eyes away from the boy’s face to instead take in Taehyung’s ensemble more closely. If he could manage Taehyung, dress him up in whatever he pleased, the possibilities would be endless. The first thing he’d do away with was that purple scarf. It was the same one from the other night. Yoongi pointed to it, voice practically dripping with sarcasm when he asked, “Do you have some sort of unhealthy attachment to that thing?” That ‘thing’ was a handmade gift from Taehyung’s grandmother �� the last gift, to be more precise. Taehyung missed her so often that he rarely parted with it, even in the summer it was always in plain sight. Sometimes when he was nervous, he’d run his fingers over the knots, envisioning her working on it.   Releasing a shaky breath, Taehyung was visibly hurt, shooting the professor a glare, “What does that fucking matter to you?” Oh…The formalities were lost to them at that point. Yoongi much preferred it that way, honestly. Fiery, beautiful boys like Taehyung with tears clinging to their lashes tended to be a weakness of his, and Taehyung was the easy kill.   “You know,” Yoongi started, taking a thoughtful pause, voice lower and raspier than usual due to the long lecture. “That scarf is just the right length.” It took Taehyung a moment to realize what Yoongi had meant by that and the only conclusion he’d come down to would leave him furious if he was correct. He would need the professor to elaborate more, “Right length for what, exactly?” “Well, it’s the right length to keep you all nice and warm,” he mused, while standing up from his desk. Yoongi hadn’t failed to notice the way the boy tensed at this, as though he was on high alert. Taehyung was truly exquisite, reacting with such uncertainty, and yet he was still so curious – hanging onto every little thing that Yoongi said or did. Taehyung was already the ideal submissive. He just didn’t know it yet. Yoongi was shameless, as he continued, “It’s also the perfect length to do a simple over-arm tie. There might even be some scarf left to walk you around like a puppy dog.” “Stop talking. Just fucking stop,” Taehyung murmured, still trying to recover from the fact that Yoongi suggested using his grandmother’s handmade scarf as a perverse prop. He licked his bottom lip out of habit, eyes steadying on Yoongi’s – even if it sounded less convincing, even to himself, he tried, “I would never let you.” Yoongi was careful with every step, slow, and so very careful. He wasn’t trying to frighten Taehyung away, not when fate presented him with another opportunity. Taehyung had made a fatal mistake back at Void – he’d allowed himself to be seen, seen to an extent where Yoongi saw every little bit of him. There was desire there, a tangible and desperate cry for help, and Yoongi wanted to do just that, he wanted to answer him. He wanted to save Taehyung, before he falls deeper into misunderstanding himself. “You shouldn’t let me do anything,” Yoongi said, stopping once he was standing directly in front of his student. With their differences in height, the elder had to crane his neck just to be able to stare at him. “Submit to me first, Taehyung. Consent to me.” Taehyung’s lashes fluttered at the words, decidedly pretty – Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed at the thick lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he’d meant the next stream of words to spill out, reacting without fear of any real consequence, “If you bring this up to me again, I won’t hesitate reporting you to the Dean. I’m sure he’d love to know that there’s a sick fuck parading around as a professor.” The elder’s lips twitched into a smirk at that, giving Taehyung a long, heavy look of ‘oh, please’ that let him know that he knew – Yoongi fucking knew that he was bluffing. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, dark eyes tracing over Taehyung while under the bright overhead lighting. Imperfections were meant to be seen and exposed, but perhaps Yoongi was a bit biased, in the fact that the boy didn’t seem to have any. Taehyung was an enigma consisting of suntanned skin in the middle of winter, two gorgeous almond shaped eyes, and a highly kissable Cupid’s bow. Three dark freckles stood out like focal points, one on his waterline, another on the tip of his well-round nose, and the other on his bottom lip. There was an old scar on his cheek that was paler in contrast, which only made it stand out more. Yoongi was intrigued by it and the fact that no matter how murderous Taehyung could appear when glaring, no matter how angry, there were still flecks of warmth, and innocence, and perhaps it was that innocence that Yoongi found to be most erotic. “I…” Taehyung started saying, when one of his classmates knocked on the doorframe, interrupting them. Yoongi could have thrown the little prick out a window, watching as Taehyung startled, and clung tighter to his bag. He then bowed deeply to Yoongi in some fruitless attempt to ease any suspicion. “Thanks for the advice, professor.” Yoongi folded his arms in irritation, charcoal eyes following Taehyung, until he was out the door. He snapped his teeth, “Anytime.” Hoseok was waiting at their usual spot by the leaky water fountain. Jeongguk always took a few extra minutes in his Photography class to pack up his camera equipment. This time Taehyung was the one who was late, met with a glare from his starving hyung, and a confused smile from Jeongguk. It took everything in Taehyung not to just explode about Yoongi, but it would be better to unleash once they were all sitting down. “I thought I was gonna have to eat our little Jeonggukie,” Hoseok grumbled, as he pressed himself off the wall to start heading towards the cafeteria. This was the first time Taehyung had seen Hoseok since his visit to Void, remembering all of what Jeongguk told him. The line was short, given how late Taehyung was, the three of them plucking food from under the heating lamps. Then they sat, taking the first few bites in silence. “Why were you late today, hyung?” Jeongguk asked with a mouth full of jjiggae. Next to him, on top of his camera bag, his phone started going off, to which he ignored. It was like he’d grown immune to it, easily droning out the noise.   “The professor had me stay after,” Taehyung said, picking apart his food into an artless deconstruction. He really wasn’t all that hungry, not after his encounter with Yoongi.   “Oh, I heard about poor Professor Jung.” There was a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, Hoseok’s, as the elder leaned in, teasing his words against his ear. “I know he was your favorite. Guess you gotta hang onto your innocence for a little while longer.” Taehyung shrugged him off, but not before Hoseok could press a kiss to his cheek, “What the fuck is your problem?” “How’s the substitute?” It was Jeongguk’s way of prolonging Hoseok’s death. “I know he’s not Professor Jung, but they wouldn’t hire just anyone to fill his shoes. He’s a legend.” Taehyung wanted to laugh at the irony. “Oh, it definitely wasn’t just anyone.” “Well, spill it,” Hoseok said, having already cleared his plate – still hungry. Jeongguk practically had to stave him off from stealing his banana. “Uh, shit, yeah, okay.” He had both of their attention now. Words were never all that difficult for Taehyung. “There’s really no other way to say this, but Sugar from Void is my professor now. Actually, it’s Min Yoongi. That’s his real name and he asked me not to tell anyone, but well, that’s impossible with you two, and I needed to be able to vent, so now you know.” Jeongguk turned to meet the slow look that Hoseok was casting him, their shared expressions blank, and unreadable. It was quiet for an appropriate duration, as it should be. Maybe now Taehyung could have a moment to himself, when – Hoseok was the first one to crack, giggling himself into a state of hysterics. Jeongguk soon joined him, pressing a hand to his stomach he was laughing so hard. Even his stupid bunny teeth were out on display, both their faces were scrunched up, and dumb – horrifically dumb looking. “Sweet fuck, you’re good,” Hoseok said, wiping the tears from the sides of his face. “Like, drop your major, and get into acting. Immediately.” “I’m not joking. He even dyed his hair black and he keeps his tattoos hidden.” Taehyung looked to Hoseok. “I heard about you, by the way. You’re into dommes?” Jeongguk paused, then. “Wait, hyung. You’re serious?” “As a heart attack.” Taehyung wished it was all just some cruel, twisted joke. Too bad that it wasn’t. “He’s my professor now and if you don’t believe me, then feel free to walk me to class tomorrow.” Hoseok sobered up some, no longer amused. “You told Tae about my time at Void?” “About the stiletto, all of it,” Taehyung said, waving it away like it didn’t matter, because at the end of the day, it didn’t. It changed nothing and it didn’t fix any of his problems. “Also, why in the hell aren’t you reacting to the fact that I went to a bdsm club?” The elder was beyond confused, still dwelling on Taehyung’s previous statement, “Because you’re still fucking straightedge and I’m so sorry for not being proud about that fact, but what about me and stilettos?” Jeongguk shook his head, trying to keep his banana inside his mouth. “It was nothing, hyung.” “Sure doesn’t sound like it was nothing. Did Jeongguk make a domme joke…” Hoseok asked, speaking in a tone that was painfully tart. “…at my expense?” He sighed, turning to Taehyung. “I went to see if I’d liked to be dom’d for a change. Turns out that I’m a perfectly healthy switch.” “Your coming out as bi speech was a bigger shock to us and even that was pretty mild,” Jeongguk murmured, when his phone went off again. This time he took the time to remove the battery.                           It made Taehyung feel uncomfortable, since he was inclined to believe that it was Jimin, and if so, what the fuck was his friend doing? Jeongguk was already in deep enough shit as it was and now the brat was ignoring his ‘master’. He couldn’t stop himself from being nosey, “Who keeps messaging you?” Hoseok nudged the youngest boy, “It’s him, right?” Jeongguk nodded, somewhat guiltily, “I told him I can’t see him until Friday. It kinda goes against our agreement, though.” “Are you avoiding him?” Taehyung asked, unable to look at his dongsaeng, even while Jeongguk was staring directly at him. He shrugged, “I’m just not in a rush.” Hoseok looked back and forth between them, “Okay. What the fuck did I miss?” A lot, Taehyung wanted to say and leave it at that, but he had no choice but to fill Hoseok in on every ridiculous detail about last week, from Taehyung being dragged inside the club to then later being hauled outside of it by Jeongguk. Hoseok kept quiet for once, only stopping to either laugh or to agree – agreeing that, yes, the drink menu was atrocious, and that Jeongguk was sorely fucked. And Taehyung felt responsible. “Alright, well, one thing is clear,” Hoseok said, pointing his spoon at Taehyung. “You’re like, just as fucked as Guk is, and I’d wish you luck, but I hope your Mary Poppins, umbrella wielding ass fails.” Jeongguk shook his head, stealing Hoseok’s phone to check the time. “I have to leave for a hair appointment in twenty-ish minutes.” “If you need a quick buzz, I can do it,” the elder offered, shrugging like it was no biggie, no big fucking deal.   “It’s not getting cut.” Jeongguk never did anything new with his hair, at least not in a long, long while. Taehyung was intrigued by this, “You’re getting it dyed?” Hoseok teased him, “Did you get permission from your master?” “Fuck his permission,” Jeongguk said and that was when Taehyung realized his friend’s poor defense mechanism, and grew more worried. The younger was apparently the type to make one mistake and then keep on going, because why stop there? Why do bad, when Jeongguk was capable of doing so much worse? Shit. It was one thing if Jeongguk never planned on returning to Void, but he did – so, what the fuck? Taehyung didn’t know much about the BDSM world and he knew even less about Jeongguk’s relationship with Jimin, but it felt wrong. Maybe if he was more of a friend and less of judgmental piece of shit, then he would be stopping Jeongguk, but he wasn’t. “I call dibs on your camera,” Hoseok said, already at peace with Jeongguk’s decision. Great. They parted ways after lunch was over, Taehyung taking his anti-social ass back to his dorm room. He declined Hoseok’s offer to watch him work on his choreo, because that could last forever, and ever. And it didn’t need to be said, but Jeongguk clearly wanted to be alone, even if he shouldn’t be left to his own devices. Taehyung slammed his hip into the door, shoving it open. He dropped his bag onto his bed. It was seldom that Taehyung had spare time. However, with what little Professor Min offered as studying materials, he had no other choice but to rest. He fired up his laptop, before digging into the fridge, knowing that it would take a good ten minutes for his desktop to fully load. It was an older model, but he couldn’t be bothered to replace it due to lack of income. Food was better than technology, anyway.   The scarf slid free from around his neck, the gradual pull causing him chills. He couldn’t help but think back to what Yoongi had said, about doing an over-arm tie. What was it? A shibari thing? He settled on a bag of stale chips and sat down in front of his laptop. It was ridiculous, waiting a whole five minutes for his browser to popup, just so that he could further look into what went through Yoongi’s mind. He typed ‘over-arm tie shibari’ into the search engine and let it run. He wasn’t particularly interested in looking at the websites or videos, only the images. There were many different ways of doing the tie, apparently, some more constricting, than others. This hardly satisfied Taehyung’s curiosity, since he had no idea how Yoongi would have done it or what the outcome would have even looked like. Pulling up another tab, he typed in Void. There was an official site, the page coming up in predictable colors of black and red. He snorted, reading over the flattering descriptions of the club’s ambiance, learning that there were themed rooms, which would explain the many left and right turns inside the hallway corridor. Taehyung was in no way interested in finding out what the Enchanted Forest room was like, no, not at all. There wasn’t a staff page, which kind of went hand-in-hand with protecting the identity of Void’s workers and attendees. The only photos provided were of the outside of the club and the lounge area, but it was empty. When he clicked to make an appointment, he found Sugar on the list with a similar description as his chalkboard, minus the middle finger. Out of curiosity, Taehyung checked the calendar to see how many bookings he currently had – whistling low, because holy shit. He was busy for the next two months. ‘Consent to me…’ A flash of pretty, black hypnotic eyes and soft, curvy lips damn near caught him off-guard. Did Yoongi say these things to everyone else? He had to of, right? ‘Submit to me…’ Did he already have other submissives under contract? Of course he did. It wasn’t as though Taehyung was special. Yoongi’s pursuit was just his fucked up way of pocketing another shiny new toy.   