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eoieopda · 1 month ago

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in limine | wjh

in limine (latin): at the threshold, in the beginning

synopsis: you think that by remaining single this year, you’ve found a loophole in your string of shitty valentine’s days. the universe thinks you should lose your paralegal on the eve of a major trial and see if you wouldn’t rather have all of those untimely breakups and missed dates instead. pairing: wen junhui x reader au: law firm, coworkers to something genre: fluff, minor angst, smut word count: 12.5k rating: 18+ (minors, do not interact) content/warnings: attorney!reader, attorney!junhui, pov switches, civil litigation (derogatory), forced proximity, discussions of shitty relationships, i haven’t practiced in this field of law in years, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content (v fingering, p in v penetration; use of protection isn’t referenced — the smut is v prose-y —but these two would not fuck without a condom!!). reader notes: afab, no pronouns used, no descriptions of hair/complexion/body/ethnicity/nationality/etc., canonically queer, has at least one (small, nondescript, hidden wrist) tattoo. a/n 1: this fic is part of the lonely hearts club café collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! please check out the rest of this masterlist, as well as their previous collabs! 💕 a/n 2: everything here is based on u.s. law, even though the setting is nondescript. family law attorneys: i’m sorry. this is based on my one (1) month in that practice area. a/n 3: smooches to the (w)hor(e)anghae beta gang — @jihopesjoint, @daechwitatamic, and @sailorsoons svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

If you had a dollar for every exasperated sigh you’ve let out during this seemingly never-ending phone call with your mother, you’d be able to pay off your student loans in an instant. Though the frustration is palpable to you, causing your already elevated blood pressure to spike further, it’s invisible to her.

Or worse, inconsequential.

“I’m just saying!” She offers, as if this takes the edge off. As if she’s ever said anything just to say it. “It wouldn’t kill you to give Mika another chance. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

The next time you hear her voice, it doesn’t come from the phone pinched between your ear and shoulder; it materializes in the back of your brain and lingers like a poltergeist.

Don’t roll your eyes like that unless you want them to get stuck that way.

Across the counter, the person subbing in for your usual barista shoots you an impatient glare, then flicks his gaze to the growing line behind you.

“Mom, I have to —”

“— You really should return her calls, dove. Bitterness causes premature wrinkles, and you can’t afford —”

At this, the thread you’re dangling by snaps. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try your best to keep your voice down. “I don’t have time for this. I’ll talk to you later.”

When you hang up on her, the forceful tap against your phone’s screen sounds more like a rock against a window. Already wind-bitten from the walk here, your cheeks burn even more harshly when you note the multiple pairs of eyes watching you with poorly disguised interest.

Not wanting to make an even bigger spectacle out of yourself, you hurriedly shove your phone in your pocket and accept the drink being handed to you, even though you can tell by the blatant lack of ice that it’s wrong.

“Thank you,” you mutter with a curt nod.

The second-string barista doesn’t acknowledge that you’ve spoken. That said, the throbbing vein in his temple disappears the second you back away from his counter.

With the americano you didn’t order burning a hole through your palm, you turn swiftly and head for the door. You barely make it two steps before your phone starts screaming from the inside of your coat pocket.

Leaning hard against the glass door, you force it open with your body alone and use your spare hand to instead grasp the source of all your morning’s problems. The pressure of that godforsaken brick shoves the post of your earring painfully into your neck.

You growl, “When I said later, I didn’t mean by thirty seconds.”

A voice that is distinctly not your mother’s stammers, “Um — hello — This is Tom from Amato, Shapiro, and Santi.”

Never have you ever encountered a firm of assholes so aptly named.

He waits a beat, no doubt expecting you to apologize for your rude non-greeting, but you don’t. In fact, he could wait forever and still not get a mea culpa.

It’s only fair, you think.

Just last month, the serial sex pest he represents escaped liability for harassing your client, due in large part to Tom’s bullshit antics. If that poor woman couldn’t even get an apology for what she went through, Tom certainly won’t now.

“Yes, I know where you work, Tom.”

You roll your eyes again. It’s a reckless decision, given how furiously you’re charging down the sidewalk. A dog-walker scrambles to get both himself and his tiny, white dog out of your way.

“Do you need something? I don’t chat for free.”

The shitty little laugh you get in response makes your skin crawl. He doesn’t drag it out, though, immediately simpering, “But do you make use of the time you bill for?”

“What are you — ?” You begin to ask.

Tom cuts you off, his tone jovial and no less fake than his back alley Gucci loafers. “I’m inquiring about your witness and exhibit lists for the Qian divorce in two weeks. Really waiting until the last minute, huh? Trying to keep me on my toes?”

Though he can’t see you do it, you shake your head with a patronizing smile.

“Nice try, Tom,” you sigh. “Judge Ito continued that to May. She’s the keynote speaker for that cancerous children charity gala, or whatever.”

You weave through two old women with a muttered apology. Both are too busy gossiping about their grandsons to hear you, which is no surprise. They didn’t notice the queue of pissed-off pedestrians stuck behind their roadblock, either.

“No,” Tom corrects you. “She issued an entry a month ago, advising the parties that the conflict was no longer conflicting; and the original trial date would stand.”

The block heel of your boot catches in a divot in the sidewalk. Although you don’t trip, you may as well have. The coffee you didn’t want sloshes violently, goaded by your sudden, harsh squeeze of its cup; and it splatters all over your top, burning your chest through sticky, soaked fabric.

Because why not, you rue, the heel that did you in clatters separately to wet concrete when you lift your foot, having ripped itself from your sole.

Rather than lie down on the concrete and wait for death in the way you crave, you swallow hard and choke out, “I never got that entry.”

“It sounds like you never got competent support staff.” He laughs too loudly, making your blood boil. “Ultimately, it’s up to you which is more pressing: cleaning house or the Rules of Civil Procedure.”

Your mouth opens instinctively to tell him all the million ways he can fuck off and die. He cuts you off again before you can start:

“Just know that I will make it a problem if you can’t get your shit together in time for court. My client is sick of yours dragging this out. Frankly, so am I.”

And without another word, Tom hangs up on you.

Whatever.

Anything else he might’ve said would’ve been drowned out by the hammering pulse in your ears, anyway. What you did hear loops through your brain with every uneven step you take down the warpath, bringing your office building closer and closer into view.

Trial in two weeks.

Competent support staff.

As much as you hate to admit it, Tom has a point. You’ve been making excuses for your paralegal, Dev, for months, but this kind of fuck-up can’t be overlooked. No matter how endearing he is, Dev’s a goddamn disaster. Put simply, you can’t keep sticking your neck out for him only to have it trampled, time and again.

Dread churns in your stomach for the remainder of your commute, although the full-blown nausea doesn’t hit you until you exit the elevator and wobble out into your firm’s waiting area. A deep breath in through your nose is followed by a shaky exhale through your mouth.

Neither helps.

You make a mental note to tell your therapist that she was wrong, then another one to actually schedule an appointment.

Despite your unflinching exterior — and the profession you’ve willingly chosen for reasons still unknown to you — the simple fact remains that you don’t seek out confrontation. Nothing ruins your day quite like having to ruin someone else’s. Unfortunately for Dev, you don’t have a choice not to go nuclear. Likewise, you don’t have much time left to get your shit together prior to trial. All you seem to have is an ultimatum to present him for consideration:

Stay late with me tonight to clean up this mess, or be out of the job by the end of business hours.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you make a beeline for your personal office.

There, somewhere amidst the out-of-date statutory reference books and evidence boxes, you’ve got at least one pair of spare Chelsea boots hidden for circumstances like these.

Well, that’s not quite true.

You’ve planned ahead for sudden court appearances or shitty weather, not for the abysmally bad luck you’ve experienced so far this morning. Regardless of why you have this contingency plan locked down, you’re grateful that you do. If nothing else, it will allow you to obtain some semblance of balance before potentially kicking Dev to the curb.

Upon hobbling into your office, you close the door behind you and immediately kick off your current shoes so violently that the broken boot flies somewhere out of sight. It takes several minutes’ worth of sock-footed scurrying to find their replacements. Eventually, you locate them in a far more reasonable spot than you expected: tucked neatly underneath the far edge of your L-shaped desk.

You drop yourself into your desk chair, suddenly feeling the crushing weight of your burdens against your shoulders, and begin to unceremoniously shove your feet into your boots.

It all just fucking figures, doesn’t it?

For as far back as you can remember, every Valentine’s Day you’ve experienced has been hellish. Comically cruel, like the showrunners in charge of your narrative are trying to maintain viewership, season after season; and they’re upping the ante as they go.

Last year, Mika couldn’t be bothered to remember your relationship, let alone the holiday. She spent it underneath someone else in your bed. Before that, the “first date” you had to be talked into in the first place ended the same way it started: with you sitting alone at a bar in a crowd of perfect pairs. The pattern started in undergrad, though the memories thankfully get foggier the further back you look.

By staying away from romance entirely for the last few months, you’d made yourself so sure that you’d cracked the code — that, for once, you’d make it through the fourteenth unscathed.

And yet, here you are, suffering immensely before your day even starts.

When your therapist’s bullshit breathing technique does nothing to soothe you, you close your eyes and mutter to yourself, “It cannot get worse. It will not get worse. Bad things have happened, but it is not a bad day.”

Whether the sudden sense of calm you feel is the byproduct of mindfulness or delusion, you can’t say. Whatever the source is, you’ll take it. You cling to that shred of perspective, push yourself to your feet with a grunt, and head back in the direction you just came from.

Outside your door, the hallway gives you two options: the waiting area, which you stomped through to get where you currently are, and the office shared by your firm’s two current paralegals.

Tsia, the more senior of the two, is currently on maternity leave, which means that you’ll be able to dangle Dev off the ledge without an audience. That tiny piece of consolation is enough to get you moving in his direction, although the serenity you just barely managed to scrounge up starts evaporating more and more with every step you take.

“Dev?” You call out as you approach his closed door.

This, you note, is unlike him. He’s never been productive enough to need to shut out distractions; and he’s never been shameful enough to hide the fact that he spends most days scrolling through TikTok — without headphones, no less.

“Dev?” You try again, attempting to sound much more pleasant than you feel. “Are you on the phone?”

Hearing no response, you reach for the knob and turn it slowly, offering him some additional time to at least pretend to be busy. After counting to five, you push the door open. Then, you freeze.

Dev and his blasted cell phone are nowhere to be seen. His work laptop is on, which might have suggested that he simply stepped away, but the backlit sheet of paper taped to it says otherwise. You cross to his desk and snatch the note from his screen, eyes scanning quickly through his shockingly neat script and widening with horror at every word.

Boss,

Please consider this my resignation letter. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you in advance, but everything came about so suddenly that I haven’t had much time to wrap my brain around it. My partner’s business trip to Malta turned into a relocation offer, and now the two of us are going to –

Without bothering to finish that sentence, you crush the paper within your white-knuckled fist and squeeze your eyes shut tightly enough to sting.

FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK.

Unable to scream out loud, you slam that same fist down onto his desk with force. The smack of your hand against the wood doesn’t distract from the panic swelling in your chest, but it does bring his laptop back to life. The sudden appearance of his desktop is especially surprising, considering you told him no fewer than ten times to password-protect his shit.

Because the hits simply will not stop coming, you see two things at once that make you want to vomit.

The desktop wallpaper is an adorable photo of Dev and his partner. Both are smiling, holding one another closely on a beach somewhere, as if the world isn’t capable of crashing down around them.

At the bottom of the screen, below sand-covered feet, is a growing list of push notifications on his minimized Outlook application.

It’s the last thing in the world you want to do, but you can’t help it; damage control is impossible if you can’t properly triage the problem. Swallowing down bile, you click on the icon and bring up your firm’s primary email inbox, which Tsia and Dev are jointly responsible for manning. Of the hundreds of untouched messages, more than half are from either local Clerks of Court or Tom fucking Santi.

Just above the notice of your now-upcoming trial, you find the only January emails that Dev did read, confirming one-way plane tickets to Malta and the booking of international movers. That motherfucker not only lied in his quote-unquote resignation letter about the amount of notice he could give you but also about the billable hours he burned, planning his escape.

All at once, you feel your internal systems crashing out. Your eyes swim, your head reels, and your stomach lurches. You don’t know whether you want to scream, sob, or send yourself flying out of the nearby window. All of them — preferably at once.

The only reason you don’t do any of these things, no matter how strong the urges are, is the fact that your professional reputation is at stake. Your abject refusal to appear incompetent kicks you into overdrive. It kicks you so far, in fact, that you find yourself in your co-worker’s office with no real memory of walking there in the first place.

Yuki jolts when she looks up from her monitors and finds you looming over her with your eyes too wide to be normal. She gets up immediately and gestures for you to sit on the plush loveseat underneath her window. You don’t – rather, can’t – move, so she places her hands on your shoulders and ushers you onto a cushion herself.

“Dear god,” she mutters. “Are you okay?”

She should know by now that this is the worst possible question to ask you under circumstances like this. Of course, you weren’t okay when you barged in here to begin with. You’re even worse off now because your weakness is being perceived.

Embarrassment and self-loathing bubbles under the surface of your skin, making you hot. Both threaten to leak out through your eyes.

You don’t want to have to ask for help, period, but you’re out of options; and Yuki is the only person here who’s allowed to see you anywhere near a breakdown. That, and you’re certain she’d be available. Having drafted the shared parenting agreement for her and her ex-boyfriend, you know for a fact that their daughter will be with him tonight.

“If I buy you takeout, would you be willing to stay for a while after work to help with some last minute trial prep?” You can’t even bring yourself to meet her eyes when you explain, “Dev bailed, and I’m so, so, so fucked now.”

Yuki grabs your hand from your lap and squeezes. For a split second, you feel relieved. Then, you hear her sigh, and your hopes are dashed just as quickly as they were raised.

“Kimiko’s kindergarten class is having a daddy-daughter dance for Valentine’s Day tonight,” she starts.

The pained look on her face tells you everything you need to know. Nevertheless, she continues, “Ty flaked, as usual. I had to be the one to decide what would be more humiliating for her — being the only kid there with their mom, or the only kid who doesn’t get to go at all.”

“I’m so sorry, Yuki.”

You mean it, wholeheartedly. The only victim of your shitty love life is you. Yuki, on the other hand, has a six-year-old to protect from becoming collateral damage.

She simply shrugs, too used to this sort of letdown to let it ruin her day. “Kimiko bounced back fairly quickly, which is pretty sad, in and of itself. She asked if we could wear matching outfits.”

You crack a smile for the first time all day. Gesturing to her entirely black, incredibly chic outfit, you tease, “Is she dressing for a funeral, too?”

“I wish!” Yuki throws her head back and whines, “The vibes tonight are tragically bright pink, and I have to leave early to shop before the dance starts.”

“Well…” You give her hand a squeeze, then let it go entirely. “I’m sending you thoughts and prayers, buddy.”

She swats at you, tells you kindly to fuck off, and then wishes you good luck while you head back out her door.

As you trudge back towards your office, you run through your list of contingency plans.

The firm’s owners, Zavier and Jaein, are both out of the question. If they’re not spending the night with their respective spouses, they’ll be continuing their not-so-secret affair with one another. Even if they weren’t, you’d rather stand in front of an oncoming train than give them any reason to doubt your abilities.

Next.

With Yuki out of commission, there are three other associate attorneys left for you to consider.

Dani is engaged and definitely has plans with his smoke-show of a fiancé; there’s no point in asking him for help. You’d never hear the end of it if you did, anyway. He’s so committed to his one-sided rivalry with you that he’d probably make a plaque to commemorate your failings.

Pass.

Sana and her wife are on a cruise somewhere far more pleasant than here, so she’s out. Thank god. Beating your head against a wall would be preferable to spending several hours in a room alone with her. Sana’s only personality trait is married, and she’s entirely incapable of talking about anything else.

Hard pass.

The relatively new hire, Junhui, is still an unknown factor. In the few months he’s worked here, you’ve met him exactly once that you can recall. It was a brief encounter in the break room; and his mouth was so full of whatever he’d brought for lunch that he couldn’t respond beyond simply waving when you’d introduced yourself.

He seemed perfectly nice — and from what you hear, he’s perfectly competent — but yours is far too big a burden to shove onto a virtual stranger.

Besides, there’s simply no way that someone who looks like that doesn’t have better places to be tonight.

Junhui doesn’t realize that he’d nodded off until his bleary eyes travel down from his half-finished report and spot the time in the bottom corner of his screen. Apparently, it’s already a quarter to six. If he hadn’t fallen asleep at some point in the recent past, he’d be stepping off the train home by now.

Of course, he isn’t. Now, with all the other commuters flooding public transit, the trip home will be at least twice as long.

Damn it.

He scrubs his hands over his face in an attempt to get the exhaustion off of it, though he doesn’t manage without yawning into his palms.

Figuring that he’s already behind schedule, he slowly rises to his feet and stretches his arms over his head with a groan, dreaming all the while of the caffeine he can down before heading out. With no one left in the office, he’ll be able to fail his way through this acquisition without anyone knowing how completely inept he is at using the firm’s espresso machine.

As expected, Junhui’s walk to the conference room is lonely. Each of his colleagues’ doors are closed, making it clear that they all bolted the second they could. Even the cleaning staff managed to come and go without him noticing; all the trash and recycling bins have been emptied.

Thankfully, he notes, someone forgot to turn off the conference room light before they dipped. If they hadn’t, all his steps would be taken in total darkness — because, even after three months of working here, he still doesn’t have a clue where the switches are.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into that sole, lit room, Junhui stops. The massive table that normally occupies the center of it has been shoved up against the interior wall, along with all its chairs. In its place, evidence boxes form a haphazard little fairy circle on the rug. You sit cross-legged in the middle, nose all but buried in a case file, wearing leggings and a crewneck instead of the suit you likely came here in.

“You look comfortable,” he muses.

It becomes abundantly clear very quickly that you, too, thought you were here alone. You jolt at the sound of his voice. All the papers you were holding drop and scatter, both across your lap and the floor you’re monopolizing.

Junhui’s hands fly up. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The look on your face is far from startled, though. Even from a few meters away, he can see how tightly your jaw is clenched. If he listens closely, he’d likely hear your teeth grinding one another into dust.

He can also sense how stiff your posture is, now that you feel his eyes on you. His gaze shifts to the piles of paper near your knotted limbs; and he tells himself that he’s averting his eyes out of respect, not the tiny tremble of intimidation he feels working its way down his spine.

At this point, Junhui knows you by reputation only. He’s rarely at any of the courthouses you frequent, and his specific line of work keeps him out of the office, more often than not. Whenever he is here, you’re not — too busy with that massive caseload of yours to catch much of a breather.

The two of you may be passing ships in the night, but you have a lot of people in common. He can’t say that he’s made much of an impression on them so far. You, on the other hand, are both widely known and discussed.

So far, anyone that’s ever mentioned you to him speaks about you as if they’re describing a force of nature. It’s the kind of awe people usually save for something fearsome yet worthy of respect, like a tsunami — with the sole exception being that sanctimonious cunt, Tom Santi, who most recently described you as a nightmare bitch from hell.

Of course, Junhui has no firsthand knowledge to back any of these claims up, but he figures it can’t be that far out of character for you to be here now, working too hard. For all he knows, it could also be on-brand for you to snap his neck for distracting you.

“Do you…?”

One of your eyebrows arches quizzically. His question dies on his tongue, halfway finished, because he doesn’t know where it was headed in the first place. Just the same, he can’t tell if that expression on your face is due to stress, annoyance at being interrupted, or some secret, third thing.

…Want me to leave?

Junhui points awkwardly to the espresso machine in the corner, which you’ve unintentionally barricaded behind the conference room table. Like a fucking buffoon, all he says is: “Espresso?”

Your face scrunches a tiny bit. For the second time, he finds himself completely unable to read you. Is it disgust? Suspicion?

No, he realizes, it’s neither. He sees the tiniest flicker of it when the corner of your lips twitch: amusement. While the smile doesn’t overtake your mouth, there’s a glimmer of it in your eyes. It’s reason enough for Junhui to breathe for the first time since he walked in.

“Yes, I do espresso.” You nod with your lips bitten between your teeth, like you’re seconds away from laughing.

Too eagerly, Junhui nods, too. “Right. Got it. Order up.”

Order up?

Running away isn’t an option; and he can’t dig a hole to hide in without a shovel. All he has left to do is shuffle over towards the corner and slink through the obstacle course you’ve built. With what he feels is impressive agility, he makes it all the way to the machine before pausing suddenly.

Under his breath, he curses, “Fuck.”

The jig is up now. Junhui has no idea which buttons to press, or even where the espresso beans are. Unfortunately for both of you, the only way for him to find out is to interrupt you further.

Whoever handles his eulogy better leave out how little time it took him to provoke you into killing him.

Bracing himself for impact, he squeezes his eyes shut and smiles sheepishly. “Do you happen to know how to… use this?”

There’s a groan from the center of the room. Junhui cracks one eye open and searches for the fist coming his way. Instead, he finds you on your feet, twisting at the waist and stretching.

While twisting, you lock eyes — well, eye — with him, then you freeze with your torso still rotated in his direction. Your hinged arms stay where they are, held up at your sides.

“I’ve been sitting here like a goblin for too long,” you explain, tone self-conscious. “If you just heard every joint in my body pop…. no, you didn’t.”

Before Junhui can think of a quip in response — he’s capable of coherent speech, he swears — you step over the shoes you’ve discarded and make your way over to him, patterned socks clashing with the neutral carpet below. He steps back on instinct, although there isn’t really anywhere left for him to go.

You either don’t notice how close you get to him, or you don’t care. Entirely unfazed, you set to work, grinding and tamping like it’s all second nature to you.

Junhui knows he should use this time to observe your processes carefully, but he doesn’t. That’s not to say the learning opportunity is entirely squandered, though.

And he’s a quick study.

In less than a minute, he learns more about you than he has in the last three months. His first discovery is that you’re wearing a watch on your dominant wrist, which is weird as hell — until he spots the small tattoo hiding beneath it. He catches the very faint notes of patchouli at the base of your perfume, too, underneath the cassis and freesia.

It’s nice, he thinks, even better than the overwhelming scent of coffee that swoops in to drown it out.

“This goes here —”

The silver piece in your hand twists into place with a click, drawing his attention back to where it should’ve been all along.

Fuck.

Have you been talking this entire time?

“— and then you press the start button to release the hot water.”

You glance up at him then to confirm that he understood you. Junhui blinks, buffering while he tries to play this out.

“You’re good at this,” he improvises, although he admittedly has no idea if this is true.

“No compliments until you survive drinking it.” You offer him a wry smile to go with the drink you’ve made him. “I’ve quite literally never touched this thing before in my life.”

With your vaguely expectant eyes on him, he takes a small sip, then he murmurs with his lips still hidden behind the glass, “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Why?” You smirk and tilt your head to the side. “Because it’s just that good?”

No, in fact, it’s terrible, but you don’t need to know that.

Junhui nods his head towards the center of the room. His reply is simple, and despite not being the full truth, it’s not a lie: “I’d expect more practice from someone who seems to live here.”

For the first time since he walked in, you offer a full reaction — not just a hint of one. He would’ve preferred a laugh, or even a genuine smile; however, that’s not what he gets. Instead, your face becomes pinched.

“Fucking Dev.”

Whatever thought you might have had about making your own shitty drink disappears. You stalk back over to your shrine of documents and drop once again to the floor, legs knitted. In the split second you’re not looking at him, Junhui spits out the bean shards you missed while grinding and tosses them in the nearby trash can.

Although he’s curious, he hesitates to ask what it is you’re working on. Clearly, whatever it is has got you stressed to the point that caffeine is no longer a priority. Based on personal experience, that’s a bad sign.

Still, Junhui can’t seem to stop talking to you, even though he’s sure it’s a bother. He takes a second look at the sheer amount of paper surrounding you and ventures a guess: “Class-action suit?”

“That would honestly be preferable,” you mutter, looking up from your notes long enough to glance over your shoulder at him.

He takes this as a sign that his presence isn’t entirely unwelcome. At least, it’s a good enough omen to draw him closer. He skirts back around the mess of chairs until he’s standing across from where you sit, and then he leans back against the table.

You look back down again, leaving Junhui to wonder if he made the wrong call. For what it’s worth, he also wonders what it really is about you that’s making him act so awkwardly all of the sudden.

“What are you still here for?”

His heart drops into his stomach, which is about ready to fall right out of his ass. His mouth opens, though nothing comes out.

Sensing the way he’s quietly spiraling, you look up at him. “In the office, I mean,” you amend quickly with a shake of your head. “We don’t really run into each other during business hours, so I didn’t expect to see you here after, you know?”

Ah, fuck.

Junhui swallows.

The truth — that he’s only here because he dozed off on the clock — is offensive, even to him. Here you are, working hard enough for two people; and in stomps the clown whose tasks bored him right to sleep. While he doesn’t want anyone to know about his unprofessional little snooze, the thought of admitting it to you feels…

Nope.

He’s not going to unpack this, not now. It doesn’t matter if it’s a desire to not look dumb in front of a colleague or one to be a little more impressive to you, specifically.

“I was working on an investigatory report,” he eventually says, conveniently leaving out the fact that his impromptu nap kept him from finishing it.

You arch an eyebrow again, which he’s beginning to believe is an unconscious tell of yours. Yet another quiet invitation.

“Investigatory report? Is that… common?”

The two of you look at each other. Now, he’s confused.

“You do immigration law, don’t you?” You gesture over his shoulder, out the door. “You’ve got five different name plates outside your office, written in as many different alphabets —”

Oh.

“— I kind of just assumed —”

Junhui laughs, which causes your other eyebrow to rise up and join the other. “I mean, I dabble. It’s all soul-crushing, though, so I try not to take those cases unless they’re, like, dire.”

Too many of them are.

You hum in acknowledgment. “So, what do you do?”

“Guardian ad Litem work, mostly,” he replies with a shrug. “The name plates are —“

He gestures vaguely, but then all that suppressed, systemic frustration starts to bubble up, unbidden. He’s never been great at withholding his little rants, so he starts talking a little too quickly, a little too loudly.

“There are a lot of immigrant families in the area, right? Whether or not they should, a lot of them wind up court-involved, especially where their kids are concerned.”

As aware as he is that his hands are moving too much with each word, he’s unable to stop.

“I noticed that absolutely nobody on the local courts’ appointment lists was multilingual, which is just fucking negligent —”

When you finally speak, it’s with your head tilted and eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Sounds to me like someone found their calling.”

And against his better judgment, Junhui takes his balled up fist, extends his thumb and pinky finger, and holds it up to his ear. “Might have been a wrong number, but it’s worked out well enough so far.”

And you laugh, sincerely and squeakily in a way that nearly makes him laugh, too.

“You’re weird. You know that, right? Like weird weird.” You grin as you say this, leading him to believe it’s a compliment of the highest order. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Junhui looks at you, looking at him, and he feels the charge your shitty espresso couldn’t muster. He feels bolder. Gesturing to your mountain of documents, he finally brings himself to ask why you’re still here. The second he does, he regrets it; he watches you deflate in real time, smile warping downwards.

“It’s a clusterfuck.”

You take your eyes off of him and plant them back on the file in your hands.

“I found out that a nasty trial of mine is taking place in two weeks, rather than twelve, and I have to get shit together tonight or I’m fucked – genuinely, irrevocably fucked. I can’t file a Witness and Exhibit List until I get through all of this discovery–”

You shift your extended left leg to give one of the boxes a half-hearted kick.

“– and if I don’t submit that for electronic filing by midnight, all my shit will be excluded.”

Junhui nods his understanding, then pushes himself off the table he’s been leaning on. You watch him carefully, waiting for him to excuse himself and walk out the door, but that was never his intention. Instead, he sits cross-legged on the floor across from you and grabs a packet of exhibit stickers off one of the nearby boxes’ lids.

“Letters or numbers?” He asks, holding the packet aloft.

You blink before you splutter, “Oh, wait, no. No, you really don’t have to. I couldn’t ask you to –”

“Letters or numbers?” Junhui repeats himself, softer but no less seriously.