At the bottom of the page was a link that read, ‘Are You BDSM Curious? Take a test to find out your results’. Taehyung wasn’t curious, this was not curiosity, but he clicked on it anyway. Some form of homework had to be done this evening. The first page was pretty standard, but the quiz itself had him scoffing at every question. The percentage of completion was racking up, until he made it to the very end, and received his results. It seemed silly, because although he might’ve been intrigued by shibari, he was not a rope bunny. Not like Jeongguk or maybe not at all? Look – so, maybe he was a little bit curious. So what? He wasn’t about ready to go and do anything with that information. A notification on the right side of his taskbar slowly and jaggedly crawled its way up. He had his school email linked up to his computer. The ‘ding’ had arrived a bit late. It was something from the Head of the Art History Department, Professor Min Yoongi. All of his classmates were CC’d in the following message that read: Good Evening, Class. I’d like to thank you all for showing me such kindness on my first day and I’m looking forward to helping you along on your paths. I’ve created a cohesive outline for this semester’s syllabus from Professor Jung’s notes and left the link down below. I have called to confirm the approach that I’m taking and he agreed that it was well-structured, and much like what he had in mind for you. He also requested that I am to be open with you, not only as a mentor, but also as a person. As I understand it, Professor Jung shared a lot about himself with his students, so I’ll do the same with an introduction.     Here’s a little bit about me that wasn’t on the chalkboard today. I was born and raised in a small town in Daegu. I’ll be turning thirty this coming March. I have a toy poodle named Holly. During my free time, I like to create music, and discover new coffee joints. If you have any recommendations, let me know. Also, like Professor Jung, my passion for art has taken me all across Europe, and made me fall in love with the study all over again. I’d like to note that it’s mandatory for all students to give me their contact numbers in the event that they are late for class, or an exam. I expect you to reply back to this email with your information. Today’s lecture is in the attachment for those of you who’d like to look over the notes and again, check out the syllabus. Expect to receive the notes within the first few hours after each class, unless stated otherwise. Sincerely, Professor Min Taehyung had just learned things that he didn’t want to know about Yoongi. For one, he was going to be thirty soon, had a cute dog named Holly, and he travelled around Europe? How convenient that he avoided mentioning what he actually does during his free time. Whatever. The person Professor Min tried to come off as was nothing more than a sham, this was his façade, his Clark Kent identity. Although, Taehyung did appreciate how thorough he was, giving the students access to the syllabus, and attaching the notes – crucial notes that Taehyung failed to jot down during today’s lecture. He closed out of the email, dismissing the professor’s request. Professor Min wasn’t getting his goddamn digits. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Jeongguk got through his week by doing things he knew Jimin would disapprove of – things that went against the terms and agreement of their contract. Two months wasn’t a very long time in the BDSM scene, but the younger fit right in. Admittedly, there was always something missing in Jeongguk’s life, and in all of his relationships. He wasn’t interested in girls from the beginning, but he also wasn’t interested in boys, either. He thought that he would drift in limbo forever, until his last year of high school, where a party was being held back home in Busan. His first sexual experience was with a smaller boy, both in height and width – in all ways. He was just so very little and precious in comparison, on the outside at least, and Jeongguk didn’t want to ruin him. He wanted to be careful, but the other boy only wanted to be broken. Jeongguk was always better at listening to orders, anyway, so there was comfort in being told what to do, and exactly how to do it. So, he took that fragile boy apart just as he wished, but a pattern had formed, however. The stronger Jeongguk became, the more he seemed to attract breakable people. They wanted to be dominated by him. Perhaps that’s why Jimin was everything to him. He was strong, yet elegant, small, but unbreakable. Jeongguk recalled the first time he saw Jimin. He was decked out in a fitted leather one piece that he never saw again, except for in his dreams. When his birthday rolled around, he’d be sure to make a request. Jeongguk vividly remembered falling in love with fifty inches of pretty, baby pink hemp rope. Not the color, but the rope itself. Jimin was teaching the audience how to properly create a dragonfly harness. Jeongguk stood front and center, listening attentively as Jimin went over the basics, while practicing on someone who was randomly picked from the crowd. ‘A lucky bastard,’ was the unanimous response he was picking up on from the spectators around him. Jimin started off with explaining what the bight of the rope was, to the sensitive areas of the body where rope constriction could cause nerve damage. By the end of the lesson, Jeongguk had learned that the art of shibari was beautiful, but it was also dangerous, and any misstep could lead to serious injury. Naturally, he liked it even more for that reason. He was an adrenaline junkie, chasing after one risky endeavor to the next, Jimin being the most hazardous. He not only gave his body to the experience, but he also gave away everything else that was inside him, both the good, and the bad. BDSM was the act of exposing his fears and insecurities, wrapping it up with a neat little ribbon, and handing it over to Jimin – trusting him to take care of it.   His master always handled him as though he were something delicate. Jeongguk had never been perceived as soft in his entire life. Not ever, until Jimin, which was why last week when he saw Jimin pressing light kisses into Seokjin’s wrists, Jeongguk had felt terribly cold. He realized that everyone was treated this way with Jimin. Every submissive was precious to him, was met with the same amount of warmth, and understanding. A shibari expert had to be precise. Every bit of Jimin’s practice was about equal distribution. It was windy on his walk from his car towards the club, a thin layer of frost covering the pavement. Jeongguk pulled the doors open to Void, stepping inside its warmth. His skin was tingling, but it wasn’t from the cold. He was nervous.   “It’s been a whole minute, hasn’t it, Jeongguk,” Hwasa said with a purr of seduction, a well-known domme leaning against the reception desk. She was outwardly impatient, moving her long, jet black hair over to one shoulder. The change with Jeongguk’s hair was an obvious one and she was not-so subtly taking it all in. Hwasa’s laugh was both soft, and unkind, “Oh my…Did your master agree to all of this?” A second passed without an answer, when she said, “I’m going to assume, ‘no’. Jimin wouldn’t like the idea of you drawing too much attention to yourself.” The receptionist returned from the backroom holding a stack of freshly printed documents in her hand, humming to a song that Jeongguk couldn’t recognize. She greeted him, sweetly, before busying herself with paperclipping and tucking the papers away into a folder. She handed it over to Hwasa, “Here’s your contract, mistress. Congratulations on your new pet.” “Thank you, Claire,” she practically cooed, leaning forward so that she could skim the girl’s cheek with her leather clad fingertips. “What do you think of Jeongguk’s new look?” “It’s the color of fresh strawberries and I absolutely love it.” The receptionist – well, his now favorite receptionist, shot him a wink. “The usual room is ready for you, but I advise against keeping your master waiting. He has quite the temper as of late.” Well, fuck. Hwasa glanced up at his hair for one last time with fire in her eyes, “Good luck, little rabbit. Oh, and do make sure to give Hoseok my love next time you see him.” If Jeongguk wasn’t in the obituaries tomorrow, he’ll do that for her, right. He bowed to her, mannerism of especially high importance at Void, although he was usually polite no matter where he was, so it wasn’t much of a task for him. He walked down the corridor, making several rights, until he was met with doors made up of black steel, and floors of pristine marble. It was the east appointment wing, where the best rooms were reserved – in Jeongguk’s opinion, anyway.   Room Nine belonged to them – he and Jimin. The boy stood outside, giving himself a moment, because beyond that door could mean the end of their arrangement. Jeongguk had broken so many rules, unthinkingly, having been so overcome with jealousy that he kept on going. He didn’t even know how to stop himself, concerned only with hurting Jimin in whatever way he could manage it, which wasn’t a healthy reaction, but it was too late to dwell on what was wrong, or right. What’s done is done. He stepped into the room, comforted by the familiar surroundings of black walls and dark tiles. It was meant to be an empty space, save for what the scene professional required for the session. The first thing he noticed was a simple table and chair setup at the center of the room. Covering the surface was an array of red, tapered paraffin candles that were already lit and melting down. Unsafe, leaving the display unattended, but…A crisp sheet of paper lying upon the surface caught Jeongguk’s attention, and as he walked closer to examine it, he realized that it was his submissive contract with Jimin. He tried not to overreact, steeling himself, as he continued taking in the room, trying to figure out what Jimin wanted to do with him. There was a suspension frame over towards the back of the room, which wasn’t all that surprising for a shibari expert. He couldn’t help but to stare back down at the contract, feeling scared for a change. One of the basic rules that were agreed upon when coming to an appointment, was that Jeongguk would be completely bare, as he waited for his master. He started the ritual of removing his clothing, folding his coat – the fabric of his shirt was purposefully light on his skin, because he didn’t expect to leave unscathed tonight. He was left wearing only his collar. It was made of real black leather with a white gold rabbit dangle pendant at the center, hence all the nicknames. Jimin’s baby bunny. Jeongguk lowered himself onto the smooth, black tiles in front of the door, resting his hands in his lap. The silence was more unwelcomed, than the pain from his kneeled position. After several long minutes, Jeongguk wondered if his master was going to show up at all. That maybe, this was some sort of new punishment, when the door was being opened, and softly clicked shut. Jeongguk doesn’t dare look at him, keeping his eyes on the floor. The sound of Jimin’s footfalls was light against the cold floor – his double strapped, Italian leather shoes coming into Jeongguk’s line of vision. Jimin was standing directly in front of him, being eerily quiet. Neither of them had gone a day without seeing each other for weeks. Then again, submissives weren’t known for punishing their dominants with such things. Jimin spoke, softly, “Look at me.” Jeongguk obeyed the command, lifting his face to bravely meet the pair of dark, narrowed eyes piercing through him. A short huff of disbelief escaped Jimin’s lips, as he took in the deep pink color of Jeongguk’s hair. “Is it permanent?” he asked, while his thick, slack covered legs brought him closer to where Jeongguk was kneeling. Jimin was dressed with intent to kill him, apparently, wearing a sleeveless top, showing off his arms – delicate muscles toned, and strong-looking. A black harness clung to his slender frame.   It was difficult for Jeongguk to not break out into a smile. “Yes, master.” Jimin raised an eyebrow at him, “You did this to upset me?” “Why?” Jeongguk actually did smile that time, unable to help it. “Did it work?” Something cold and feral flashed across Jimin’s soft features, actions abrupt when he was suddenly gripping at the soft, pink strands of Jeongguk’s hair. The younger hissed at the sharp pain, his head yanked back from the forced motion. Jimin planted his feet between Jeongguk’s thighs, leaning down to speak carefully to him. “You answer questions with questions now, bun?” he practically seethed, showing a new side of himself that the younger had never seen before. Jimin tugged the hair by its roots, taking in all of Jeongguk’s small gasps. “Are you aware of how many rules you’ve broken? Ten and that’s if I’m not being picky about it, which is why I brought along our contract. You are in serious need of being reminded as to what the rules are here. I want you to go sit in the chair at the table.” He released Jeongguk from his grip, hearing him whimper at the sore, bruising sensation radiating across his scalp. Fuck. The younger was about to stand up, when he was shoved down onto his back – the top of Jimin’s shoe pressing hard into his shoulder. Jimin tilted his head at him, a spark of amusement in his eyes, “You don’t deserve to walk. You’re going to have to crawl for me.” Jeongguk felt his face flush at this, skin becoming hot, as he turned over onto his hands and knees. The floors were unkind, as he started to slowly crawl towards the table. It wasn’t much distance to cover, but it was still humiliating. The worst part was that his cock was heavy between his legs, having been hard since the moment he arrived at the club – that, on top of Jimin’s rough treatment, and already Jeongguk was fucked. He grabbed onto the seat of the chair, using it to pull himself up, until he was sitting down. Jeongguk was less than pleased with the whole ordeal, once again being confronted with the contract. The first time he signed it, he was in Jimin’s lap – sighing, as he received small bites at the back of his arm from crooked teeth. There’d been warmth and excitement, but now there was only tension, and hushed anger. There was a Table of Contents section for their contract that consisted of many things, like; Terms, Submissive’s Goals, Rules, Rights of Master, Communication, Punishment, Exclusivity, Limits, Safe Word, Termination of Contract. “Turn to the rules,” Jimin said, as he casually picked up one of the burning candles from its holder. Jeongguk recognized the paraffin wax as what Jimin typically used, but not usually so thin. Sometimes not even sticks at all, but the melts. The younger turned to the exact page and waited for further instruction. He was on edge, anticipating the feel of hot wax meeting his skin. “Ten rules were broken and I want you to guess which. For each rule you get wrong, I will correct you, and give you a punishment. Do you understand?” He nodded, “Yes, master.” “Broken rule number one is what?” Jimin asked, standing behind the boy. Jeongguk read over the printed letters in front of him, finding the first one rather easily. He read it aloud, “Cosmetic changes without permission.” Jimin’s voice was soft and appraising, “Very good, bun. What’s the second?” It was the rule that started it all. Jeongguk grimaced, “Collar accessory either forgotten to be worn or lost.” “That one especially upset me. Next rule.” “Appointment avoidance or sudden cancellations,” Jeongguk murmured, thinking about the many times Jimin tried calling him personally, instead of having the receptionist do it for him. He even started texting Jeongguk, which brought upon the next broken rule. “Coming without permission…” “Ah, yes,” Jimin smirked, wryly, tempted to drip the wax on the smooth, flawless plain of Jeongguk’s back, when the brat deserved much worse. “The lovely pictures of your spent cock, right after I told you not to touch yourself.” Jeongguk was running out of broken rules that fit their current situation. The next one was a guess. “Undermining the dominant’s superiority.” “That’s only five and yet you sound so very lost. You have three seconds to give me the next rule…” The countdown was slow and generous, almost like Jimin knew that he’d have his chance to paint the younger with wax, one way or the other. The sentence came out rushed, “Talking back to the dominant with usage of foul language or speaking out of turn without permission.”   