“You seriously don’t have other plans?”

Now, it’s his turn to balk. Unlike you, his shock is entirely manufactured. “On a work night? In this economy?”

“On Valentine’s Day,” you correct him with emphasis.

Rather than feigned horror, it’s earnest embarrassment that floods his face. The tips of his ears start burning, too, in a matter of seconds. Smiling sheepishly, he admits, “Guess I forgot. Don’t really have much to celebrate, you know?”

You raise the manila folder in your hand and reach over to tap it against the packet of stickers in his.

“Cheers to that,” you scoff.

Junhui, it turns out, is even more productive than you are. He falls into lockstep with you the moment he sits down, and other than asking him to hand you things that are closer to him than to you, you don’t need to direct him.

Better still, he anticipates. Every time you finish reviewing one exhibit, he’s holding another one out to you – pre-marked – with a packet of post-it tabs for you to mark especially relevant pages. Though you certainly didn’t ask him to, the tabs he gives you follow a color-scheme, creating a key for easier reference.

Green for financial records, red for social media posts and other electronic communications, blue for your clients’ extensive medical and therapy records.

In only a handful of hours, you comb through everything you need to in order to truly start preparing. The sinkhole that’s been occupying your stomach since this morning disappears. In its place, all that’s left is a void of a different kind.

“I’m starving,” you announce suddenly and dramatically, flopping onto your back with your arm flung over your forehead. “Are you?”

When you don’t get a response, you pull your arm away from your face and crack one eye open in the face of the overhead fluorescents. If your vision wasn’t already blurry from all the time spent reading, this stupid decision likely would’ve blinded you. Thankfully, your eyes still work well enough to look over at Junhui.

Where Junhui was, rather.

You blink, dumbfounded. You didn’t see or hear him leave, which begs the question: were you too locked-in to hear his goodbye, or did he slip past you like Casper the Selflessly Helpful Ghost? You don’t know when it was that he even left, or why it is that you’re frowning now for the first time in six hours.

You reach for your phone to text him and ask. It’s in your hand before you realize that you don’t have his number and back in your pocket before you feel yourself truly start to pout. Although he was putting in unpaid labor on your behalf, you’d gotten the impression that he was enjoying himself. You were, anyway.

Deciding that you can manage lonely better than hungry, you force yourself to sit up, then to your feet. Without bothering to put your shoes back on, you step over the paper fortress you’ve spent all night building and shuffle off with heavy eyelids towards the door.

Someone in this office has to have snacks, whether they’d be okay with you sniping some or not. You cross your fingers while you head for the breakroom and hope for a nice, unexpired yogurt, at the very least. Maybe a leftover packet of oyster crackers if you’re lucky – ones that aren’t stale if you’re especially so.

Before you can step foot into the breakroom, a sudden, muffled shout snaps you out of your famished, fugue state.

“Hot!”

Your gaze snaps from the floor to Junhui, who stands in front of you with both of his hands full. His eyebrows now occupy the space immediately below his hairline; his eyes are wider than you would’ve previously thought humanly possible. Relief splashes over you. If you’re being honest, it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the two steaming bowls of buldak ramen you just narrowly avoided crashing into.

With two, paper-wrapped pairs of chopsticks held between his teeth, Junhui can’t say much of anything. That doesn’t stop him from trying, though. “Ih ooh mih meh?”

“What?” You snort.

Realizing how truly useless that question is, you reach up and carefully pluck the chopsticks from his mouth. A heart-shaped smile takes their place.

“I asked if you missed me,” he simpers. “I told you I’d be right back.”

You blink twice, quickly.

Did he?

He jerks his head in the direction of the conference room. “C’mon. You’re hungry, and I’m burning through my epidermis.”

As soon as you side-step out of his way, Junhui takes off at a laughable pace, footsteps measured and careful to avoid sloshing hot soup as he goes. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from telling him how much he looks like those sprint-walkers turning laps at the local mall. All he needs is a tracksuit.

When you finally catch up to him, you find that he’s already set both bowls onto the table and pulled up a chair. One chair. You open your mouth to ask him about this, but he senses your question coming and waves it away with his hand.

“There’s only ten minutes left to file your Witness and Exhibit List,” he points out.

You don’t doubt him enough to check your watch, but you’re surprised to learn that he’s kept track of your deadline, even when you haven’t. Both of you move at once, nearly colliding a second time on your respective routes to your laptop.

Oh.

That single chair is for you.

“Seriously, eat,” Junhui urges. “I’ve got this.”

He sits down on the floor and hauls your computer into his lap without another word. You can’t seem to move, though. You simply stand there, watching him, and try to fight the very unexpected urge you suddenly feel to cry.

In fact, you’re still standing there when he calls out to you without looking up. “Case parties and who else?”

“The fertility –” You swallow thickly then clear your throat. “The fertility doctor, Eve Nguyen. She’s testifying to the in vitro hell my client put herself through while her husband was withholding the truth about his vasectomy from her.”

Junhui types furiously as you talk, face scrunching up in disgust without turning away from your screen.

“Her therapist, too: Phoebe Miller. She’ll testify to the impact of the hormone treatments on Ms. Al-Hamin’s mental health, and the sheer amount of time she spent sobbing on Ms. Miller’s couch when she finally found out about her shitbag husband’s useless balls.”

“Eat,” Junhui urges again, more emphatically this time. He gestures with his head to the table, where the ramen he made for you is still waiting. “I mean it. I’ll figure out a more court-appropriate way to phrase shitbag husband’s useless balls.”

You do as he says and sink down into the chair he pulled out for you, pulling the food toward you eagerly. Thankfully, he doesn’t glance over at you to confirm that you are in fact eating. Though you’ve bonded quickly in this little trench of yours, he doesn’t yet have the kind of security clearance a person would need to see you scarf down noodles with reckless abandon.

Maybe eventually the two of you will get to a point where he can perceive you unhinge your jaw like a snake just to devour a meal.

Today is not that day.

Without needing to be asked, Junhui switches his focus to the stack of numbered exhibits to his left. As he thumbs through them, he adds each one to your Exhibit List in order, then quickly shuffles the one he’s identified to the bottom of the stack. He does it all so effortlessly that he finishes that task before you’ve finished your food.

Unfortunately for you, that means he looks up in time to see the massive, final bite you stuff into your gaping maw. It’s not disgust that you’re met with, though. It’s something soft, a smile that’s entirely present in his eyes. You freeze and thaw at the same time, not giving a shit that those things should be mutually exclusive.

“Do you want to look this over before I e-file it?”

You shake your head, mouth too full to tell him that you trust him. Setting the empty cardboard bowl down on the tabletop, you offer him a thumbs up instead, which makes him laugh; then a finger-heart, which makes him laugh harder.

Although he could, Junhui doesn’t stand up right away. He goes right back to typing, throwing you for a loop.

“Hey,” you say. When he doesn’t stop, you do your best to mimic his softly commanding voice. “Eat.”

He shakes his head. When he speaks, he sounds a thousand miles away; too focused to be fully present. “I’m already over here. I might as well file these subpoenas.”

Now, you really want to cry.

“I don’t even know how to thank you.” You laugh to hide how close to tears you are. “Seriously. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who’d stay this late to help someone, let alone someone I hardly know.”

Junhui presses down on the trackpad, definitively hitting submit on the last of your work for the night. He closes your laptop, sets it back down on the box to his left, then turns to you.

“I think you would,” he disagrees with a gentle shake of his head. “Besides, I can’t say that I hardly know you anymore. I got paid for my labor with lore.”

You snort out a laugh. The buldak sauce lingering in your throat burns your sinuses, prompting you to close your eyes tightly and laugh even harder. When you reopen your eyes, it’s impossible to tell whether the tears on your lash line are steeped in mirth, spice, or bone-deep gratitude.

“Don’t say that like it’s just compensation,” you warn.

Junhui tilts his head to the side, his stare innocent and not at all challenging. “Isn’t it?”

Outwardly, you roll your eyes. Inwardly, there’s a war amidst the butterflies in your stomach; the majority love the way he looks at you when he’s perplexed, while the rest scream not to fall into the same old trap for the millionth year in a row.

You force a change in subject lest you start to choke on all the honey dripping from your eyes.

“How about you actually eat this ramen you made while I clean up the mess I made of this room?”

Junhui sighs like he’s truly put-upon. Nevertheless, he holds one hand out to you, silently requesting that you haul him to his feet. Figuring it’s the very least you can do, you oblige. He’s towering over you in no time, shooting you a tiny, thankful smile that sends your brain into a tailspin.

He eats, and you busy yourself with the numerous trip hazards around him: first, shuffling your case files and boxes to the side of the room, then wheeling both Junhui and his chair back where the latter belongs. He protests all the while — not because you scoot him without his consent, but because you wave off every single suggestion he makes about waiting until he’s done so he can help.

“You’ve done enough!” You grunt as you forcibly drag the table back into place. “There’s above and beyond, and then there’s you — way past that.”

His cheeks go pink while he goes quiet. You bravely decline to stare at that dusty rose color and instead hop foot to foot while you tug your boots back on.

“I feel awful that you’re going to get, like, five hours of sleep before you have to come back here. Do you have —”

You lose your balance and the rest of that sentence, but you gain Junhui’s hands on your upper arms, preventing you from falling over entirely.

“— court in the morning?” You supply breathlessly, a little too shocked by his quick reflexes and concerned eyes to function.

Junhui waits for you to let go of the back of your boot and regain your footing before peeling his hands off you and shoving them quickly into the pockets of his coat. His response comes a bit clumsily, though you don’t have much room to talk.

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head and shrugging. “My schedule is pretty light this month, actually.” Then, he smiles sheepishly. “Especially compared to yours.”

Eyes narrowing playfully, you snip, “Don’t brag, Wen Junhui. It’s uncouth.”

He pauses for a second then asks, “Is it couth with you if I walk you out?”

Your jaw damn near drops. His response is so stupid, so hopelessly devoid of rizz despite the beat he took to think of it, and yet you’re powerless in the face of it.

This man is a loser; and even though there are a million Human Resource-related reasons why you shouldn’t, you kind of want him.

No, you do want him.

Badly.

You swallow that burgeoning need like a shot, then you let out a measured, cooling breath.

“I’ll allow it,” you sniff.

The subsequent walk to the elevator, as well as the ride down, aren’t quiet. You’re grateful, but you can’t take credit; Junhui keeps the conversation going easily, notwithstanding your distinct lack of input.

If he notices how quiet you’ve gone, it doesn’t seem to bother him. Just the same, if he notices how intently you watch him while he talks, he gives you the benefit of the doubt.

Before tonight, it never really occurred to you how pretty he is. Of course, you haven’t been blind. Your few passing encounters clued in you in that he was good-looking, at least from a distance, but he’s something else entirely when he stands as close to you as he is now. You can’t even pretend to look anywhere else.

No matter how many sharp angles he has — the high bridge of his nose, the L-shape of his jaw, and the peaks of his cheekbones — there’s softness to balance it out. You see it in the heart-shaped curve of his mouth when he smiles; the faint freckle directly above it; and the cat-like, slow blink when he occasionally glances down at you. It’s present in the almost breathy tone of his voice, the one that makes it sound like he’s reaching you through some dreamlike haze.

But then you realize how fucking stupid it is for you to look at anyone the way you currently are, let alone a co-worker.

You made a pact with yourself after breaking up with Mika to keep to yourself for the foreseeable future — to protect yourself from the series of unfortunate romantic events you can’t otherwise seem to avoid. For eight months, you’ve stuck to it, even though you’re lonely. It’s been working, too. Nobody’s been able to shatter you because you haven’t given anyone the hammer or the opportunity.

And your avoidance isn’t just for your own good, either. Something about you either draws shittiness out of people or grows it where none existed before. Everyone you’ve dated in recent years was fine until they got too close; they all seem to be better off now that they’ve gotten away from you. In fact, if your social media creeping has taught you anything, it’s that Mika is the only one of your exes not happily in a relationship.

The pattern is too significant at this point to be a coincidence, and though you try to pass it all off as shitty luck, you’re the common denominator amidst all these disasters.

Shouldn’t you be held accountable for that?

“Look alive, sunshine.”

You snap back to attention with a jolt.

Junhui stands in the opening of the elevator with his hand on the frame, actively preventing the door from closing on you. You didn’t hear the bell go off when it opened; you have no idea how long you’ve been standing there, zoned-out stare fixated on the floor.

He sees what must be a bewildered expression on your face and laughs. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open? I apparently do that sometimes, too.”

“No, I —” You shake your head while you start to explain, but then your brain stops buffering. “I’m sorry, you what?”

“I didn’t say anything. Out you come!”

You let Junhui usher you out of the elevator, but as you do, you crane your neck to look up at him with unabashed wonder. “Like a prey animal?”

He holds his left index finger up to his lips to silence you, then goes as far as actually shushing you. The tips of his ears peek out from his wavy hair, bright red against the dark.

“Like a little bunny?” You tease, tugging at the hem of his coat.

He rolls his eyes, though no part of him seems annoyed in the slightest. He doesn’t even move away from you. Instead, he rebuts you while lingering at your side, “No.”

You take your fist and rest it on top of your head with your middle and index fingers extended upward, smiling brattishly while you wait for Junhui to look back over at you.

His gaze is locked on the door ahead, however. He raises his arm and points, drawing your attention. “What is that?”

The second you see it, you drop your head back and groan with everything you’ve got. “Fuuuuuuck.”

That would be the security gate, which the building security staff lowers over the front doors when they leave for the night. It’s electronic and can be easily opened with a passcode — which you don’t have.

“Oh, my god.” You shove your face into your palms. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about the fucking gate. I don’t even know what time they close it.”

“There’s a pin pad over there.”

You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s pointing.

“You’ve worked here for a while. They gave you the code, right?”

You will yourself to shrink, to turn into a speck of dirt on the floor and be promptly kicked away. If he can’t see you, he can’t hate you for getting him locked in the goddamn building after donating hours of his time to help you.

Oh, you fucking clown.

Swallowing harshly, you whisper, “I’ve never stayed late enough to need it. I’m seriously so sorry. Technically, we can get out through the emergency fire exit, but that will —”

“— Set off all the alarms and sprinklers,” Junhui correctly assumes, prompting you to nod with your head still buried in your hands.

Silence creeps in then and settles over the two of you, suffocatingly thick like a fire blanket. It’s fitting, given how badly embarrassment burns your cheeks. You want nothing more than to curl up and die — right here, where security can find you in the morning and atone on their knees for trapping you like a rat.

But then Junhui laughs — really, truly, deeply laughs — so hard that you feel him momentarily double over at your side.

You part your fingers and peek over at him through the gaps. With his eyes screwed shut, the mirthful tears have nowhere to go except the far corners of his eyes. They streak down his temples, glowing a hazy shade of blue due to the colored security lamps overhead.

“I’m sorry.” His apology comes out squeaky on the tail of a wheezing laugh. “No one should have to spend this many consecutive hours with me. God, you were so close to freedom.”

You buy into the bit, rather than admit to the tiny thrill spinning dizzy circles in your brain. “It is a tremendous burden, yes. Of all today’s trials and tribulations, you will be my undoing.”

Junhui wipes his cheek, then glances over his shoulder at the elevator. He stares at it thoughtfully for a moment, gears turning, before he turns back to you with his head tilted sideways.

“If I can bother you for a little while longer, I think I have a way to pass the time.”

In the far corner of the conference room sits a bar cart, weighted down with more bottles and glasses than is even remotely necessary for a place of business. Artfully curated for trial and settlement victories, it boasts at least six different kinds of liquor. Each one is more expensive than the last.

“You sure this is a good idea?” You ask, gesturing to the bottle of gin in Junhui’s hand.

He can’t make heads or tails of your hesitation. You strike him as the type to apologize later, rather than seek permission first. Even if his assessment of you is wrong, he knows without a doubt that neither Zavier nor Jaein would ever draw a sword on their most objectively successful associate.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He asks, tone laden with amusement. “You’re the reason we have this cart in the first place.”

You shoot him a warning look that lacks heat. He hopes you don’t intend to rebut him; there’s no need to be humble, especially when what he said is true. Without you, there’d be a hell of a lot less to celebrate around here.

Come to think of it, the only thing more impressive than your trial record is the long list of happy client reviews that come up in internet searches.

Not that Junhui has Googled you.

Okay, not that he’s Googled you more than twice.

He twists the cap off the bottle and pours matching amounts in two glasses, keeping his eyes focused on his ministrations instead of on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of getting in trouble. What would Tom Santi think?”

Two seconds after he adds a splash of tonic, your hand appears from his peripheral vision and grabs the nearest glass from its spot on the edge of the cart. When Junhui’s eyes travel down the length of your arm and up to your face, he spots the innocent, bewildered way you’re blinking back at him.

Cotton-candy sweet, you lilt, “I’m just worried that you can’t keep up.”

You tilt your glass — a silent cheers — before taking a sip, a devilish smile appearing as soon as the cup leaves your lips.

His stomach flips excitedly even though he’s aware that it shouldn’t. There’s a fence of red tape building a perimeter around you, and it’s dotted with hundreds of warning signs: off-limits, trespassers will be prosecuted, etc.

He needs to get a grip — quickly. Entertaining the idea of you finding him attractive, too, is idiotic in more ways than one, and he knows it. Not only are you astronomically out of his league, but you’re also his colleague.

Assuming for the sake of argument that you did stoop to his level, you’d eventually come to your senses and realize that he’s nowhere near your caliber. When that inevitably happens, Junhui will still have to work down the hall from you. He doesn’t have the confidence to bounce back from something like that, not since his ex put his self-image in a blender half a year ago.

“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open again, bunny?”

He blinks rapidly, and you come back into focus. You’ve moved from his side since he zoned out. Now, you sit on the edge of the conference room table with your legs knotted, not unlike the way he found you on the floor several hours ago. Though you tease, there’s a distinct hint of concern in your narrowed eyes while you assess him.

Junhui’s instinct isn’t like a prey animal’s at all, but he knows better than to act on it, so he finishes pouring his own drink and recaps the bottle. Rather than put it down, he keeps it in his hand, grabs his drink with the other, and heads off for the door.

“Come with me,” he tells you.

You follow without question, footfalls sounding off quietly behind him as he leads you through the dark back to his office. Before you can get the wrong impression — or the right one, if the circumstances themselves weren’t wrong — he flicks on the lamp near the door and ushers you inside.

You’ve never been in his workspace, just like he’s never been in yours. Your office, he imagines, is as immaculately organized as you seem to be. That said, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had opposing counsels’ severed heads mounted on the wall.

His office, however, has a wildly different vibe. It seems to surprise you, so much so that you freeze halfway inside with wide eyes and a partially open mouth.

“You have kids?”

Apparently, it’s Junhui’s turn to be surprised. He glances over to where you’re pointing and laughs.

On the wall directly behind his desk is a full collage of drawings and handwritten notes, most of which were done by kids under the age of ten. Though their backgrounds, ages, and abilities vary significantly, they all have one thing in common: they all got really attached to their court-appointed Guardian ad Litem, Wen Junhui.

He shakes his head, although you don’t see him do it. You have your back to him, too focused on reading the various letters to react when he finally speaks.

“In a way, they’re kind of mine, just not… literally.”

You maintain your respectful silence, as if you’re wandering through a museum exhibit. He watches while you lift a hand and let your fingertips run gently overtop an especially artful tribute from a six-year-old named Iseul.

“Big fan of glitter and googly eyes, that one,” he muses, chuckling softly. “You have no idea how long it took me to clean up the visitation room at the community center when our meeting was over.”

You point to three stick figures, who hold hands in front of a large, grey building. Above them, a gigantic sun fills the corner of the page. It wears black sunglasses, the irony of which seemingly didn’t occur to Iseul.

“Who are they?” You ask.

Junhui points to each person as he explains:

“The — uh — wonky-looking one with what seems like a bloody neck is me in a red tie. In the middle is the artist herself, Iseul. She took some liberties; in reality, she has all ten fingers and isn’t known to wear a crown. To her right, that’s her foster mom, who she calls ‘grandma’, even though she’s only 45.”

“Is she still with grandma?”

“Yeah, actually.” He grins, unable to help it. “That stately, grey blob behind us is the probate court. We finalized her adoption last month.”

“Cute. I wish my clients would send me celebratory masterpieces,” you hum.

Junhui snorts. “Are you sure you want that?”

He can’t even imagine what kind of shit newly-divorced adults would send you. Nothing cute, he’s sure.

“No, actually. I take that back.” You shake your head and laugh. “I just want them to pay their legal fees on time.”

“You’re really asking for the world, aren’t you?”

You take another sip of your drink, then shrug, smiling impishly. “A nightmare bitch from hell’s gotta do what a nightmare bitch from hell’s gotta do.”

Before he can start ranting about Tom fucking Santi and his shitty opinions, you change focus again and begin to drift towards the bookshelf on the opposite wall. The top half of it is lined with statutory volumes, while the lower half has books and activities for the kids who occasionally come with their parents and caregivers to meet with him here.

You grab a deck of cards off one of the shelves and turn back to him with a vaguely menacing look.

“You brought me in here so I could beat you, didn’t you?”

“I brought you in here so I could beat you,” he rebuts.

In the time it takes Junhui to cross over to you, you drop your work bag to the floor, move the two child-sized chairs out of the way, and sit directly on the floor without a second thought. He sits on the other side of the small table and reaches for the deck only for you to shake your head vehemently at him.

“Nope,” you state emphatically, popping the second consonant. “I don’t trust you to shuffle these. You have clearly stated ulterior motives.”

He opens his mouth to argue otherwise but is shut down.

“Despicable,” you tut.

Once again, he tries to defend himself. “Excuse me? Your intentions aren’t any better —”

But you block him, grinning wickedly.

“— I’m a guest here and will not have my ambition questioned, thank you! Now, would you prefer to be destroyed by luck or skill?”

He has the feeling you’re going to destroy him in any and every way, so he says, “Dealer’s choice”, and takes a pointed swig of gin.

You think on this while you shuffle, making a big show out of it with your eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Then your eyes light up to broadcast that an idea has come to you.

Dutifully, you split the deck between you, doling out one card at a time to ensure the numbers even out. You slide your half over to you, face down, and gesture with feigned impatience for Junhui to do the same.

When he obeys, you look him dead in the eye. “I declare War.”

Four games and three drinks later, all your laughter finally catches up with you. With your abdominal muscles aching and eyes swimming, you tip over backwards and land on your back with a muffled thump.

“Okay, that’s bad, but I still think I can top it,” Junhui states with a shake of his head.

Your head lolls to the side so you can squint up at him properly. Once you catch his eye, you petulantly insist, “No way.”

There’s a flash in his eyes that says challenge accepted.

You like it.

In fact, you like this side of him: the version that isn’t intimidated by you, that isn’t afraid to be bold. Neither of you is drunk by any means, but your respective masks are off now, and you have gin to thank for introducing you properly.

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this out loud, on purpose,” he starts, then takes a deep breath. “This is perhaps the stupidest way anyone’s relationship has ever ended.”

He sits cross-legged next to you on the floor, perfectly within range. Without sitting up, you swat his knee. “Stop stalling! I don’t have all night.”

You do, but that’s neither here nor there.

“So, the last girl I dated had this… kink, I guess? Where she wanted to tell me she loved me during sex. We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks at that point, but I figured, why not? What’s the harm?”

Your eyes widen. “Famous last words.”

“See?” He snaps his finger and points at you, grateful to be understood. “That’s the thing. She dumped me not long after that because things were —” The reveal comes with air quotes. “— moving too fast.”

You set your glass down somewhere above your head. Even though it’s empty of liquor, melted ice spills onto the carpet. You ignore the mess you’ve made and throw out both fists, thumbs down. “Boo!”

“Thank god I didn’t like her much,” he sighs.

“You dog.”

Junhui levels you with a playful glare, so you withhold further jokes and simply ask, “What was wrong with her, other than the attachment issues?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. In fact, he takes his time in finishing the last few sips of his drink, then he sets the empty glass down on the table. Unburdened, he lowers himself onto his back next to you with one bent arm underneath his head. From there, he concentrates on the ceiling above.

“It wasn’t her so much as us.”

“Oh?”

Junhui heaves a sigh. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like there needs to be some sort of announcement during law school about how fucking hard it is to practice law and date.”

He’s not wrong.

Your career has impacted every single one of your relationships, no matter how hard you try to keep them separate. You’ve never figured out how to manage it — to split yourself successfully between two spheres, both of which demand one-hundred percent of you.

None of your other attorney friends have ever brought this up, though, leaving you to feel like the broken one.

Still staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, he fills the silence you’ve left. “I don’t think most people get it, you know? Not that they should have to — nobody should accept something they’re not comfortable with — It’s just hard to make things work with someone who doesn’t understand what this is like. What it costs.”

You’re well acquainted with that massive fucking toll.

The struggle to find community in an inherently adversarial system, the second-hand trauma that comes with managing the worst moments of people’s lives, the burnout, and all the shitty coping mechanisms these things lead to if you’re not careful.

You don’t need to speak on any of this now, though. For the first time in an abysmally long time, you��re sitting with someone who doesn’t need an explanation.

Junhui, however, seems to interpret your silence as discomfort. You don’t blame him. He still hasn’t noticed the heart-eyes you’ve been staring at him with since he started talking, so he has no idea

“Ah, nuts. I’ve made things too serious.” He screws his eyes shut then yells, “Aaaah!”

You crack up, fully and immediately, which only prompts him to do the same. Never has there ever been a loser so endearing.

Turning his head now to look at you, he urges with a grin, “Quick, say something stupid!”

And goddamn, if the first thing that comes to mind isn’t exactly that…

“Kiss me.”

Junhui doesn’t react, save for the grin slowly disappearing off his face. He doesn’t even speak. For a moment, all he does is stare right back at you, straight through the full-body cringe you’re experiencing.

Fuck.

Maybe now’s the time to use that emergency exit, fire alarms and sprinklers be damned.

You open your mouth, armed and ready to explode into awkward apologies; and you suck in the breath needed to do so, but not a fucking word comes out.

His gaze shifts from your eyes, to your lips, then back again. The expression he wears all the while looks something akin to tortured — but you’re clearly batshit insane, so your judgment is questionable at best.

A beat passes again in silence. You’re ready to crawl out of your skin, an urge that only grows when he finally murmurs, “It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”

Terrible.

Perhaps the worst you’ve ever had, second only to you blurting it out just now.

You have nothing better to say now, but that’s not what keeps your big mouth shut. It’s the fact that his question doesn’t seem to be directed at you at all.

Something about that tone of his comes across as rhetorical, like he’s got to work this shit out separately from you.

But he doesn’t stay separate. The hand not being used to prop up his head reaches out and gently encapsulates your chin between his thumb and index finger. His thoughtful eyes narrow, searching yours.

“Why doesn’t that make me want to any less?”

All at once, your heart skips; your breath hitches. You don’t have an answer to his question, just an inkling that you have as much to gain as you stand to lose. That cost-benefit analysis, coupled with the insatiable need you have to be kissed before you fucking expire, make you reckless.

Leaping past the point of no return, you grab him by the tie and pull him along for the ride.

Any timidness he showed you earlier is forgotten in an instant, replaced entirely by an assertiveness you didn’t know to expect from him. He gets you on your back without resistance, then settles himself above you with his weight balanced on a single hand beside your head and his knees on either side of your thighs.

His other hand slips to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss and keeping you where he wants you: well beyond the professional boundaries you’ve both crossed to get here.

You could be embarrassed by how quickly you melt, seep, spill, but your better judgment is discarded alongside your sweatshirt without a second thought. Junhui’s jacket, button-up, and tie are tossed into that same void, not long after.

Absolutely fucking none of them are missed.

Lost under the warmth of his bare skin on yours, your brain is far too occupied to worry about which articles of clothing ended up where. All you're capable of caring about is his mouth on your throat; his hand between your thighs, slick fingers dragging you slowly out of your mind.

The orgasm his hand steals from you leaves you half-dead, but that doesn’t stop you from clinging tightly to him, begging for more, please, everything.