Even if Jeongguk was safe, if it was only for but a moment, since every other rule didn’t seem to apply. There was still four more to go. Jeongguk tried his best to sound confident, “Failed to meet personal goal that the dominant – a-ah!” The boy cried out, as the hot wax was dripped onto his skin in a long, messy path of red that ran down the length of his spine. Jimin was enthralled by the sight of it, always – always so fascinated, as he crouched down to brush his petite fingers over Jeongguk’s sensitive skin, the dried wax flaking off in the process. He murmured the answer, quietly, “Seven, acting on impulse or behaving irrationally due to an emotional episode, brought upon by jealousy.” Jeongguk had to choke back his rebuttal of, ‘fuck you’. Instead, he roamed his eyes over the list for potential responses. This next one couldn’t have been right, but any answer was better than none at all. “Interacting with another dominant at a social event such as…” Jeongguk stopped the moment he felt hot rivulets of wax sliding along the side of his neck, gasping sharply. Jimin stood up, so that he could drape his arms around Jeongguk’s front. There – he blew cool air onto the wax beneath Jeongguk’s ear, before he whispered huskily, “Eight, failing to disclose all current romantic entanglements with individuals within or outside of the practice of BDSM...” Was he seriously referring to Taehyung? Wouldn’t this go down as Jimin doubting his character and loyalty through making baseless assumptions? There was a rule against that somewhere.               Jeongguk was annoyed at that point, as he shot back, “How about being falsely accused and or punished by the dominant, for having romantic feelings that don’t exist.” “How about it’s whatever the fuck I say it is,” Jimin said, as he brought the heat of the flame to the boy’s chest, so dangerously close to licking his skin. The jealousy issues were mutual, apparently. Jimin continued, evenly, “Nine, being dishonest with the dominant. We can safely say that you haven’t been completely honest with me, bun.” “Neither have y–” Before Jeongguk could finish his sentence, Jimin tilted his wrist, allowing the wax to drip over an erect nipple. This sent Jeongguk’s back against the chair in an attempt to escape the intense sensation. Jimin kept his arm around him, as he extended his reach to start painting over the younger’s skin in other soft, sensitive areas – Jeongguk’s thighs receiving most of the attention. By the time he was finished pouring, the boy was shaking in his arms, as the cool air in the room swept over his burns. He was pink wherever the wax had touched – pink, a color that was to be associated with Jeongguk given his recent choices. “Ten, leaving without being dismissed, which believe me, you will never,” Jimin laughed, still livid over the fact that his submissive had the gall to do such a thing. He pressed his nose into Jeongguk’s hair, “…ever do that to me again.” Jeongguk whimpered, somewhat pitifully, “No, master.” “When you signed the contract, you knew that I would be meeting with other clients. Seokjin is a friend and a colleague. In my opinion, this fact should have upset you less, or not at all.” Jimin placed the candle down back in its holder. “And before you try uselessly defending yourself in regards to your bestie, understand that I don’t care to hear about it. Wanna know what happens when someone touches what’s mine?” Jeongguk bit at the side of his lip, unsure if he honestly wanted to know where Jimin was going with it. “Please, tell me.” The dominant leaned himself away, so that they were no longer touching. “It loses its value.” Jeongguk closed his eyes against the words. It was a secret fear of his, one – that he’d kept under control for the most part. The fear of boring Jimin to the point where all of this would stop and that he would be disowned was difficult for him to handle, which was terrifying, given how little time they’ve spent together.                                                                               Jimin extended his hand out to him, “Come.” The boy’s reaction was automatic, not requiring any thought at all, as he slid his fingers through the dominant’s, locking them together. He was pulled up from the chair. Jeongguk was being bigger and taller, but their differences in height and build only served as another aspect of enjoyment.     The wax was peeling and flaking away with movement, leaving behind a path of play debris. Jeongguk was well aware that he was about to be tied up, which was a present more than a punishment, really. Jimin brought him to stand beneath the steel suspension frame, before going to unzip the duffle bag he placed down while he was setting up the equipment, taking out inches of brand-new jute rope. “There’s more to your punishment, bun,” Jimin said, as started unraveling the many layers. “And you were kind enough to give me a nice, long time to think about what I was going to do with you and what would be sufficient enough to appease me.” He moved to stand in front of Jeongguk, instructing him to put his elbows together. “The safe word for tonight is something I know you don’t want to say to me, otherwise you would have said it by now.” Jimin was quick to grab the boy by his chin, forcing Jeongguk to meet his eyes. “It’s ‘sorry’.” The elder released him in favor of binding Jeongguk’s wrists into a double column tie, stressing all of the tightening on the top band of rope, so that it wouldn’t pinch the submissive’s skin. Jimin teased his fingers through the layers to ensure of this, before he went overhand with the rope. The tie itself resembled cuffs. “Put your arms behind your head.”                                                                                                   Jeongguk did as he was told, struggling to calm his racing heart when Jimin fed the rope through the suspension ring on the steel bar, and tugged on it. “Bend over at the waist for me.” Once the anchor was accurately proportioned, Jimin began securing the knot around the ring and the frame, giving Jeongguk enough inches of rope for the position he required. “Perfect. You can stand for now. How do you feel?” “Good,” Jeongguk said, eyes following Jimin, as he started to remove more rope from his bag. It was black like the set around his wrists. The rigger was then on his knees in front of Jeongguk, moving the rope above his hips. The material dug into his skin in a way that was familiar and he couldn’t help, but sigh in comfort. Jimin didn’t react to it, choosing to work in silence, doing his best to avoid Jeongguk’s swollen, leaking cock – otherwise it could end up in his fist, or his mouth. He pulled the rope around the boy’s left and right thigh, mirroring them to look exactly the same – steadily working him into a diamond harness.   Jimin doesn’t know what a submissive will look like in one of his intricate webs, but he enjoyed fantasizing about it. It was all part of his fun. And when he first saw Jeongguk, the kid was dressed in layers dark baggy clothes, leaving perhaps too damn much to the imagination. Still, he fantasized. Now imagine Jimin’s surprise to see Jeongguk at one of his eight-o-clock appointments, shyly asking to be tied up. The boy turned out to be so much more, superseding anything he could have ever dreamed of – standing at the perfect height with the ideal build, waist so tiny. Jeongguk was so, so very pretty, almost unreasonably so. Dressing the submissive up in nothing but rope had its effects, where not even an experienced dom like Jimin was immune to it. It was often a difficult task to pleasure his little bunny, without wanting to please himself, perhaps even selfishly at times. In their contract, Jeongguk had consented to being penetrated with whatever Jimin felt necessary, be it with toys or his own cock. Jeongguk had begged, sometimes even with tears in his eyes, but the elder would not relent. He’d never had the boy in that manner, never made him his own in that way, not completely. It wasn’t something he did with any of his clients. However, Jeongguk, usually so well behaved – his best behaved boy, tested him on a daily basis. He slid the rope beneath the firm cheeks of Jeongguk’s ass, pushing them up – merely accentuating an already flattering part of his body. The harness was climbing up from his thighs to past his hips. The goal was to stop at the center of his chest, bringing the working ends through loops, and around his spine. When Jimin had run out of rope, he grabbed for more, forming a lark’s head knot, and pulling the first rope through in order to finish it. Jimin got up – stepping away to admire his work, combing his delicate fingers through his styled, silver locks. The black rope stood out against Jeongguk’s winter pale skin, so beautiful in contrast. Any color seemed to compliment him, making it difficult to have a favorite.     The elder finally tore his eyes from the delectable sight of his submissive, taking the duffle bag from the floor to bring it over by the table, emptying it of its contents. “I have gifts for you, bun, though you hardly deserve them.” Jeongguk couldn’t make out any of the items from the distance that he was at, although he still attempted to do so, straining against his bondage, but it was futile. “I hope you like them. You’re already familiar with this one,” Jimin said, stalking back over towards Jeongguk, waving his purchase from the fetish boutique. It was an adjustable cock ring that consisted of leather straps, rubber, and studded snaps. “Thank you, master,” Jeongguk murmured, voice breathy and light, uncertain of how well the ring would fit him, given the fact that he was already so painfully hard. Jimin hummed in response, pulling out the travel sized bottle of lubricant from his pocket, and pushing the cap open to pour it over Jeongguk’s heated length. He jumped at the coldness, unable to get very far when the slightest bit of movement was met with restriction. Jimin took hold of the younger’s cock into a tight grip, earning him a deep, guttural moan. Jimin stroked over him once – twice, before pausing to stare up into Jeongguk’s warm, brown eyes, “You’re so beautiful.” It was difficult for him to form a proper response, when his dick was pulsating, but Jeongguk managed, given the fact that the compliment was the first hint of sweetness Jimin had shown him this evening. “Only with master’s help…” “How true…” Jimin said, somewhat smug as he slid the ring down to the base of Jeongguk’s cock. There was something appealing about how breathy and overwhelmed the younger was, while he worked the leather straps around his balls, snapping the material in place. Cock rings tended to leave Jeongguk twice as sensitive, and so very, very easy. Jimin released him non-too-gently, his touch still lingering on the boy’s skin, “You have a few more presents.” The dom proceeded back towards the table, returning with both hands occupied. “I think I have an issue with spoiling you, bun.” The humiliation came in the form of a tall, white rabbit eared headband. He ran the velvety material along the vulnerable underside of Jeongguk’s arm, Jimin’s dark, playful eyes gauging his every reaction. A soft gasp escaped into the quiet room, when he skimmed over the boy’s rope covered thigh next. The area was still pink and tingling from the wax. Jimin continued on with the slow torment, teasing the fur across Jeongguk’s chest, catching his nipples – knowing that he would be overwhelmed by it, when he arched his back. “Have you had enough?” Jimin mused, as he leaned onto his toes to place the headband behind Jeongguk’s ears. He played with a few choice strands, tucking his pink bangs back, styling the younger however he saw fit. Frankly, Jimin thought it was criminal whenever Jeongguk’s forehead was kept hidden. “All bunnies have really pretty ears,” Jimin said, slipping two fingers beneath the collar around Jeongguk’s throat, slowly running his thumb over the rabbit pendant – when a single tug suddenly jerked him forward, their lips less than an inch away from touching, breaths mingling as one. “You know what else they have? Pretty little tails...” Jimin pressed an ironically chaste kiss to Jeongguk’s mouth that left the younger aching for more. Jimin revealed to him what was in his other hand. It was a puff of white fur attached to a plug that was made of black glass. He took in Jeongguk’s expression with open amusement, watched as the pink in his cheeks turned scarlet, like a fever was having its way with him. Jimin trailed his gaze down to where Jeongguk’s cock was pitifully swollen within the confines of the ring, where a thick bead of precum had formed at the tip. The elder chuckled, softly, “What a naughty little thing you are, already leaking from the thought of having your hole filled.” Jimin moved so that he was standing behind him, pressing an insistent hand against the small of his back – bending Jeongguk at the waist. The rope around his wrists allowed him to do this to a certain extent, the tie specifically in place to hold him up. “Spread your legs for me,” Jimin said, giving him less than a second to perform the task, before he did it himself – wedging Jeongguk’s thighs far apart with his own. Jimin slid his cold, lube slicked fingers down the cleft of Jeongguk’s ass, slowly teasing over his hole – getting him all wet and sticky, before he pushed in with a slender digit. Usually, his master wore gloves, but he didn’t for this occasion. Jeongguk trusted him to do whatever he pleased, consenting to him fully, but the smallest of details seemed to matter more to him when he was convinced that it was love. “You’re such a good bunny,” Jimin cooed, taking his time working Jeongguk open with expert fingers – knowing exactly how far to push him, where to press into him so deep, before he struck the boy exactly where he needed it the most. The constant tightening of Jeongguk’s rim around his fingers, coupled by the soft little sounds he was making sent pulses of arousal straight to Jimin’s cock. He nearly lost himself to it, “You’re always so fucking tight. Was