And that’s precisely what you get, though you shouldn’t be surprised. If this day has taught you anything, it’s that Junhui is synonymous with acts of service.

“Kiss me,” he commands breathlessly with his tip waiting at your entrance.

You do, eagerly, unaware at first that this is an act of service, too — a distraction, more specifically, to take your mind off of the stretch he brings. Nails pressed into his back, you whimper against his lips and let that pressure melt into something perfect.

“I can’t tell if you’re sleeping or not,” you whisper.

His eyelids may feel like lead, and you look like a dream, but Junhui is wide awake, laying half-dressed at your side.

Of course, you knew this when you asked. You keep opening your eyes to look at him secretly only to find him watching you, amusement growing each time he catches you.

Even though his voice is rough from exhaustion, he musters the strength to tease you, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“My co-worker dicked me down to hell and back, and I’m recovering, obviously.”

You roll your eyes but can’t keep up your nonchalance for long. You bury it, along with your face, into his shoulder. When you finally tell the whole truth, it comes out rushed, as well as muffled.

“I spent most of the day wishing it was over. It was nightmarish, right from the jump. All I have to do is fall asleep, and it will be over…” Your shoulders sag under the weight of your sigh, which is delivered warmly against his skin. “But I don’t want that anymore.”

Junhui hums in acknowledgement. He pauses for a moment to consider what to say next, then decides to take a page out of your book. He’s an attorney, after all; he doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t already know the answers to.

“What changed?”

A lot.

“My co-worker dicked me down to hell and back, and I’m recovering,” you repeat.

Your laugh makes his body move, too. Just the same, the smile he feels forming against his bicep mimics the one on his own mouth. “You know, you keep saying that, but it doesn’t seem accurate.”

This prompts you to pull away from him, prop yourself up on your elbow, and stare at him incredulously. “Excuse me? Need I remind you how many times you just made me cum?”

He makes a big show of counting on his fingers until you swat at him. Then, he gets back to the point:

“What I meant was, is it co-worker or Valentine?”

You blink, no doubt stunned that someone was finally able to catch you off guard. Junhui doubts that this happens often. If that’s the case, he’ll keep this image of you, surprised into silence, in his back pocket for later.

“I’ll concede that those things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive,” you eventually demur with a haughty shake of your head.

Junhui grabs your hand, pulls it to his mouth, and kisses the back of it. “Your concession is noted for the record.”

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alilobsessive · 2 months ago

Text

Chips in my pocket and bloodstains on my hands

The Squid game prompt by @jellyfishmoon97 has been eating away at my mind since I read it, so I made this! Enjoy! Also I have never watched Squid Games all a know from it is from osmosis back when it first came out and now.

You’ve tried so many things before this, even calling your father. The bastard hung up on you before you could even explain. Admittedly you did a poor job at it, but you had never once asked for anything from him before. Couldn’t he have just listened, but now you’re here, risking your life to save the person you love the most. The only person left in your hate filled life that matters, your son. Even if you die trying.

Tw: Unspecified terminal illness, child abandonment, spousal abandonment, violence, death, murder, minor character death, reader intentionally kills several people.

——————

You tap your foot nervously, anxiety chewing away at your very core, the phone buzzes once “come on, come on” you mumble chewing on your finger. Your face is flushed from a combination of tears and the cold, this is the last person you wanted to talk to buzz twice. But you need it, need him to answer, it’s life or death, you can’t take out any more loans, you’re going bankrupt, buzz thrice. You need him to pick up, you need to save- click “what do you want” the familiar voice says, cold and unfeeling. You haven’t talked to him in years, if you had it your way you never would. But you need his help “I-“ you choke up, you’ve practiced what to say repeatedly. But actually saying it is a completely different story, telling this man ‘my son is dying, I need money to afford his treatment’ is a lot harder than you thought it would be. “Well?” He says impatient, panic seizes through your body “I need money” you spit out and then instantly cringe. You could have definitely explained that better, it’s quite on his end so you quickly add “It’s for my-“ he cuts you off. “Of course this is what you would call me for” “what-“ “you’re just like your mother” you’re stomach drops. “NO WAIT IT'S FOR MY-“ he hangs up “… son” you stand there.

Your phone is still held up to your ear as everything finally hits you. Fear, sorrow, dread, anger, helplessness, your grip on your phone tightness, your body rigid, tears blurring your vision. You throw your phone to the ground with a loud “FUCK!” It bounces then skids on the floor, cracks forming on it. You crouch in this dirty alleyway sobbing uncontrollably. Body shaking, you can’t do it, you failed, you’re useless, your son is going to die and it’s all your fault.

You met your Wife or well ex Wife before you even left Wayne Manor, the two of you didn’t go to the same school but you hung out at the same places. The two of you had a whirlwind romance, not the smartest idea but it just felt right. You never felt more at peace with another person in your entire life. They’re your soulmate, still are even after everything. You know it’s stupid, still loving someone even after they left you and your son, but no one said emotions made sense. The two of you moved in together, got married and eventually had your son. Cecil is your pride and joy, one of the best things to ever happen to you, but he was born sick. Very sick, his treatments are costly and regular, without which he would die. Neither of you could afford it, but you didn’t give up on him, couldn’t give up on him. Dispute the nagging voice in the back of your head saying it would be a mercy to just let him die. You just can’t, your Wife could though, she had already accepted the fact that your baby is as good as dead. That you can’t save them, not with your funds. It was a constant fight with her, intel one day, she just left.

You can’t blame her, no matter how much you want to, you just can’t. Maybe in another life you would have done the same. But not in this one, you would rather die than leave Cecil behind, not like your father did to you, not like your mother did to you. Not like what everyone in your life did to you, you never want Cecil to know that pain. Which is why you went into debt, which is why you took out loans, which is why you called that bastard of a man. The great Bruce Wayne, you’re father. Which is why you're crying on the ground, the next best step is to move out of your apartment. Then you won’t have to worry about rent and can just live out of your car. You already sold anything of value anyway and not like Cecil can leave the hospital at this rate. He might never be able to, but you don’t want to think about that.

You just sit there, sobbing your eyes out as someone approaches you. You quickly turn around and pull out a knife, this is Gotham after all. “Hold on!” The stranger in an expensive suit holding a briefcase says, “I have something for you” you look at him suspiciously as he puts down the briefcase. You expect a gun, for you to be shot right then and there. Instead he opens the briefcase and pulls out an envelope, one with your name on it. He hands it over and you stare at it suspiciously, it’s thick and heavy. Whatever is inside, there’s a lot of it. “Go on” he says, motioning for you to open it. Hesitantly you do, admitting expecting to be fear toxined or Joker gassed. But instead what’s inside is money, a lot of it, quickly counting it all it's just enough to pay for Cecil’s health care for another month. Just a month, but it’s more than you could ever dream off.

Looking up at the man, your eyes narrow, “what’s the catch?” He just smiles at you, a very familiar smile. A smile of someone being polite but is internally looking down on you. “No catch” he says then reaches back in and hands you a card “for this batch at least” that caught your attention. Taking the card you look at it confused, just a few shapes and a phone number. “I’m a representative of a game show” you look back up at him, “it was originally in Korea, but it’s been doing so well we’re expanding to America. You and contestants all over the country, all of which with financial difficulties will be playing several games to win 31 million dollars. If you agree that is” 31 million, 31 million that’s more then you were planning on asking Bruce for.

But dispute this, it’s still suspicious, they were clearly watching you for a long time, a very long time. Scoffing slightly you look away “this some villain type shit?” The man’s smile drops, you let out a quick laugh “oh? It is? What is this a killing game?” He doesn’t respond, “so it is, what villain set this up? It’s the Joker right? Sounds like something he would do, maybe the rider?” He shakes his head. “No one you would know, just call the number on the back if you want in” and with that the man left. 39 million, honestly you would prefer more, but beggars can’t be choosers. Busides, you would do anything for your son.

Even if that meant killing.

Tim really didn’t want to be here, but Bruce needed someone to infiltrate these games. He had on a stupid fucking gold and diamond encrusted animal mask and the most expensive suit he owned. This was a test of every fiber of his being, apparently for decades several members of the elite from the US to Europe would take trips to Korea. These trips where to watch an event called The Squid Games, named after the annual last competition of these games. The winners would get several million dollars, the losers death. All for the elites own twisted amusement, for six days they would watch as 456 players slowly die until only one person was left. It’s horrendous, disgusting and deeply upsetting that the organizers thought he would be into this. Who even told them he would be into this? Whatever at least this lets Batman take this whole thing down. Hopefully there spy inside the games comes back out safely.

As he took his seat he spotted several people, some were clearly from the court of owls. Which makes sense, this feels like their cup of tea. But another one, he could recognize even without the mask. The man made his stomach drop, it also explained how he got here. Ra’s Al-Ghul, the demon's head of course he would be into a game like this or at the very least invite Tim here to fuck with him. Said man approached Tim, clearly recognizing him to, “it’s a pleasure to see you here” “I can’t say the same” Ra’s just hums at this. “The show's about to start” is all the man says, going over to his seat, right next to Tim’s. He wants to kill this man so bad, but he can’t. Whatever, Tim’s gaze is on the large screen, he can hear the voices of an announcer presenting and explaining things to the audience and contestants.

You were ready, prepared for blood to be on your hands, to die by the hands of others. The arrangements were made so that if you didn’t return in a week’s time you would be reported missing. You hoped your Wife would be informed, that they would learn of your passing and take care of Cecil or pull the plug. But if not you made it so he would go to your next of kin, dispute what you desire. He is the man listed on your birth certificate. Although you would prefer none of those options to go down in a winner take all game like this your chances of winning are 1/459. But because of this weather you live or die, you win. What you weren’t prepared for was it not being a killing game. Well everyone else was acting like it wasn’t, so either they haven’t realized it is or they're all psychopaths. Then again you are completely cool with killing any of them at this moment. So what that says about any of you is up for debate.

“Hay cutie!” A tall woman says as she approaches you in the waiting area. You glance over at number 123, your stance is rigid, back straight, you are ready for anything. She clearly isn’t, dispute the pure confidence she exudes. No one here is, there all mingling and talking to each other. If this was a normal game show you would be doing the same, but intel proven otherwise, this isn’t a normal game show. “What’s someone like you doing in a place like this” “I’m married” is your response, sure you had to sell your ring and sure they left you. But no divorce papers were signed, so legally and emotionally you’re still married. They instantly back off “oh shit- sorry, I’m Daphne by the way” 123 says holding out a hand. You rigidly shake it, it’s far too early to determine if making ally’s is a good idea, but you would rather not have enemies. “You never answer my question?” she says in the same cheery tone putting a hand on her hip. You sigh “Listen, you seem nice, you really do, but I'm not here to make friends.” “Sooo, medical bills?” You glance away from her “my son’s” “aww” she coo’s looking excited. “What is he like?” You resist the urge to tell her every little detail about him. For his curl to the mole on the top left of his forehead to his favorite color, he looks so much like your wife, nothing like you, nothing like your father and you love it. “He’s 4” is all you say to her. Even as she starts pestering you for more details.

Thankfully you're free from the red hard women, is constant pestering. Only to be placed next to a short man with black straight black hair, 376 smiles at you, just as friendly as the other contestants. “I overheard your conversation with Daphne! You don’t look like the family man type” you just stare at him, “I’m here for gambling debt actually, I know, I know. Oh he’s a gambling addict, he’s probably going to spend all his winnings! Heard that a million times over!” You start to tone him out as he talks about his life story. Only for 421, 176 and 321 to join in the conversation, or well up until then a one sided conversation.

The first game is simple red light green light, it shouldn’t be too hard. Then again they might want to trim the crowd as much as possible in the first game. You wonder what the most people to be killed in the first round is. But that’s not important right now, what is moving to the next round. You all run and freeze as soon as the giant creepy statue turns around. Well almost all of you, someone doesn’t stop in time, and is instantly shot dead. There it is, the kicker, several people scatter in a panic. But not you, you don’t move, standing perfectly still, you’re expression stone cold as the people around you drop like flies. Then the machine turns around again, you instantly start running. Everyone left standing finally gets it, finally realized, this is a death game. You run, you freeze, you run again, people die around you, so many people. Finally you make it to the end, just barely missing the robot’s eyes.

“THE FIRST PERSON TO PASS THE FINISH LINE IS NUMBER 7!”

Tim stares in horror, “is that?” “Oh? Are you curious about number 7?” One of the organizers asks Tim, seeing his curiosity. They then pull up their file, their older siblings file, he hears them say your name “Greenwood” the last name is different. But that’s unmistakably you, “there in 1.3 million dollars in debt, filed for bankruptcy the day before they left for the games. Most of it is going to medical debt to pay for their son Cecil Greenwood’s bills.” Tim just stares. He feels sick, he never liked them, no one in the family did. Their mother’s a traitor who can’t even be bothered to take her own spawn with her when she robed Bruce. But that didn’t mean he wished for this to happen to them, he didn’t want them to go into so much debt they needed to do this. He was aware they called Bruce not that long ago, was it about this? Did he even know? Bruce looked angry afterwards, sure he disowned them all but legally. But would he really abandon them when they needed him most? Would he? God, he hoped they caught all of that from his wire and camera.

Bruce felt his blood run cold, replaying the conversation from that day over and over again in his mind. He was sitting in his office, the anxiety of the case eating at his mind. This was something kept tightlipped even in high society, you also had been trying to call him for the past hour. It was starting to piss him off, what in god's name could you of all people want. Finally he answered the phone “what do you want” “I-“ you paused, hesitating. “Well?” He said impatiently, he wanted to get this over with, wanted to continue pretending that you and your mother never existed. A mother who he loved so dearly, who he was engaged too, who he was willing to give up being Batman for. Who one day took seven million dollars and ran, leaving him with a broken heart and a 3 month old baby. “I need money” you finally say, and Bruce saw red. He thought he raised you better than that, sure you still ran, abandoned the family. But asking him for money? After what your mother did? “It’s for my-“ but he didn’t want to hear your excuses, you being just as greedy as her. “Of course this is what you would call me for” “what-“ “you’re just like your mother” “NO WAIT IT'S FOR MY-“ and then he hung up. Yes after the call he regretted comparing you to your mother. That was cruel of him, he will admit, he knows you like her just about as much as he does and being compared to her must hurt. But he didn’t want to apologize, didn’t want to admit he was in the wrong.

If he had called back had listened to you when you needed help. He has a grandson, a grandson and he’s sick. He could help but he- he can help- he will help “Dick” Nightwing turns to look at him “me?” “Oracle and Tim are too busy to look into them, the others are taking on less important cases, so it’s your job.” Dick sighs, but looks equally as shaken up as Bruce feels. He quickly starts typing into the batcomputer, Bruce wants to punch a wall. To go in there and take the operation down this instant, but it’s far too early for that. If they go in too soon they’ll lose everything, but too late… he doesn’t want to think about it.

206 people, that’s how many are left, two hundred and six people. That a little over half of the people killed, everyone is shaken up, everyone but you. One of the people walks up at you and grabs your shirt. “YOU KNEW!” 423 screams in your face shaking you, all you do is stare down at him. What you want to do is cry but you don’t, weakness in a game like this will get you killed. “YOU ARE SO CALM! YOU KNEW! ARE YOU IN ON IT!” “Calm down” you say slowly, quickly grabbing 423’s wrist. “CALM DOWN!” “I thought the nature of this game was obvious.” Is all you say. “OBVIOUS!” Another person screams, “of course, then again I am from Gotham, stuff like this is normal” “BITCH IM FROM BLÜDHAVEN! THIS SHIT IS NOT NORMAL” Another screams, more people are getting angry, and closer to you. So, this is how you die, but before things can get violent a shot is hard. One of the guards shot at the ceiling, “ATTENTION EVERYONE” the scream standing to attention. “WE WILL NOW BE DOING A VOTE! MAJORITY RULES!” Two buttons emerge from the ground, one red, one green with a screen at the front lighting up to show the same thing with the number 0 on each side. “GREEN MEANS THE GAMES CONTINUE RED MEANS THEY STOP! EACH OF YOU WILL LINE UP IN NUMERICAL ORDER!” The two of you are quickly separated and your lead to the front of the line.

You're the highest number alive, the first choice is yours, it’s a no brainer. “WHAT THE FUCK!” One of them screams and you sigh “WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO CONTINUE THIS” you look at the crowd and glare. “I don’t want this money for me” you begin, “It’s for my son, so he can live, so he can be safe, so he can know joy, I’m willing to die for that. I’ve accepted this, I’m ready to die here for the slim chance that he can be safe. I’m willing to die for the people I love, so they get to live a better life. I don’t give a shit about what happens to the rest of you!” You huff walking over to your bunk and sitting down, you watch as one after another each person walks up and presses the button. The air is tense as it goes, red, red, red, green, red, red, green, green over and over. Until finally, finally the number shows up, Green 105 Red 101, the games continue.

Tim feels sick, in a sense it’s almost honorable how willing you are to die for your son. A type of honor, loyalty he never expected from you, but it’s awful how willing you are to throw yours and others lives away just for a slim possibility of his safety. With that, with the collective despair of the crowd the feed ends. He just stares at we’re you were on screen, sitting there calm and collected. A stoic visage that only Bruce can rival. You almost looked like him throughout the whole thing. The chatter of all those around him felt sickening, they were enjoying it, putting bets on who dies. He wants to throw up, even with all his training, even with the job’s he’s done, this is sickening.

The hospital is okay, it isn’t the best in the city but it’s not the worst. It didn’t take long for Dick to find this place, once he got ahold of your credit records he found that most of your money for the past 4 years was sent here. Bruce can’t help but feel it should be better, but with what they could find this is the best you could do. Even that might not have lasted long “Hi! Welcome to Gotham General Children’s Hospital!” The woman at the desk says then her face drops. “Mr. Wayne! What are you-“ “I’m here to visit Cecil Greenwood” she continues to look at him shocked and confused, “he’s my grandson” “he’s your..” the woman looks like she’s still calculating what he’s saying. “Okay.. you just need to sign in” the security here is shit, he signed in quickly and didn’t even need to prove he was telling the truth.

Dick is already investigating your apartment, looking for anything. They already have every person that’s in the game listed as a missing person, you included. “Why are you here sir?” The nurse asks, he sighs “their parent was reported missing and they can’t get ahold of the kids' mother. So I was called as the next of kin.” The woman licks her teeth clearly concerned. “Did you know about him?” Bruce shakes his head “not until earlier today” he hasn’t lied once in this conversation. “I see.. well.. it’s a lot” she says and then begins leading him to the room.

She lightly knocks on the door “Cecil, honey, you have a visitor” and then she opens it. There sitting on the bed, covered in wires and a ventilator is a small child, much too small to be 4 years old. He blinks up at them with tired brown eyes, and a mop of curly black hair on his head. A small hand rubs his eyes clearly having been taken a nap, “hee?” The kid blinks, squinting at him. “I’ll leave you two alone” the nurse says and then leaves, awful security. Then again, even removing one thing will instantly alert the staff. Cecil still looks at him confused “Hey kiddo” he says softly pulling up a chair and sitting down. The kid just stares “who are you?” He says each word slowly and deliberately. He smiles at him “I’m your Grandpa” it feels weird saying that, not wrong, just strange. The kid just continues to stare at him “you’re a lot younger than I expected” is all he says, Bruce chuckles at that “oh?” He nods. “Baba says you might come next week” the boy says seriously, that makes Bruce concerned. Did they already expect they were walking into a death trap? That’s something to look into later.

“Did they now?” “Ya! Baba go brrr!” He says happily, “what?” “Brrrrrr!” He claps his hands and giggles. Clearly making a joke only he can understand, “I see, you saw your baba earlier then?” “Ya ya!” He continues to clap. “Yesterday! Baba says you come if mama can’t! Do you know we’re mama is?” Cecil asks his smile not leavening, Bruce in fact does know. An apartment in Metropolis, a nice place with two bedrooms, a safe neighborhood, far away from the both of you. Like father like child it seems, the both of you sure know how to pick them. But he doesn’t want to tell the kid that “no” is all he says, the kid just starts. He expects a temper tantrum, but instead all he gets is an “okay!” As he happily flaps his arms around. “It’s okay! Baba doesn’t know either! But we got pictures!” He says happily, “oh you do?” He then drops his arms, smile slightly falling “I mean no, not on me, but they exist!” Bruce hmms. This is going to be a very long conversation. For Bruce at least, kid seems to be having a good time.

Dick stepped into the apartment building, there’s nothing much of note to it. It’s not run down, but there's nothing overly nice about it. He found your apartment with ease, he didn’t even need to pick the lock. He just pushed the door open and it went swinging, that instantly told him a completely different story. The apartment looked long abandoned, there was no peace of furniture to be seen, large amounts of dust already caked over every surface. The only exception being boxes that when he checked were filled with pillows, blankets, clothes and photos of you, your son and your wife. Sometimes all three, other times just two of you. A photo that was taken from your wedding day, a day they never got to see, from Cecil’s birth, to just you and your wife being together, even photos of just your wife. All printed, framed and stuffed away in the boxes.

Sure, it made sense to start packing things away and preparing to leave if you didn’t think you were going to come back. But the apartment has been like this for several months now, more a storage space than a home. He can only imagine what’s been going on in your brain all this time. As he was mulling this over a voice called out “HAY YOU! What are you doing?” Dick turned and saw a short balding man in his late 50’s. He looked at Dick suspiciously, he fully turns to look at the man “I’m looking for my younger sibling, they live here, but well..” he motions towards the everything in your house. “You’re related to the Green kid?” He asked crossing his arms, “yes, they haven’t been responding to any of my calls the last few days. I was getting worried so I came here to check on them.” The man just shrugs, which would be completely unhelpful under normal circumstances. “Sorry man, can’t help you there ever since the Mrs. left they're barely here. If they are it’s only for a few hours. Honestly why they still live here is a mystery to me.” Then they just leave, great complete unhelpful, with him trying to understand more about you. Just great, now he’s going to have to talk to more people.

Day two starts with a meal, you sit by yourself, the mood having completely changed. They get it now everyone is on edge, everyone is like you. Well almost everyone, 376 walks up to and sits down next to you. You barely glance at him, continuing to quietly eat your meal “this shit looks like something they would serve at high school!” He says playfully elbowing you. It does? Hu, you thought she was just exaggerating, perks of going to the best private school in the city. God you miss your wife, will you ever see her again? Hear her laugh, see her smile, the dimples on her cheeks, the way her hand felt in yours, how she beat a man half to death for making fun of you. 376 is staring at you, was he talking to you? Did he ask you something? “I miss my wife Tails” you say looking at him “what-“ you then turn back to your food “I miss her a lot” you then take a bite of bread. He looks away awkwardly, and then back at you “you uuu, are really passionate about winning” “yes, let me guess you voted to end this?” “Yes” “well” you pat him on his back, “every man for themselves” and going back to eating.

Only to discover it was a team game, fuck. A simple game of capture the flag, the losing team is killed, completely not playing, you're killed. Seriously, is the Joker involved in this? Whatever, you roll up the sleeves of your tracksuit and put on your team's colored bandanna it’s time to get this started. A part of you felt bad seeing 376 on the other side, it’s a shame he has to die. A shame any of them have to die.

Tim watched what quickly devolved into a bloody battle, anxiety turning in his gut. He did his best to watch every movement you made in the crowd. Several people on both sides having been killed by other players, both by accident and on purpose. He watched as you stabbed a man’s eyes out with your own fingers before leaving him there, joining several of your own teammates in infiltrating the enemy lines. It wasn’t you who got the flag to the other side, he wanted to scream when he heard the game was over. So focus on you he didn’t see who won, only for it to turn into instant relief as he saw it was your team that reached victory. Then horror as each member of the losing team, even those that had switched bandannas with the dead was taken, lined up, blindfolded with their own bandanna and shot in the head. One by one, as the winning team was made to watch. So concerned with your own safety he didn’t even check which team their spy was on.

“What” Jason began “the fuck” Stephane looked at the screen in horror, even after the video had long gone dark. Of course as vigilantes everyone in the Bat’s and Bird’s had seen bloodshed, had seen civilians mob. But something about this felt different, maybe it was the elites, gossiping and putting bets on the civilians forced into this game. A type of dehumanization Tim was clearly blocking out in favor of making sure you were safe. Maybe it was the fact that their own members were in this danger. But whatever it was, it felt wrong “we need to do something now” Jason says turning to Bruce. He shakes his head “we can’t” “BULLSHIT” “Jason!” Bruce almost glares at his son. “We don’t have enough information, we don’t even know we’re the civilian’s are being held right now. If we rush in we could lose all of them, every single one” Jason glares at him and scoffs looking away. Stephane puts a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezes it, looking just as uncomfortable with this situation that he feels.

You don’t sleep a wink that night, you’ve never done that before. It felt wrong, so very wrong, you can still feel the squelch of number 217 ‘s green eyes on your thumbs. One of the people who didn’t like you after the events of the previous nights wanted to get rid of you during the free for all. You could barely call any of that a team game. No one was working together, just trying to live and steal. The third day you were dead tired, 376 wasn’t there, would never be there. Now that you think about it, you never learned his name. Adrenaline was the only thing preventing you from passing out. At least you think that’s what’s happening, it feels like a blur, everything does. But this is all for Cecil, if not then why are you here? What was the point of all of this? Was there ever a point? Maybe you should just kill yourself- no Cecil needs to live. That’s the whole point of your existence up until now, making sure your baby is happy and as healthy as he can be.

This is for Cecil

When the group is being brought to a new location a hand touches your shoulder, you quickly turn around and see 123. Looking at her shocked and confused you say “you’re alive??” The woman just blinks at you. “Yes, yes I am” she says looking confused “you thought I died?” “Yes” is all you say, the two of you just continue to stare at each other, awkwardly. Seriously, what are you supposed to say to this woman? “Okay” you give her a thumbs up and a pat on the arm, “good talk” then turn away. You can still feel her eyes staring into your back, what is this woman’s deal?? She’s starting to freak you out. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry!

The guards lead you all to a different area, this place vastly different then the warehouse the rest seemed to be in. Aka they literally took you outside in the dark for some reason, once again they split you into two albeit uneven groups. You being with the smallest of the groups, very confused as you’re handed a knife, every member of your group is. 423 who is still alive and with your group looks at the guards, “what’s preventing us from attacking you with these?” The guard cocks the gun and points it at his face. He instantly backs off, “Today everyone!” A guard calls out, “The game will be playing is Man Hunt!” Oh shit.

Tim stares at the screen eyes wide, “oh shit” he wanted to leave right now, to go in there and stop this. “Each of are 10 contestants here” he motioned to the group you’re a part of, “will have 30 minutes to hunt and kill three other contestants of their choice! Of course the other contestants have the ability to fight back and kill the hunters! It’s not a fun game if they're completely helpless! If they fail to complete such a simple task, well… you all already know what’s going to happen.” They say cheerily. “Well” Ra’s the mother fucker, says clearly intrigued. “I’m sure this is going to be an interesting game” please, please Bruce, B please find them. Don’t let them become a murderer.

This is for Cecil, this is for Cecil, this is for Cecil, this is for Cecil, that’s all that’s going through your head as you watch the head start the others are given. This is what you thought the games would be, everyone killing each other for the amusement of whoever’s watching. Kinda like the hunger games, but in reality no matter how much you prepared to take a life, doing so was much harder. If you kept telling yourself why you’re here, why you’re doing what you’re doing, will it be easier? Hopefully it will, because that’s all you have most days, hope. “Excuse me?” One of the other contestants asks “can hunters kill other hunters” . The guards looked at each other and then one of them called someone. By the end of it the guard turned to look at them, “I don’t see why not” you had a bad feeling about this.

Tim gripped the arm of his seat as he watched the hunters run off. Please B, please, suddenly he got a ping on his hidden earpiece and Oracle’s voice rings through it “I found the location”

“FUCK” another Hunter screams falling to the ground, you watch as he curls up into a ball and sobs. “I can’t do this- I can’t- I don’t-“ a part of you finds it pathetic how willing they are to give up like this. But another part of you gets it, you don’t want to kill either. If this was you when you were younger, before you had Cecil, before you met your wife, you would be doing the exact same thing as him. But that’s not you, the person willing to sit and wait for someone to save you. Not anymore, there’s really only one thing you can do. You stab him in the neck, his eyes widen and blood sprays covering your hands. A gross feeling coils in your stomach, but you have to press on. You’re putting him out of his misery, if he didn’t participate he was going to die either way. Better he die contributing to your own survival then in vain.