that boy really just your friend? You didn’t let him fuck you, you – the slut with three of my fingers up his ass?” “It’s because I’m yours…” Jeongguk gasped out, the familiar burn in his belly threatened to spill over, his thighs beginning to quake. He was already so close. “Can I come, please? Please.” “Awe, no, bunny. You can’t,” Jimin said, as he removed each digit one at a time, being so very careful with him. Jeongguk whimpered at the emptiness he felt, when he heard the sound of the cap to the lube being opened again. Jimin squeezed a generous amount of it onto the plug, before he pressed the cool, sleek glass against his dripping hole – slipping into him with ease, filling the younger up with warmth, until he was met with the thick, bulbous part of the toy. Jeongguk bit at his bottom lip to hold in his cries, when Jimin slowly, but firmly sank the rest of the plug into him, stretching him beyond what he’d ever felt, when it wasn’t even that large to begin with. Spiteful almost, Jimin patted the tail, delighting in the choked sob that was elicited in response. “You’re so good for me,” Jimin murmured, as he caressed each of his ass cheeks into his palms, warming up the area for what was soon to come. The dom’s words were soft and affectionate, “My precious little bunny. You’re an absolute dream.” Jeongguk’s skin was on fire, embarrassed by the compliment, “T-Thank you, master.” “I worked really hard on this last present,” Jimin said, finally coming into view again just to tease Jeongguk with distance itself. He could hardly stand it, especially needy when he was reduced into subspace. “Each time I missed you, I worked on it a little bit more. However, it was my recent…disappointment that gave me the motivation to finish it.” The last and final item was a handmade paddle. Crafting and modifying was one of Jimin’s many hobbies. He enjoyed customizing everything that he owned, making every bit of the experience personal. It was how he expressed one of the many acts of control that most dominants seemed to possess in one way or another. For the paddle itself, he’d started from scratch with a jigsaw blade, and a sander. It took time – time Jimin never seemed to have enough of lately. He found a cheap set of rabbit stencils at a local art supply store, penciled them onto the wood, and then carved them out with kanna tools. He raised the paddle in his hand, showing it off to Jeongguk, watching as his doe eyes widened. “Do you like it, bun?” Jeongguk nodded his pink head, to which Jimin gave him a free pass, because even he’d been astonished by the finished product. It was absolutely beautiful and possibly his new favorite toy. The paddle was thick and wide where it mattered, its surface smooth. He pressed the flat of it against the boy’s cheek, allowing him to feel it. Jeongguk lifted his face with the motion, meeting the heavy weight of Jimin’s dark, narrowed eyes. Jesus. “It’s going to leave pretty little bunny indents all across your ass…” the elder murmured, voice like a caress, when he stepped behind the submissive. “Your limit has always been fifteen with a paddle, but I think you can handle more. And since your insubordination hurt me twice as much, we’re going to double the count to thirty. Do you understand?” Jeongguk closed his eyes at the declaration, resigning himself to his fate. “Yes, master.” A thuddy paddle was exceptionally more painful and Jeongguk deserved every little bit of it. Jimin gently pressed the wooden surface between the boy’s cheeks and upper thighs. The familiar burst of adrenaline rushed through his veins, when he reeled back his wrist, and came down firmly. The heavy impact was enough to send ripples of pain across Jeongguk’s body, hitting all of his most sensitive places. Jimin was the one counting in a low growl, as he distributed each stroke of the paddle evenly – changing up the spot the moment he felt Jeongguk had become too comfortable. He watched as the boy jolted, even though he knew it was coming, and he listened to him cry, even though he loved it. Jeongguk had such a pretty voice – his whimpers and moans as melodic as a chirp from a songbird. The flesh of his ass was a burning shade of red, save for the rabbit outlines that were coming out stark, and beautiful against his tender skin. “Twenty-two,” Jimin said, as he once again rolled his wrist – the wood meeting the fluffy tail, causing Jeongguk to tug hard at the restraints around his wrists, trembling. “C–Can I come, please?” he asked, voice raw and broken, as every stroke of the paddle made his muscles tense around the plug, drawing it into him deeper. The sting of pain only served as another form of pleasure that was overwhelming him. It felt like an eternity since he was hard, continuing to pathetically leak precum down the side of his cock. “You can come just from this…” Jimin laughed, because of course – of course Jeongguk was capable of doing such a thing. “The answer is no, bun. You can’t come yet and if you do, I’ll make you wish that you hadn’t.” The threat was followed up by another loud, heavy fall of the paddle. The bite from it was enough to tear a scream from the back of Jeongguk’s throat. Jimin rubbed the abused skin with the wood, before he immediately landed another spank – testing Jeongguk, daring him to go against his command. With only seven more left to go, Jimin chose each spot carefully, knowing exactly where Jeongguk needed it. And despite having been certain that the boy would quickly release within the short pauses between each tingling smack, he’d somehow managed to focus on doing the exact opposite. Jimin’s voice was thick and heady with arousal, having already reached his limit in all manners of the word, “Thirty.” This was the moment where he should be lovingly praising his submissive. He should soothe Jeongguk’s skin, care for him – forgive him, even. But there were outcomes that Jimin had anticipated. One, Jeongguk would end up saying the safe word before he reached the end of the count or two, he would come, which would bring upon another punishment, but neither happened. See, Jeongguk was a very, very good boy. Jimin set the paddle down against the wall behind him. He usually kept a pair of scissors on him in case of emergencies, but tonight he carried one of his favorite karambit safety knives. He retrieved it from his back pocket and started cutting through the rope keeping Jeongguk’s wrists restrained. With the boy in his bent position, Jimin had no problem with reaching it – keeping his hand above Jeongguk’s, protecting him from any chances of meeting the blade, however minute. “I want you lying on the floor, on your stomach,” Jimin said, as he curved his fingers under one of the many knots of rope in the event that Jeongguk’s wobbly legs gave out once his arms were freed, and no longer suspended. They didn’t, but the elder helped lower him onto the smooth tiles anyway. Jeongguk gasped when his warm skin met the cold, uncomfortable surface. Jimin left the knife out, as he joined Jeongguk on the floor. He straddled the back of his well-muscled thighs, enclosing them tightly within his own. There were rope marks left on the boy’s wrists that would be gone over night. “I’d try to get comfortable while you still can, bun.” The dom’s tone was mockingly regretful. “The thing is – you’re such a good boy for me, that when you step out of line, it’s unexpected, and when it’s unexpected, it makes me very angry. I’m still so very angry with you.” Jeongguk breathed out, shakily, “I’m sorry.” “Sorry, ‘stop’ or sorry that you were wrong?” Jimin asked him, as he shamelessly roamed his eyes over Jeongguk’s sprawled form, completely at his mercy – if willing.   “I’m sorry that I tried to make you angry.” “Oh, you didn’t try, little bunny,” he laughed, the bitter sound of it running down the length of Jeongguk’s spine. “You succeeded.” The boy tensed when he felt something cold being pressed against his back, knowing that it was the steel of Jimin’s blade. “I need you to be still for me...” He nodded his compliance, when the pressure around his midsection was released. Jimin had cut the knots leading down to his waist, but avoided the rope incasing his thighs. Jimin put the knife away, taking in the endless amount of soft, smooth skin along Jeongguk’s back. He was like a herculean trope, all healthy, and fit – half boy, half god. So pretty that Jimin wanted to ruin him, as he dug his short nails into the back of Jeongguk’s neck, and then slowly dragged them down, listening as the boy drew in a sharp breath. The elder adjusted his hips to better follow his path into the dip of Jeongguk’s spine, purposefully nudging his clothed, hard cock against the rabbit tail. He smiled, wickedly, when the boy keened at the contact, “Do you like this, bun?” “Ah –yes! S–So much…” he gasped, having been startled by the satisfying pain and heat radiating throughout his back. “Harder, master.” Jimin was more than willing to oblige him, using both hands this time – starting at the tops of Jeongguk’s shoulders. The lines forming beneath the deep press of his nails were an angry red, skin breaking with small, puffy cuts. However, the reaction from Jeongguk was one of ecstasy, when he curled in on himself with a wrecked cry. The sound of it rang through Jimin like an alarm, deciding that once more would have to be the absolute limit. He tried to make it last, as he slowly raked his nails down – all the while, rocking his hips against Jeongguk’s ass, reveling in his breathy moans of pleasure. The boy turned his face to the side, resting his overheated skin against the cool tiles. “More,” he whispered, brown eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “I want you to mark me. Please, master. I want to be yours.” The air ghosting over his scratches made everything burn and at the back of his mind, Jeongguk knew that he was bleeding, and that it was probably an ugly sight, but he didn’t care. “You’re already mine,” Jimin informed him, as he gripped the plug at its base and slowly withdrew it from his submissive’s stretched little hole. He spread Jeongguk’s cheeks nice and wide within his palms, the action possessive as he watched him clench around nothing. The last ounce of Jimin’s self-restraint was promptly gone within that moment, as he tugged down the zipper on his dark slacks far enough to pull out his throbbing cock. “I’ve always wanted you beneath me, just like this, my helpless little bunny.” Jeongguk’s skin grew hot from the words being spoken, torn between wanting to hide himself away, or to throw his arms around Jimin. It was a pivotal moment for the both of them, a change in their dynamic. He’d begged, sometimes until his throat was raw, to be fucked. For Jimin to use him up like he was a doll – now it was finally happening.   Jimin opened the lubricant bottle to start slicking himself up, being generous with the application. What he lacked in length, he made up for in girth. Jeongguk knew of this fact, given the many times he choked while giving his master a messy blowjob, left with a stream of tears and a swollen mouth. “It’s too early in your training to be doing this,” Jimin warned, voice grave, as he pressed the thick head of his cock against Jeongguk’s tender rim. “Are you sure?”     “Please, fuck me, master,” Jeongguk murmured, doing his best to push back with his hips, needing the ache inside him to be filled after a long night of being on edge, punished, and teased. Jimin peered down at him, watching as his bunny teeth sucked in his bottom lip. The rabbit ears were so pretty against Jeongguk’s soft pink hair. He wasn’t even that upset about it anymore. The boy whined when he thought he was being ignored, somewhat petulant, “I’ve been good for you.” “That means you deserve my cock, then?” Jimin mused, feeling himself give in, which was a too common occurrence with his submissive, whose response was an indecent moan of, ‘mmmhmm’ at the back of his throat – eagerly nodding and once again squirming, until he abruptly grabbed Jeongguk by the waist in order to cease his movements, Jimin’s strong legs tightening around the boy’s thighs, as he took hold of his length and slowly pushed into him, sinking deep – until his pelvic bone met Jeongguk’s pert, bunny printed cheeks. Jeongguk’s mouth dropped into a soundless cry at the stretch, painful and blissful all at once. He curled his hands into fists beside his head, when Jimin had him by the roots of his hair, brushing his mouth over the boy’s shoulder, “You feel incredible,” he murmured, voice shaky and affected, as he traced over a deep scratch with the point of his tongue, “So tight and perfect around my cock, little bun.” Using his grip on Jeongguk’s pink locks as leverage, Jimin barely withdrew his hips, before he slammed back in – creating a rhythm that sent the younger into the tiles each time he came forward, Jeongguk’s swollen length a dripping mess between his stomach and the floor, stimulated by the raw friction. He whimpered when he felt Jimin sucking marks into his skin, placing bites against the cuts from his nails. Jeongguk was at the point where shame no longer mattered. “Please–I need more, need it f-faster…” “What if I want to take my time fucking you?” Jimin asked, punctuating his question by slowing his hips to a full stop. It was three, excruciatingly long seconds, before he thrust back into him, filling him inch by inch – the elder repeated the action, seeming to draw it out more each time. The boy was quaking beneath him, when he finally let up. “You would cry,” Jimin said, evenly, answering the question on his behalf, despite the fact that they were both aware of the truth. Jeongguk felt as his master took hold of his wrist, carefully guiding his arm back, so that he was grabbing Jimin’s thigh for support. The muscles there flexed and jumped beneath his fingertips whenever Jimin drove into him, the pace having formed into one that was fast and unforgiving, as he relentlessly pressed in as far as he could inside the younger, the harsh sound of skin meeting skin flooding the quiet room. “Ma–ahh… Master, please let me come…” Jimin could feel how close Jeongguk was to unraveling, clenching tightly around his cock at frequent, squeezing him so hard he’d nearly lost breath from sheer overwhelm. The younger felt so fucking good, part of the reason being the fact that it was Jeongguk he was fucking, and Jimin wanted – he craved to have this for himself, which was a dangerous realization that he’d have to dwell on later. “Go on, sweets, I want you to come for me,” he said, words skimming the back of Jeongguk’s neck, as he moved a hand around Jeongguk’s hips to gently grab at his cock, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts. The second Jeongguk was granted permission he felt the relief swallow him up whole. The pleasure that was steadily melting him through at the center of his being finally spilled over, as he came in a myriad of deep moans and needy, little cries. A professional dominant would do well to remember that putting the needs of his submissive first was crucial. Jimin had always believed in this, focusing on the younger, when he gave himself over to his release. Fingers then coated with sticky ropes of Jeongguk’s cum, Jimin continued pumping him through each intense wave, until his muscles stopped gripping him and his cock softened enough to remove the ring. Jeongguk winced once the pressure was released, dropping his sweaty forehead against his forearm, utterly sated, and blissed out. Unfortunately for his sweet little bunny, it was his turn now. Jimin pressed the flat of his hand between Jeongguk’s shoulder-blades, forcing his chest down to the floor, pinning him there as he started grinding his hips into his ass, thrusts slow and deep, more thorough – expelling the air from Jeongguk’s burning lungs. Jimin was the perfect fit – his thick cock repeatedly stretching the boy open and stuffing him full, rubbing against the deepest parts of him. It didn’t take much for Jeongguk to get hard again from being overstimulated. “Show Master that slutty, little bunny cunt of yours,” Jimin growled the order through his teeth, watching with hooded eyes as Jeongguk did as he was told, a good boy – spreading his cheeks wide enough to give Jimin the perfect view of his cock disappearing in and out of his drenched, abused hole. He captured Jeongguk’s wrists, keeping his hands there, “Who owns you, Jeongguk?” It was very rare that Jimin ever used a submissive’s real name, even though it wasn’t a set rule. It was simply perceived as coming off as too intimate or personal. “Master owns me,” Jeongguk gasped out, as the heat at the pit of his stomach threatened to unfurl for a second time. He didn’t want it to be so soon, trying to focus on the signs that Jimin was nearing his climax, how aggressive he becomes, his words filthy and thoughtless between deep groans and breathy sighs. It turned him on to no end, knowing that he was the one giving his master such pleasure. It empowered him. “Can I p-please come?” “Little bunny, you come now or you don’t come at all,” Jimin husked, challenging Jeongguk even while he was so very close to oblivion. He tore his eyes away from where their bodies were connected to lean down, scraping his teeth over the back of Jeongguk’s shoulder, unable to leave it alone, as he relished in the cries he was rewarded with, continuing to pound into the boy with wild abandon. The sound of Jeongguk’s affliction was enough to send a pleasurable chill throughout his body, or in this case, do him in completely. He used the full weight of his body to keep Jeongguk still, when he came hard – spilling his hot cum deeply inside him. Jeongguk winced at the odd sensation and was quick to follow Jimin over the edge, coming in thick spurts against his stomach and the tiles. Jimin slammed his hips forward one last time, burying his release, before he slowly let Jeongguk go from his bruising grip. Jeongguk felt weightless, basking in the afterglow – a giddy, joyful feeling engulfing him in warmth. He closed his eyes against its comfort, listening to the rapid beating of his pulse in ears – trying to slow it, without ever having to come back down. Jimin was lying beside him on the floor then, arms immediately reaching for him, and wrapping around the boy like vines. Jeongguk allowed himself to be pulled in, sighing at the petite hands stroking over his sore skin. “Did I hurt you?” Jimin asked, his voice back to its usual soft, alluring lilt – soothing him. Jeongguk was contented, a giggle bubbling from his chest, “Only in ways that I enjoyed.” The elder started combing his fingers through the damp, pink strands of Jeongguk’s hair, adjusting the headband in the process. “The bunny props didn’t even embarrass you, did they?” He shook his head, feeling shy all of a sudden, “But you enjoyed seeing me wear them, so it wasn’t a total waste.” He hummed in agreement, as he turned over onto his back, pulling Jeongguk’s mouth to his own, kissing him softly. “You’re so pretty, bun,” he whispered, taking another long, slow drag of the younger’s lips. Jimin didn’t stop until he was certain that he was under the consumption. At the end of every scene or an intense activity, the submissive was prone to a sub-drop, which meant their endorphins crashed. Jimin was always careful about cushioning the fall, all gentle touches and soft words. “So pretty and all mine.” In a few moments, Jimin would go through the routine of cutting off the rest of the rope. He’d then proceed to take a warm, soapy rag to Jeongguk’s skin, washing him of the blood, sweat, and cum that clung to him – all the while, eyeing his water intake, and feeding him his favorite chocolates. The final step would be dressing Jeongguk’s wounds and there were plenty of them. At the end of an evening with Jeongguk, Jimin was always left with such profound emptiness, which is why Jeongguk needed to complete his training, and become his – his forever. No one in this world made Jimin feel so insecure. No one ever could and yet. Jeongguk nuzzled his nose against the side of Jimin’s throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his master’s shirt, desperate almost, “Master, I want more kisses.” Jimin smiled. “Of course, bun.” -------------------------------------------------------------------- It was a little past midnight when Taehyung glanced over to look at the clock. He’d been staring at his notes all night, and just to be clear – the ones he wrote down himself, not the ones from Professor Min’s stupid, highly well-detailed outline. Sure, it would be beneficial to him to just suck it up and use the material – s’not like Yoongi would ever have to know about it. A small amount of bitterness came with it though, since Professor Jung never provided the class with his own notes, and Taehyung would have given anything for a small glimpse of what went through his head. He got up from his chair, long overdue for a break, and to perhaps eat something for the first time since three o’ clock in the afternoon – yesterday now. Several times the messenger on his phone went off throughout the night. It was Hoseok giving a play by play of his random outing into the city. He kept taking photos of every ‘artsy-esque’ thing he saw, as though his two friends – one majoring in art, and the other in photography, would honestly give a shit. Jeongguk hadn’t even read any of the messages. It made Taehyung wonder, even worry about the possibility of Jeongguk being at Void? Then he remembered the date and what the younger had said at lunch about seeing Jimin on Friday. It was currently past midnight on a Saturday. Taehyung was so absorbed in schoolwork that he doesn’t remember what time Jeongguk left their dorm room. It was the type of shit that made Taehyung feel anxious. Jeongguk had made it clear that he was avoiding going back to the club. He told Taehyung that he would be punished as a result of what had happened last week. And what happened last week, was ultimately Taehyung’s fault. In the BDSM world, he was a goddamn menace. How would he ever survive being a part of it? The answer was simple: he wouldn’t. Not that he wanted to be, mind you. This wasn’t the Little Mermaid. Just as he was about to wolf down the last slice of Jeongguk’s leftover cheesecake, the door to their room was being opened. He quickly placed the dessert back on the refrigerator shelf. The boy looked exhausted, but the cold weather alone could do that to you. The tops of his cheeks, as well as the point of his nose were beet red. Jeongguk gave their small living area the onceover, eyes immediately landing on Taehyung. “Oh, hey, Guk,” ‘Guk, buddy, hey.’ Taehyung was doing that thing where he smiled so big and wide that it was obvious he was nervous. Despite all of that, he was happy to see his dongsaeng – glad to know he was alive, and that all still appeared to be intact. “How was your night?” “It was good,” he said, seeming to mean it, but there was noticeable hesitation in Jeongguk’s movements. He was slower, more sluggish in removing the coat from off his shoulders. “The drive back here was awful, though. Then I remembered there was a game tonight, and parties – parties galore.” “Uh, yeah, fucking parties...galactic…” or galore, whatever he said – Taehyung paused, trying to not be so obvious about the fact that he was taking in the other boy’s actions, waiting to catch him in something that he shouldn’t. “Did you see Hobi’s photos yet? They’re trash, but we should still try to act impressed, especially over the moonlight garden that we can’t even see, because it’s fucking dark out.” For awhile, all Jeongguk did was stand there with his coat still down past his shoulders, and that was where it stayed. “I haven’t checked messenger today. Were you – or did you take your shower?” Taehyung was in full detective mode now, ready to break out the deerstalker hat, and magnifying glass. “Not yet. Why? Trying to get rid of me, Jeon Jeongguk?” “I was gonna ask if I can wash up first?” he asked, long fingers closed in one sleeve behind his back, where he was carefully pulling on it. “Sure, Guk, whatever you want,” Taehyung breathed out, realizing that Jeongguk was avoiding hurting himself with abrupt movements. There was discomfort somewhere – somewhere in his shoulders, or in his back. “Let me help you with that.” Taehyung wasn’t offering at this point and Jeongguk wasn’t in the position to refuse him. So, he picked up from where the younger left off, gently pulling at the sleeves of his coat. He then placed it on Jeongguk’s bed when the task was done. Throughout the removal, he hadn’t failed to notice the way Jeongguk’s shoulders tensed, as though waiting for it to hurt. Cutting the bullshit, Taehyung deadpanned, “What happened at Void?” “I had my appointment,” Jeongguk said, turning so that he was facing his friend. “It was nothing out of the ordinary, really. Jimin was happy to see me back, there was even one point where I thought he was going to break out a cake, or play the trombone or something.” “Oh, really? Wow, that’s fantastic!” Taehyung laughed in mock-glee, the sound of it absolutely obnoxious – they’d both learned it from Hoseok. He sobered up once he’d made his point clear, that he didn’t believe a word out of his fucking mouth, “You’ll have no problem with showing me your back then.” “Tae…” Jeongguk whispered, brown eyes pleading with him. He looked like he was about ready to break down. Taehyung was stubborn and would not give up, he already knew. “You saw what happened with Woozi. Sometimes there are punishments that may look bad, but they’re not. It’s all consensual and agreed upon.” “Show me,” Taehyung repeated, the tension in the room growing thick, and suffocating. When Jeongguk continued to remain still, denying him without words, he closed his eyes, raising his voice for the first time – in a long while. Years. “If it’s not as bad as you say it is, then you wouldn’t have hobbled yourself in here, struggling to get out of your fucking clothes! I won’t be able to sleep tonight, until you fucking show me.” Jeongguk nodded somewhat numbly, as he reached for the hem of his shirt, pausing midway when he felt the beginnings of pain. He sucked in his breath and quickly tugged it off, as one would a band-aid. If he thought Taehyung hadn’t seen the pain on his face, he was wrong – too perceptive for his own good. Jeongguk dropped the garment to the floor, the front of his body reflecting the marks from the rope, but they would fade soon. Without having to be told, he slowly turned around, unaware of the condition of his back, but he could hear it in the sharp gasp Taehyung drew. It was bad. Thankfully, the older boy couldn’t see his ass. That hurt twice as much and was probably covered in welts. “Jimin did this to you?” Taehyung asked, already knowing the answer, but it made no sense to him. There was a deep bruise from what was an obvious bite mark – lines of red were dragged down the length of Jeongguk’s back. It looked like a mess, a bloody mess and part of it was Taehyung’s fault. His voice was trembling, “The guy you claim to be in love with?” “You don’t understand,” Jeongguk said, looking over his shoulder, and was met with Taehyung’s expression of complete distraught. The younger might’ve been on the brink of tears, but it was his hyung who was crying. “You can’t blame him for what I want done to me.” “A bath would be better.” Taehyung changed the subject, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, before he raided Jeongguk’s drawers. He pulled out a large black shirt and a pair of boxers. Jeongguk tried again, “Tae…” “The Epsom salt isn’t good for wounds, but,” Taehyung said, talking a mile a minute. “…we can put some Neosporin on the cuts and then uhm, lots of those Finding Nemo band-aids…” “My–Jimin already put cream on them, and at one point, he even dressed them, but I took the bandages off before I got home.” He didn’t want Taehyung to see them in the garbage the next morning. The marks only needed more cream, nothing major. The whole thing was a bit dramatic in his opinion, even if Jeongguk enjoyed being cared for, and coddled. Taehyung was already at the bathroom door, Jeongguk slowly trailing behind him. He was yanking the shower curtain to one side. “Hold on, hyung will clean it first,” he said, as he started scrubbing the porcelain with a Magic Eraser. Taehyung was known for being an anxious person, cleaning things, and talking fast when it got the better of him.           Jeongguk swallowed, thickly, emotions tight in his throat. “Tae, you don’t have to…” He stood up when he was finished, a shaking hand turning the faucet on to adjust the water to his own preference. “Feel the temperature. Tell me if it’s okay.” Jeongguk humored him, wiggling his fingers beneath the spray. “It’s perfect.” “Oh! Your socks,” Taehyung said, as he slowly backed away from him. “I’ll go get them for you, unless you need help with your jeans?” “No – I shouldn’t, but Tae, I don’t…” Taehyung stopped him right there. “Socks are important, they do a lot to keep us warm, you know.” He walked into the room, continuing to go on and on about the amazing comfort. But in all honesty, Taehyung wasn’t interested in socks. He also didn’t want to hear the cries of pain once Jeongguk finally sat himself down in the tub. No, he didn’t want to see the rest of the damage left all over his friend’s body, due to his, his – Kim fucking Taehyung’s behavior. What Taehyung truly wanted was the keys to the car. And he’d found them on top of Jeongguk’s bed from where he’d tossed them so that he could fail to shed out of his coat. Taehyung scooped them up, loudly saying something about the wonders of fuzzy socks, before he pulled on his scarf, and stepped out into the hallway of their dormitory. It took Taehyung a moment to ground himself enough to be able to drive, smoothing his hands flat against the closed door. He felt apologetic for the anger that was currently surging through him, for the fact that Jeongguk would not approve of what he was about to do next. He might not even be able to forgive Taehyung after tonight. He really was going to break Jimin’s wrist. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TBC Oh, hell. It’s a glossary. Bight - a loop of rope, as distinct from the rope's ends. Lark’s head knot - a hitch knot used to attach a rope to an object. Sub-drop - the ‘down’ or ‘low’ feeling after BDSM play. Rigger - someone that is a top that specializes in rope bondage, often one that performs suspension riggings. *BDSM test link that literally everyone has taken at some point or another.   