You pull the knife out and watch it fall to the ground with a thunk, bloods everywhere, on the ground, on your hands, running down his neck. With a shaky breath you turn around and continue in your hunt. The cold wind sends chills through your body and quickly cooling the blood. Wading through the grass and bushes, careful and quiet. It was admittedly difficult, having no idea how to deal with forests. In fact you didn’t find your next target, they found you. Well technically it was 423, seriously what’s this guys deal? Sure he wasn’t the person who asked, but he seems dead set on killing you. For some god forsaken reason.

He didn’t even give you a chance to speak instantly lunging for you. Dodging out of the way, all that happened was the knife grazing your skin. Leaving a bleeding slash against your shoulder, grunting you spin around and stab them in the back, pulling the knife out. The two of you quickly start exchanging blows, both from your knifes and your own hands. Finally you’re able to kick him to the ground and stab him in the chest, he coughs and grunts in pain. “How do you sleep at night?” he coughs out “let me guess, next to your wife?” Blood trickles down his lips, you don’t dignify him with a response. “Holy shit-“ he practically laughs out “she left you didn’t she? Serves you right you cold hearted bitch-“ you stab him again, this time in the heart and with no remorse. Standing up and kicking the corpse you grunt a little, stumbling slightly. Time for number three.

Signal and several members of the Justice League kick down the door. Tim turns to face them with a smile on his face as he waves, the others around him panic, except Ra’s. Like he knew what was coming, seriously what’s this guy's deal. “Glad to see you could make it!” He calls out, “you-“ one of the Owl members began, “you're a spy?!” He gives them a finger gun, “guilty!” He then stands up and turns to Signal as a mass arrest begins. “Now, we’re are we going next?”

Continuing your hunt something felt wrong, maybe you’re running out of time? No that can’t be, they’ve been regularly calling out the time since this started. Something changed, something you’re not aware of. “7” you whip your head around and point your knife towards the voice. There is 123, why do people keep approaching you? Why is she approaching you? She’s a part of the prey group, unless she thinks she can take you, which scary. But then again not that hard, “you seem confused” “ya no shit, why did you approach me?” She takes a step forward. “How many people have you already killed?” Is all she asks, you tilt your head watching her for any sudden moments. “2” then you lunge at her, only to swiftly be kicked down and pinned on your stomach. The knife is thrown away from you and she pins your hands behind your back. You’re not even mad, it’s a part of the rules. It’s upsetting, this is how you die, but you already accepted you might die in these games.

Quietly waiting for death, you are rudely interrupted from your fate by the true reason you felt uneasy. Mother fucking Batman appears in front of you, cape bellowing as he does. “Starfire” he nods in greeting, “Batman” 123 says, nodding back, holy shit she’s Starfire, holy shit you tried to kill Starfire. Why is Starfire here??? “Get off of them” she stands up, “I’ll go find the others!” And is off. You scramble to stand up, almost tripping as you do so. “We’re going home” “what?” Is all you can say, you’re body shaking, “this operation-“ “you knew?” You’re voice is weak, hands balling into fists. “We’ve been planning this raid since the game-“ “YOU KNEW!” You scream, tears falling down your eyes. “I KILLED PEOPLE BRUCE! I KILLED AND HURT PEOPLE IN THIS GAME FOR WHAT!” He slowly approaches you. “FOR NOTHING! BECAUSE YOU WERE GOING TO SHOW UP AND STOP ALL THIS” he opens his mouth “NO- SHUT UP DON’T SPEAK!” He’s standing in front of you now. Taking your fists you punch him in the chest over and over “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” Again and again you punch and scream. Intel eventually you can’t anymore “I hate you… I hate you!” You’re body, so exhausted from everything that’s happened finally gives out. You feel like a child as he grabs your collapsing form, it’s humiliating. “I hate you!” You choke out, “let’s go home” is all he says, like you’re nothing more then a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. With a shaky breath and sob your picked up “we’re Cecil?” “I moved him to the best hospital in the city yesterday, don’t worry” you sniffle “I want to see him” “soon” is all he says. You give him one last weak punch before everything goes black.

——————

Reader towards their wife: Once we’re undoomed from the narrative the marriage is BACK ON!

There was another version of this fic we’re Dick finds are Wife and then the two go on a road trip to save Reader’s sorry ass. It ends with reader and wife at the manor in Reader’s old room. There’s also another version of this fic we’re both reader and wife are in the games. Sadly neither of them came to fruition. Maybe if I make a sequel it will be more Wife focused, because god do I love that woman.

Bruce: you’re wife left you like your mother left me

Reader:

Reader: >:(

Bruce: This is supposed to be a bonding moment, why are you attacking me?

#batfam x reader #platonic batfam #x gender neutral reader #x reader #neglected reader #Squid games AU

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phoenixyfriend · 7 months ago

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Accountant of Theed

Read on AO3

After all is said and done, someone needs to balance these books, and nobody actually told the accounting department how they paid for this new hyperdrive. Mimi really hopes it's not a loan from the Hutts.

Disclaimer: I am not an accountant, but I work in an adjacent field (and have been considering getting a certification, but that's neither here nor there). While I did take some courses on it, I asked an Accounting Person to look over the excel sheet before I went forward with the rest of the fic to make sure it's internally consistent. Thank you to @gnomer-denois for confirming my balance on these works!

The reconciliation sheet does NOT follow contemporary guidelines in terms of format etc, but that is because it is:

In space! Standard practice differs from Modern United States or what have you.

Not the primary balance sheet, just the simplified version made to show to Queen Amidala.

If you'd prefer to view the Excel sheet in a more easily navigable form, there is a google drive link available. This is also your best option if using a screen reader.

-----------------------------------------

Theed is safe. They are rebuilding. There is even financial support, aid, from the Republic.

It comes with strings attached. Oversight. Auditors.

Wouldn’t want Naboo to misuse funding after that nasty mistake with the Trade Federation, right? Sure, Naboo wasn’t the one at fault, but one can never be too careful...

Mimi, as an accountant for the government of Naboo, does not in fact want to commit fraud, or enable corruption, but the rolling audits do feel a little like the Republic is punishing them for getting invaded.

“Hey, boss?”

That tone. Mimi does not like that tone. “Please tell me it’s not another unauthorized purchase with a missing receipt. Which account did they pull from this time?”

“Um... we don’t know?”

Mimi gives them a moment. No elaboration is given.

“You don’t know?”

“We don’t know,” the younger employee repeats.

“What do you mean?” Mimi asks. “People charge things to accounts or cards. They forget to submit receipts. We hunt them down for receipts, and make sure nobody is skimming off the top. That’s how it goes. Unless this is a purchase on a personal and we need to reimburse—”

“Um, maybe?”

“In which—what? That’s just... okay. There’s a process for reimbursements. You aren’t following it, which means... what? What do you mean, you don’t know? Did they use cash, or pull from an account?”

The younger employee looks down at their datapad. Looks back up at her. Looks baffled and a little scared. “Um, it’s... we still don’t have a receipt, but we also don’t know where the money for it came from? But nobody’s put in a reimbursement request and I can’t imagine anyone on the mission had those funds on them, not even the Queen herself.”

“The money for what?”

“Um. It sort of just... showed up?”

“So, it’s some kind of gift?” Mimi presses.

“Too big,” the younger mumbles, refusing to meet her eyes. “It would have to be disclosed.”

“I am giving you five seconds—”

“It’s a hyperdrive!” they yelp.

“...Explain.”

“One of the mechanics was looking over the Royal Cruiser, and found that there was unrecorded repair work to the hyperdrive. The ship took enough damage during the escape that he wasn’t surprised, but then he noticed that it was from an earlier run of the part, and when he checked, the serial number was completely wrong. The hyperdrive was completely replaced.”

Mimi closes her eyes and takes a breath. “The mechanic doesn’t know?”

“He said there’s nothing in the records that matches it at all, and it’s a big enough part that there’s no way it would just slip through the cracks, not when it’s that expensive and going on the Royal Cruiser.”

“So,” Mimi says, “we have a part worth almost as much as the rest of the cruiser combined, that just... came out of nowhere, and nobody claiming for reimbursement.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what it looks like.”

Mimi has no interest in fraud.

“Find out who was piloting when Queen Amidala escaped, and see if they have any answers,” Mimi tells them. “If we can keep it to just the hangar staff without drawing in the Royal Retinue, it’ll be easier on all of us.”

“Here’s hoping, ma’am.”

(Continue on AO3)

#phoenix files #star wars #the phantom menace #original characters #naboo #accounting #Padme Amidala #Sabe #Tsabin #Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Shmi does not appear but this is like half about her. and Qui-Gon. and Watto.#so #Shmi Skywalker #Qui Gon Jinn #Watto #receipt reconciliation

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shadowkoo · 7 months ago

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Just Dance It Off

→ Summary: You're over the moon when you land the female lead in the end-of-semester show. It feels like your hard work has finally paid off, everything is going great. Well, until you learn who your partner is…

↠ jimin x f.reader | 9.5k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, angst, fluff, ballet dancers au, enemies to lovers, performing arts college au

→ Warnings: explicit and unprotected sex, jealousy, masturbation, alcohol consumption, underage drinking, use of fake ID, mild exhibitionism, creampie, hair pulling, angry sex, nipple play, degradation, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple smut scenes, heavy teasing & banter, edging, orgasm denial, light choking

→ Author Note: This is a rewrite of an old 2019 fic of mine, so I hope you enjoy the newest version! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! Also a biiiiiiig thank you so Sarah @caelesjjk for beta editing this for me. Go show her some love if you aren't already following her! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

“Oh, no,” you hear one of the dancers behind you whisper to another, “Look who’s walking in.”

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you casually stretch, your eyes betraying you by glancing over your shoulder toward the door, dying to see who they’re talking about. You recognize him almost immediately and the whispers continue to grow about the slender male who is walking across the room to set his stuff down.

Park Jimin.

Of course, he would be auditioning for this show. It’s his final semester, and you really should have seen this coming. Especially since you knew he was bound to get whatever position he was auditioning for. That’s a given.

Park Jimin always gets whatever he wants in life; whether that be a specific role in a performance, who his performance partners are both on the stage…and in the bedroom, that sort of thing. He’s the most pretentious person you’ve ever met, seeing as he acts like he is God’s gift to the dance world, and you’re already dreading any interaction you’ll have with him.

Rumor has it that his daddy, former dancer and sponsor, paid his way into Juilliard, but as much as you hate to admit it, he (unfortunately) happens to be very talented and you doubt the school didn’t already have something lined up for him, regardless of who his family is. Unlike you, who was on the waitlist for two months and had to take out a loan worth more than your life to attend this school.

Your eyes meet his and Jimin does a once-over before moving onto the people to your left. What a prick.

“Y/N!” a voice yells from the entryway. Your familiar, freckled, redheaded best friend is quickly prancing towards you.

“I’m so happy to see you here,” Catalina squeals before hugging you tightly. “What part are you auditioning for? Please tell me it’s lead. God, I miss you. It sucks that we don’t have any classes together this semester. How are you?”

You hug your petite friend back, “I miss you too! Please tell me that you’re not also auditioning for lead, I don’t want to be judged against you. Your pirouettes are perfect compared to my lousy ones.”

Her laugh echoes through the room. “Apparently you didn’t hear about my recent tumble,” she jokes, bumping her shoulder into yours. “I’ll gladly be in the background after my solo-gone-wrong.”

“Alright, everyone!” One of the male judges calls out, walking past the lineup of dancers to collect everyone’s entry form. “We’ll start with the routine you were required to memorize as a group, and then it will be individual evaluations after. Make sure your numbers are secured and let’s line up outside the door.”

After taking your place and getting into position with the rest of the packed room, you wait for the cue to begin. The routine is short and simple, and years of practice have made some of the required moves second nature.

Before you know it, the judges are escorting people out the door for the individual sessions.

You're about twentieth in line, right behind Cat. That makes you a bit nervous because, even though she’s not auditioning for the lead role, her impressive skills might land her a more prominent part than the one she’s aiming for.

Everyone else is quietly chatting in line while you do your best to relax, working through your routine in your mind. This is one of your pre-audition rituals. It always helps with easing your nerves.

By the time you finish running through a couple of full-outs in your head, you’re second in line. You wish Cat good luck as she’s ushered into the dance studio. Her five minutes go by almost too quickly, but she exits with a happy smile.

“Hey, good luck! Kill it, okay?”

You nod, quickly following after the woman who calls your name next.

“Miss Y/N, it says here that you’re auditioning for the female lead. As a sophomore?” Mr. Jenson, one of your dance professors and judge, questions. You prepared for this. It’s very uncommon for an underclassman to try out for such a prestigious role.

“Yes, sir. That’s correct.” You hold your head high.

“Well, I have to say I’m quite impressed with your confidence. Whenever you’re ready.”

You wait for the familiar beginning notes of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz Of The Flowers to play before flying effortlessly through your well-practiced routine. You’re banking on the emotional state of your dancing along with the technical moves you’ve included to impress the judges, and based on their faces when you finish, you figure you did just that. You can’t help but grin widely as you watch the four of them scribble furiously onto the sheets of paper. That’s a really good sign.

“I have to say, I was a little thrown off in the beginning by your song choice since it’s so, hmm, how do I say this, so amateur. But I was very surprised by what you chose to express and the level at which you dance,” the first judge says.

“Yes, the lines you created with your body were very exquisite,” another praises.

You nodded, taking in their advice and criticism.

“Thank you, Miss Y/N, you may exit.” Mr. Jenson says with a smile.

As soon as you step out the door and exhale, you feel a sense of relief. The excitement of your successful audition courses through you, filling you with good energy.

You find Cat stretching in the warm-up room next door.

“Oh my god, you got it. Didn’t you?” She squeals the second she sees your face.