[mmmmalo]

@morbidlyqueerious said:

You probably already have this whole article written and just forgot to post it, but a few speculative musings of my own:

John actually had a grand total of 4 different fetch modi, or 5 if you count the combination. He got the queue modus later, which is similar to the fetch modus but it values old knowledge over new knowledge, so it’s introspective? Later, he gets the array modus as a birthday present from Dad, but refuses to use it, instead combining it with his other modi to make an array of queuestacks (or, as actual human beings call them, deques). In other words, he’s given the ability to engage with knowledge directly and fully, but couldn’t handle it–he had to wrap up his knowledge into several linear sequences to avoid processing it fully. Later, though, he gets the Wallet (also from Dad, although after his death), which allows him to hold anything and everything but comes pre-loaded with the car and a pallet of shaving cream. So… in his mind he’s saying that since Dad is dead, he has to be Dad now? This is very interesting because early in the plot, most of his personality is defined as wanting to be as little like Dad as possible. Remind me about this in the morning, but I’ve had a number of interesting ideas about how Homestuck very possible treats the desire to have sex with someone as equal to the desire to be them.

Karkat’s encryption modus implies two things–firstly, once an idea is in his sylladex (head), he can’t get rid of it. However, he can’t access it either, meaning he doesn’t actually consider it? After all, despite being off the hemospectrum, he seems to care about it a fair deal more than most of his friends, and he seems to be a lot stricter about how quadrants work despite ending up in panquandrant relationships. (internalized hemophobia and panquadrophobia?) He also gets trapped in arguments with himself due to an inability to let things go.

Dave’s mind is great at storing things, but he has to twist how he envisions things in order to make them fit with a bunch of other stuff he already has, and it occasionally randomly throws dangerous things at him when he turns off that safety feature. That’s literally just trauma. In fact, partway through, he turns on collision prevention–so that instead of attacking him with dangerous things when one of his ideas conflicts with what he already knew, he just refuses to allow it into his mind in the first place.

Dirk, as you’ve mentioned previously, refuses to take in new ideas if it’s too hard to make them fit in. He also has an entire row of Faygo, which I’m fairly certain means something but it’s way too late for me to try to figure out what. Faygo in general has a specific meaning, and I’m starting to suspect that Terezi’s bender marks Faygo as conceptually equal to alcohol, which in turn marks it as equal to Void/meaninglessness. So, an entire row of his mind is full of intoxication/simple answers to complex problems/meaninglessness. This fits, given his association with horses, which are also meaningless.

Jake has a lot of freedom to take in new ideas, even ones that are “big”/hard to deal with, but his ability to handle them is weakened by the few big toxic ideas he carries around with him everywhere even though they aren’t useful. (You know it’s late at night when you’re viewing puzzle game inventories as a scything indictment of toxic masculinity…)

Vriska and Roxy both lock up ideas inside of objects, and have to break those objects in order to retrieve them? Interestingly the objects in question also have thematic linkages due to their linked aspects; Rose’s behavior on the meteor paints intoxication and by extension alcohol as an embodiment of Void, but 8-balls are also filled with inky black fluid and conceal mystery. The difference is that 8-balls also reveal an answer within them, but it’s acknowledged in-universe that 8-balls being mostly dark and also wrong. So 8-balls offer tempting but ultimately meaning answers to questions, and alcohol obscures entirely. Since these are embodiments of thought, that would probably imply that both Vriska and Roxy turn everything they think about into a mystery, but Vriska solves the mystery with a simple and pithy answer at its core while Roxy just writes it off as meaningless.

I don’t really know what Jade’s means other than that she changes it frequently and on a whim, and it can produce things that don’t really exist. Likewise, Kanaya’s Chastity Modus is an actual literal enigma–she… refuses to think about things until she has to??

Finally, Calliope and Caliborn’s Juju Modus implies that all of their thoughts are processed through and about each other, but when Caliborn kills Calliope this restriction is removed? So now his thoughts are completely free? But his actions in the comic don’t reflect that at all, so I suspect I’m missing something important here.

[joonbird]

Passionfruit | 1

➭ “To you, matters of the heart have always been simple. You’ve always lived by three rules: you don’t do emotions, you don’t do attachment, and you don’t do love. That is, until you meet the enigma that is Kim Namjoon- a man who shakes your entire world upside down.”

pairing: reader x Namjoon

genre: smut

words: 3.3k

inspired by → this song

part one | two | three | four

You are drunk.

God, it's a good feeling. The warm feeling in your stomach, the fuzzy state of mind, and most of all, the way being tipsy makes you feel sexy and confident. Being drunk is instant gratification- and you love instant gratification. 

It was Friday night and you were at a house party. One of the girls in your university cohort was known for pulling these huge, crazy parties whenever her rich parents were out of town. She had decided last minute to throw a ‘small gathering’. The house was full of happily drunk people, music buzzing, drinks flowing. You’d walked in the door, feeling eyes on you and more accurately all over you and your outfit. You had chosen a miniskirt and a tight cami that accentuated your curves and emphasized your figure. As always, you didn’t shy away from the stares, rather, you encouraged them. You had done shot after shot, tequila of course- enjoying the burn that went down your throat and the sharpness of the lime on your tongue. Your inhibitions had slipped, just a little, enough to remind you that you were drunk. It was time to get laid. You gazed around the party, taking in your options. It wasn’t a Friday night without ending it next to a warm body, and you were deciding on your pick of the night. You pursed your lips a little, folding your arms and taking in your surroundings. Hm... Haesong? No, he was the worst, he had just gotten on top of you and fucked you like a rabbit, thinking going as hard and fast as possible would be good somehow. Michael? You wrinkled your nose a little, you’d given him a blow job at the last house party and been thoroughly unimpressed with what he had packing downstairs. Your eyes widened a little in surprise when you spotted Kim Taehyung and his friends lounged all over one couch, laughing noisily and drinking. They all oozed with the confidence of guys who knew they were hot, guys who knew they could walk up to any girl at the party and take them home. They were worshipped for it, guys wanted to be like Taehyung and his friends, and girls wanted Taehyung and his friends. In fact, right now, there were a few girls standing to the side eyeing them off possessively, too nervous to approach. You could almost understand that, except you had learned a few years ago that guys weren’t intimidating if you simply owned your confidence.  Taehyung had to be the most popular guy you knew, he was at some party or the busiest nightclub every week, and he often didn’t bother showing up to college house parties. Him and his friends being at this house party was an interesting development. You hadn’t hooked up with Taehyung -yet- but you’d always vaguely considered it. You’d heard people refer to him as the ‘male version of Y/N’, as if that was either meant to be a compliment or an insult, you weren’t sure and you certainly didn’t care. You studied him for a moment, assessing him carefully. He was definitely sexy. He was dressed in a in a dress shirt and wide leg pants, beer in one hand. As if he was reading your thoughts, he glanced up from his conversation and smirked at you, biting his lip a little. You almost rolled your eyes- you knew that move like the back of your hand, the smirk, the lip bite. It was so predictable. You simply eyed him back and turned away, slotting him as an end of the night option into your mind. So far, you weren’t fully convinced. You made your way through the party, going upstairs to where you knew the bathroom was. You opened the door, jumping back a little when two girls whipped their heads around to glare at you. You groaned a little when you recognized them- Sally and Jisu. They were in some of your classes and had hated you ever since the guy Jisu had liked all of first year decided he wanted to sleep with you instead (and had done so at a house party). “Oh, its Y/N. I’ll be done in a min.” Jisu, the bitchier one of the pair, cooed. Her eyes were piercing as she stared at you up and down slowly, before turning and leaning closer to the mirror, applying her lip gloss. “Sorry, I didn’t recognise you. I’m not used to seeing you with your clothes on. Usually by this point you’re on your knees with the latest guy of the week in your mouth.” Her voice was dripping with honey, saccharine sweet, but you could hear the venom behind her words. You just rolled your eyes. “Give it an hour.” You replied shortly, wanting her to fuck off and let you pee in peace. She smiled a little, stepping back. “Honestly, I would be embarrassed if I were you. You’re such a slut, it’s pathetic.” Jisu said icily. Your jaw dropped a little. “What the fu-” you began, your eyes narrowing, but with that, she wheeled around and was out of the bathroom, Sally following behind obediently. Fuck. You stared at your reflection moodily, annoyed that some bitchy girl’s comments were getting to you so much. You knew you had a reputation by now, as the girl who was always ready to fuck, the girl who was always ready to get hammered. Usually it didn’t bother you, but her words had struck a nerve tonight. Sighing a little, you finished up in the bathroom and walked downstairs. “I need a drink,” You muttered. It was decided- the only way this night could be redeemed would be with a few more drinks, and a good fuck. Maybe Taehyung. Or one of his friends, you weren’t fussy at this point. As you made your way downstairs, you headed straight to where the drinks were, pouring yourself another tequila shot and downing it. As you gazed around the party looking for the guys, you spotted Taehyung. He walked straight up to you, confidently. You just watched him, unimpressed. “So, want to get out of here and fuck?” He grinned, you were suddenly aware of his friends watching the two of you, grins on their faces. Suddenly that same feeling you felt in the bathroom crept back in the pit of your stomach.  “Jesus, way to introduce yourself,” You masked your feelings with a challenging smile, he just grinned and shrugged. “What’s the point? You know who I am, I know who you are. Let’s fuck.” Normally a straightforward direct approach like that would be appealing to you, but tonight, you felt irritated by him. “At least offer a girl a drink first,” You laughed a little, Taehyung tipped his head back and laughed. “God, do you want to fuck or not? I heard you’re the girl to come to for it. Although now I’m not so sure.” His voice was playful, he was definitely drunk. He glanced over at his friends, and nodded, grinning, giving them a thumbs up. You suddenly felt like a piece of meat, hating the way he was leering at you. “Maybe another time babe,” You said shortly, before turning and walking away.  “Your loss!” He shouted after you.

“I need a cigarette,” You sighed to yourself, before turning and walking straight out of the house.

You didn’t have any cigarettes on you, you weren’t a smoker, but it seemed like an appropriate moment for one. Outside of the house a few couples were hooking up, a few girls standing on their phones waiting for an Uber. No one really noticed you, but you walked up to one of the guys from your English Literature class, he was standing there smoking a cigarette. “Hey babe,” You said, forcing a little smile on your face as you walked up to him. He raised an eyebrow at you. “Can I have one of those?” You nodded to his cigarette, smiling up at him. He didn’t smile back, shrugging and throwing the butt to the ground. “Sorry, all out,” He said, laughing a little as he walked away. “Slut.” You blinked at his words as you watched him retreat back into the party. What the fuck? “Hey Y/N right? Uh, do you want a cigarette? I’ve got some.” You whirled around at the voice, but paused when you saw who it was. It was the guy from one of your classes, you couldn’t remember his name, but he was a massive nerd, always focused on his work and study.  “Um, yeah, okay.” You relented, he smiled a little and pulled out a brand new pack of cigarettes, fumbling awkwardly with the box before passing one to you. “Didn’t take you for a smoker,” You commented lightly, he looked at the ground in embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m not. But my friend wanted to buy some for tonight.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “For tonight?” You asked. “Lighter?” 

He passed you a lighter, watching you as you lit up the cigarette, inhaling. You coughed a little, but relaxed. “Uh, yeah. He doesn’t come to these parties often. Said he didn’t know whether it was cooler to bring whiskey or bring cigarettes. So he bought these beforehand. Just in case.” His words came out in a rush and  he shrugged a little. You nodded slowly, not sure if he was being serious or not. Probably serious, you mused. He was considered a loser amongst the University party crowd, it made sense that he and his friend would go to that much effort to prepare for a house party. “So uh… who’s your friend?” You asked awkwardly, feeling like you had to fill up the silence somehow.  “Seokjin. Kim Seokjin?” He searched your face for a hint of recognition but you kept your face blank. He continued on. “Some girl he’s into invited him tonight and he asked me along as well… but the minute we got here he was off somewhere with her. Anyway, no one was talking to me all night, so I was out here about to catch an Uber home when I overheard you and that guy.” You nodded, dropping your cigarette to the ground. It wasn’t finished but you were happy with your few puffs. They had settled your nerves and that what you had wanted. “Maybe no one in the party was talking to you because they don’t think you’re worth talking to,” You said shortly, looking him dead in the eyes. He just stared back, unintimidated. “Do I look like I care what they think?” You couldn’t hide the surprise that flashed over your face, he smiled a little at that. “I have other friends, you know. I don’t need to be accepted by these people, to be honest, I really could care less about what they think of me.” “Fair.” You gave him that, eyeing him thoughtfully. You hadn’t really noticed him before, but studying him now, you had to admit he was attractive. He was tall, taller than most of the guys at the party, and he had a long body and lean muscles. He was clumsy, you could tell, by the way he fumbled with his hands and kept shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hair was long, but brushed off of his forehead thoughtlessly, unlike the other guys who had carefully combed and gelled every strand into place. He was kind of weird, but, he would do. “Wanna fuck?” You propped one hand up on your hip and eyed him. You didn’t bother with small talk, you usually didn’t, and you figured it would work with him. He was such a loser, you figured he’d probably nut in his pants as soon as you even said the word fuck. He just blinked at your words, and looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Do you even know my name?” His question caught you off guard, you opened and closed your mouth a few times, unsure of how to reply. “No,” You finally admitted, he just smiled ruefully. “But what has that got to do with anything? I’m not writing a biography on your life story, I’m just asking if you want to fuck.” He just looked at you again, and you didn’t like the look in his eyes. Usually by this point, guys are looking at you with a horny, excited look in their eyes. This guy is just staring at you, studying you so closely it was making you feel a bit uncomfortable. “Fine, if you don’t want to, whatever,” You said, throwing your hands up and then striding straight past him and down the path of the house, walking down the street. The party was at a house just off campus, and your apartment was only a few streets away- thank God. “Fuck this party,” You muttered to yourself, reaching your street. You were so busy feeling annoyed that you didn’t realize he was still walking beside you. “I never said I didn’t want to.” His voice suddenly cut into your thoughts, you whirled around in shock, eyes wide. “What?” He just smiled. “I never said I didn’t want to.” You frowned a little. What is up with this guy? “All I’m saying, is that you can’t be having very good sex if that’s how you go about it.” You scoffed at his words. “Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you are? I have great sex, thank you very much.” He just smirked, it was a look you never thought you’d see on someone like him. Cockiness. “Mm, I don’t think so.” “You know what, fuck you. See ya.” “Look, all I’m saying is that good sex isn’t just walking up to someone and asking if they want to fuck. It shouldn’t be that easy.” You rolled your eyes at him, annoyed. “Well, it’s not my fault it’s easy for me.” 

He just stared back at you challengingly. “Why do you think it’s easy then?”

You just laughed at that, a little short, bark-like laugh. “Because I know what I want and guys appreciate a girl who is up front and up for a good time. It’s not like you guys want anything more than a quick fun fuck anyway. Doesn’t matter who it is.” He just shakes his head. “No. See, that’s the problem. You should think that any guy is lucky to touch you. A guy who fucks you should make you feel like that... special.” You were suddenly aware of how close he was standing to you. He was staring at you with such intensity that it was causing heat and uncertainty to rise up through your chest and all over your face. “Sit here,” He said suddenly, commandingly. Your eyes followed where he was pointing, at the brick wall right outside of your apartment building. It was a low wall that stretched over to the apartment next door, low enough that if you sat on it now, your feet would touch the ground. 

“What, my neighbour’s wall?” You laughed, he just shrugged and nodded at You, a serious look in his eyes. Intrigued, you just cocked an eyebrow at him and walked up to the wall. hoisting your body up so you were sitting on it.  He was still staring at you when he suddenly put his hands on both of your knees, slowly opening them and then pulling off your underwear. A knowing smile spread across your face. “So we are going to fuck. Finally,” You grinned, and he just shook his head. 

“Nope,” He murmured. His voice was low, and throaty, as he got on his knees and pressed his lips to the inner part of your thigh. He planted quick, purposeful kisses along the length of your thigh and you felt your back stiffen,

Surprise shot through you. Yes, guys went down on you, but they had never gone down on you in the middle of the fucking street in the middle of the fucking night, on your neighbour’s fucking brick wall. You were about to tell him to stop it and just go inside your apartment already when he suddenly kissed in closer to your thigh, against the apex of your pussy and it made your entire body tremble. You stiffened, hesitating, the words faltering from your lips. And then he leaned in and slowly ran his tongue down the entirety of you. You couldn’t help but moan a little at the feeling, as he pulled his head back a little to look into your eyes. His eyes were full of lust and his stare was searching, his eyes roaming you as if you were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. You were about to say soething to him but he simply returned his attention back to you, back to your pussy laid out in front of him as he began flicking his tongue against your clit.  Your entire body stiffened, your hands clenching together. It felt so good, his tongue was slow, but each movement purposeful. His tongue darted against the swollen bud of your clit at such an excruciatingly slow, teasing pace that you were convinced you were about to explode. “Go faster,” you moaned uncontrollably, he just chuckled into you and hummed, doing what he was told to do, and picking up the pace. “God,” you whispered. You’ve had guys go down on you before, sure, but usually all they did with head down there was quick, rapid and dissatisfying. It was always a sloppy, messy, kind of nothingness, and then their head was popping back out from between your legs, an expectation of a blowjob lingering in the air and a proud look on their face like they’d just returned from war or something. But this… fuck. Every movement of his tongue had your core throbbing, he was making you so wet just from his tongue stroking your clit.  

He pulled away from you a little, looking at you again. “Your pussy tastes amazing,” He said simply, his words made you groan a little, before he leaned in and sucked gently on your clit. The pressure had you gasping out shakily as he pressed his tongue flat against your clit and massaged it with his tongue. He arched one finger inside of you, using it to tease the entrance of your pussy. Your back was arching into him desperately, and you were aware of the husky, fevered moans leaving your lips. He eased one finger into you, arching his finger up and then pumping in and out slowly, his tongue working on your clit. You moaned louder, as he went faster. You didn’t even remember how you got to this place, you didn’t even care if your moans were going to wake up everyone in the entire street, all you could focus on is how good it felt, his tongue against your sensitive, aching core. He eased another finger in and then used his other hand to stroke your clit in time with his tongue. There was so much stimulation and so much going on that you felt like there was a fire surging through your body, you were so aroused that you were focused only on him between between your thighs, the feeling of the cold brick underneath your bare ass and the way your pussy is tightening and clenching at every single thing he does. “Oh my God,” you whimpered and moaned again, you were like a broken record but you couldn’t even stop yourself from moaning, too focused on all the things he was making you feel. “I’m going to come,” You whispered desperately as he eased a third finger into you, just enough to stretch you out a little more, and make your back arch and stiffen, you entire body shuddered and you felt the most intense, explosive orgasm surge through your entire body, through every cell it felt like. You could feel it everywhere, even after your orgasm starts fading, it leaves behind a glow that you can still feel. Slowly, he pulls his face away from between your legs, removing one finger at a time and watching you, desire on his face, his lips slightly parted. You wobbled a little, trembling, and he was up, supporting you. You were still weak from the orgasm, it was so intense your body is still shaking a little. You glanced down, he was so hard you could see the entire outline of his cock straining against his jeans, and you knew never in your entire life had you wanted someone so badly. “Please, come up to my place. Please,” You mumbled, your voice was husky with want, desire, and from the glow thanks to what his mouth and hands did to you. He was staring at you still, his eyes fierce with desire, his cock so hard that all you wanted to do was see how it looked fucking you. “You feel good?” He asked simply, you just nodded breathlessly. He smiled. “Can you stand? You can make it back into your place okay?” He asked, glancing over at your house. You nodded eagerly and hopped off the wall, swaying a little but altogether fine. You couldn’t wait to take him upstairs and rip his clothes off. Everything about him was sexy to you now, the way his hair fell in his eyes before he pushed it back, that smoldering stare he kept giving you, his sunkissed skin. “I feel amazing,” You breathed out. “Good,” he said, leaning in and kissing your cheek gently. He was so tall he had to bend down a little to do it. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel.” He pulled back, his eyes were a little dimmer and he had replaced his look of intense ‘I want you’ with a calmer expression. “I’ll see you another time,” He said simply, cocking his head and looking at you. Your mouth dropped open in protest but he simply turned around, walking down the street. You watched him go, dazed. “Wait…” You began, he turned around and smiled at you, a big, sunny smile. You noticed he had two dimples in each cheek. You wondered what else you hadn’t noticed before about him. “Goodnight,” He said, you just blinked back. “Good night,” You replied, not sure what else to say. “Get home safe?” He said, walking backwards now. You just nodded. He paused for a second. “I’m Namjoon by the way.” And with that, he turned and kept walking, leaving you wanting more.

AN- I can’t express enough that I don’t think the OC/reader character is a slut at all. In fact, I hate slut shaming and I fully support women having autonomy/freedom over their own bodies and own choices, free from judgment. However, in reality sadly many people do and that’s just the point I’m trying to make in this story :)