“I don’t know…” You have a pretty good idea based on their responses and comments but aren’t positive.

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “That’s your ’I just nailed my audition’ face. You totally got it.”

“I hope so. God, wouldn’t that be so insane? When was the last time an underclassman got the lead?”

Someone behind you scoffs; you look over your shoulder and see that it’s Jimin. Your eyes narrow at him, but Cat turns you back before you go off on him. “Not worth it, the rest of us seniors think it’s great that you’re trying for a top spot. How about we go get a drink from the vending machine while we wait?”

You nod before grabbing your warm-up bag and follow her out. “I can’t believe him. He’s so stuck up,” You grumble once you’re far enough away that no one but Cat can hear you.

“He’s always like that, just be thankful that you don’t share any classes with him.”

You’ve heard that Jimin is usually the center of attention in class, whether it’s his choice or not, so you can’t imagine being stuck in one with him. It sounds like it would be impossible to get good feedback if the teachers only care about him.

After you both buy the drinks that you want, you head back. The line is smaller but it will still be at least a half-hour until everyone has had their turn. You sigh impatiently and head back into the warm-up room.

Deciding to sit along the mirrored wall, you rummage through your bag to find a pair of headphones and put your favorite playlist on shuffle while you wait. Even though it feels like half the day goes by while you’re sitting there waiting, it’s really only been about an hour.

Everyone’s attention lands on Madam Jamie, one of the contemporary dance professors, when she asks everyone to re-enter the audition room.

“Okay,” she starts once everyone gets in line, “Those whose numbers I am about to call, please step forward. Dancers eleven, one fifty-three, one forty-seven, seventeen, thirty-eight, twenty-two, and one ten.”

Cat gives you a concerned look as she steps forward without you.

“Seventy-two, fifteen, sixty-eight, thirty, thirty-four, eighty-two, one twenty-one–” you step forward and sigh in relief once she spoke your number. Tuning out the rest of the numbers called, you smile at Cat as she reaches for your hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Everyone else, I’m sorry to inform you that you have not been selected. Thank you for your time,” She finishes, resting her clipboard against her chest.

Those who didn’t make the cut are escorted out as Mr. Jenson stands up to make an announcement.

“I have everyone’s part listed here,” He shakes the paper in his hand. “It’ll be left on this table for you all to look over. However, I want to first congratulate you all. We are excited to have this much talent for the semester’s exhibition show. We have some great things planned and cannot wait to get started with you all. Please take note of our rehearsal schedule. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Eight to noon. Most of you should not have conflicting schedules as all dance classes are held in the afternoon anyway, although if you do have a problem just stay after and we can work it out. Madam Jamie and I will see you back here Monday morning. Dismissed.”

You and Cat both wait until more people clear out of the room before you have the guts to read the paper.

Catalina Wilde - Corps de ballet

Your eyes wander across the page as you search for your name.

Y/N - Lead Female Soloist

Turning towards each other, you squeal “Oh my god,” at the same time.

“I can’t believe it. We both got what we wanted,” you excitedly rush out.

“I know, this never happens. Oh, I’m so excited!” She reaches for your hand and squeezes it again, picking up the paper with her other hand.

“Oh, no.” She turns the paper towards you, “Look who your partner is.”

Park Jimin - Lead Male Soloist

You huff, “Of course, I’m not surprised.” You turn your head and search the mostly-empty room for him. You have a feeling he’s still here, it’s like you can sense his presence.

“Cat! You coming?” the group of dancers near the door asks.

“Shoot, I’ve got to head to my next session. I’ll see you later, okay?” Cat says, giving you a quick hug as she runs out the door.

Leaving just you and Jimin.

Deciding to let go of your prejudice against Jimin, you figure the best move would be to congratulate him on getting the part he auditioned for.

He watches blankly from the mirrored wall as you walk towards him.

Once in front of him, you stick your hand out. “Hey congrats, I’m looking forward to–” you begin before he rudely cuts you off by holding up his hand.

“Yeah, whatever,” he sneers, “We need to take this extremely seriously so I expect you to be at our rehearsals an hour early so we can get in extra time,” he looks you over again, “From what I can tell you’re gonna need it.”

“Also,” apparently he isn’t finished, “I expect that you’ll be taking care of your diet from here on out since I’m going to be lifting you and I don’t want my arms to give out, or worse, snap.”

“Well, you can always go to the gym and work on that yourself,” you say defensively. What a jerk.

“So can you, sweetheart.”

“Uh, wow. Okay…” Here you are trying to congratulate him and here he is treating you like dirt. “Guess the rumors are true,” you mutter as you shift your duffel strap further up your shoulder, turning to leave.

“Excuse me?” Well, shit. He wasn’t supposed to hear that part. You look him in the eyes without showing any regret for your previous statement.

His eyes narrow at you, clearly not liking your RBF, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Sorry.” However, you aren’t.

“You know,” he remarks, “I don’t care about what you’ve heard about me or what you think about me. I care if you’re going to be too immature for this role and if that’s the case I’ll have no trouble replacing you.” He follows you out the audition room.

Oh boy, you’re pissed now. You turn around and get right in his face.

“What the fuck? In case you haven’t noticed, you aren’t in charge here. Just because you’re a senior and I’m a sophomore doesn’t make you any better than me,” you bark while shoving a finger in his chest.

“Secondly, I don’t need to believe the rumors because you’ve just proven them to be true. You’re an ass to all of your partners to the point that they don’t want to dance with you so you can,” you lift up your hands to finger quote this next part, “Pick who you think is good enough.”

You scoff, “Well, here’s a fun fact dickwad. I’m not going anywhere. The judges chose me and I fully intend on dancing as the female lead in the show. So get the fuck over yourself ‘cause you’re about to be seeing a lot of me in these next few months. Got it?“

"Fine,” he huffs, pushing past you.

“Fine!” you snap, turning away from him and heading towards your next class. Now that you're thoroughly annoyed and not in the mood for your next class, which happens to be a two-hour lecture on the history of interpretive dance, you sigh and get moving before you’re late.

The first two weeks of ‘rehearsals’ are spent training, just at a higher level than you’re used to. However, you hide it well. You’ve been making sure to keep up with the upperclassmen because you know that you are, unfortunately, replaceable if Madam Jamie or Mr. Jenson deems it necessary.

It doesn’t matter that your thighs feel like they are on fire, or that your calves might be ripping at every bend and arch you make. You’re going to complete the one hundred pliés just like everyone else without a single complaint.

Jimin must have taken your last conversation to heart, or he’s exceptionally good at masking his feelings if your words bothered him, because he’s been an excellent partner all week. Although, you know you aren’t going to grow a typical relationship with him as you did with all of the other partners you have had over the years. You’ve been friends, good friends, even, with your previous partners, something you know is never going to happen with Jimin.

He doesn’t do small talk. He really doesn’t have much to say at all other than pointing out when you are making a mistake. No good comments, nor praise–not that you’re expecting any–but it would have been nice to hear him say that he is impressed with how well you’re keeping up with him.

It’s Friday of the second week, which means that it’s the last day of the training period aka hell week, thankfully. You’re dying to get started on learning the actual program. You aren’t looking forward to Jimin’s request of showing up an hour earlier than everyone else this next week, but even though you hate to admit it, the extra time will end up benefiting you.

Today also happens to be the day the choreographer is coming in. You’ve heard the whispers throughout the school this week, everyone trying to guess who it’s going to be.

And after seeing who Madam Jamie walks into the studio with, you’re so happy to see that they were all wrong.

“O-oh my–ohmygod,” you bumble and did a double-take. It couldn’t be, could it?

The brown curls hung gorgeously on the tall man’s head and you internally drool at how much better looking he is in person. He’s so tan, so fit, so delicious–

“Can you concentrate?” Jimin grumbles in annoyance, pulling you out of your slightly inappropriate thoughts. You’re doing partner stretches, which does require some level of focus, but not enough that you have to look away from the literal Italian God who stood a mere six feet away. “What’s your deal anyway? We’re supposed to be preparing our muscles for the toughest training session yet and you’re over there stuttering like a fool.”

You scoff at him and lower your voice, “Don’t you know who that is?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Does it look like I care?” He mutters, pushing the backside of your thigh towards your torso.

“You can’t be serious,” you exasperate. “That’s Luca Black! You know, one of the most famous choreographers in the dance world right now. I can’t believe you don’t see how big of a deal this is.”

“The only thing I care about right now is making sure your hamstrings are loose so you don’t kick me in the face when we’re dancing.”

Now there’s an idea…

“Alright, everyone! Front and center please,” Mr. Jenson announces as he walks in the door, right on time as usual.

“Dancers, I would like you to meet Mr. Black, your choreographer. I expect you all to treat him with the same level of respect that you give me and Madam Jamie.”

“Oh please,” Mr. Black says, stepping forward, “You can all call me Luca.” His smile hits the heart of every girl in the class, and even a few of the guys. “I am looking forward to working with you all to make this performance one to remember. Can we get into a lineup to start?”

Everyone moves into the typical sequence based on each person’s position of where they belong. Which meant that you and Jimin were dead center with Luca’s eyes right on you.

You swallow slowly when he walks towards the two of you. “You must be Y/N. Mr. Jenson has told me quite a lot about you. I have to say, I am most excited to work with a dancer like you.”

Jimin is perplexed that Luca went straight to you. If anything, he’s the better dancer here and he doesn’t quite understand why a sophomore is getting so much attention. He’s nearly sick to his stomach listening to the nauseating conversation that you two are having.

“It’s an honor to have you working with us Mr. Black,” you say in awe as you shake his hand.

“Luca,” he corrects before lifting your hand to kiss it, “And the pleasure is most definitely all mine.”

“Sorry,” you pant, rushing through the door. “I know I’m a couple of minutes late. I couldn’t find parking. Why is it so freaking busy? It’s barely seven.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Jimin says ignoring your question. You bite your tongue and get straight into your morning stretches.

“What do you want to work on today?” you ask, knowing what he is going to say after you’re warmed up. For the past three weeks, you and Jimin have been dedicating extra time to perfecting scene two's Pas De Deux.

It’s the only section of this scene where you’re both completely alone on stage and Jimin is dead-set on making it nothing less than perfect. He reasons that just because you are the only two people on stage doesn’t mean that the audience’s attention is a given, you need to earn it.

Which is a very on-brand thing for Jimin to say.

“Do you really need to ask?” He snickers with a playful smile plastered to his face.

“Nevermind then,” you banter back, joining him as he finishes stretching.

You’ve surprisingly gotten pretty comfortable with Jimin after spending more time with him. Dancing with him is mostly fun, besides when he calls you out on your mistakes…repeatedly. But even then, you know he tries to mean well. You both have to be the best or the other will end up looking like a fool–which (you assume) neither of you want to happen.

Knowing that you’re almost halfway through the semester is a little terrifying. All the dancers have been making great progress and everything is coming together seamlessly, but you can’t help but feel the nervousness set in.

You take a deep breath and clear your thoughts, getting nervous right now will do you no good. Thankfully, when you start dancing your mind settles and you’re able to concentrate on your performance.

Well, that is, until Jimin drops you during the lift. You might have understood the mistake if he hadn’t done it three times prior.

“Get up.” He holds his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet. “We need to get this number down, you know how important it is.”

“I’m aware of that,” you hiss. “But it would be nice if you weren’t letting me fall every two seconds.” You rub your aching side and stretch to see if that helps ease the pain.

“Just dance it off, you’ll be fine.” Jimin walks over to his stuff along the wall, before bending down to grab his water bottle.

You scowl. “Stop being ridiculous and hold me properly. I don’t have teeth anywhere down there,” you say motioning to the space between your legs. “You can put your hand where it belongs without worry, you know.”

Jimin blushes as soon as he hears your words, he turns away quickly before you notice. Yes, it’s technically his fault that you keep falling. It isn’t intentional, but he can’t help it. Especially when he can feel the warmth of your center from where his hand is resting when he goes in for the lift.

The thought of other parts of him being this close to your heat is driving him crazy and yeah, he may have faltered, which yeah, may have caused you to crash down once…twice. Okay, maybe three times. Or four?

It doesn’t matter. He’s so hyper-focused on why he’s thinking about you like this at all. You’re attractive, he already knew that. But this new-found thought of wanting to take you hard and fast, right here in the studio is something else. It comes from deep within, and he can’t decide if he wants to squash the idea completely or let it lead to something wild.

Jimin shakes his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts just long enough for you to both get through these next ten minutes before the rest of the crew arrives for rehearsal. “Alright, let’s go again.”

You get into position, Jimin falling behind you. You try to hold still but his breath tickles your neck while you wait for the music cue.

The motions are practically natural to you at this point, and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself in case you fall again.

You rapidly suck in air when you feel Jimin’s fingers press deep into your inner thigh this time as he lifts you. They are incredibly close, much closer than they were last time.

You won’t ever admit to it, but your mind is overflowing with dirty thoughts of Jimin’s fingers somewhere else. Particularly somewhere that would have you writhing within seconds.

Those thoughts are distracting, and you’re late for your cue to jump down. And somehow instead of jumping, your body twists around in a weird way as your head dives down toward the ground below you. Tensing, you brace for the impact that doesn’t come.

Unexpectedly, Jimin manages to catch you before any damage happens, and he quickly pulls you up, as if you were never upside down to begin with. His arms are wrapped right below your butt, causing your head to be directly above his. How on earth it got there, you have no idea.

But you aren’t questioning it. Adrenaline runs wild through your body, and you cling to him as if your life depends on it. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, scared that you still might fall somehow.

Your faces are only a few inches apart in this position, which allows you to see how soft and smooth Jimin’s lips look. You slowly lick yours as he lowers you down to the ground, keeping the same amount of distance, or lack thereof, between you two. The realization that it would be so easy to kiss him right now has set in and you swear Jimin has the same mad thoughts; especially when he’s gripping your hips this tightly.

What you both don’t realize is that outside of the main doors, the rest of the dancers are watching with wide eyes and shocked faces. If it weren't for the unmistakable red hair you see in the mirror's reflection, who knows what might have happened? You don’t think about it, instead, you pull away and play it off before heading toward your bag to grab a drink.

“Morning everyone! What are we all waiting for?” Luca says from behind the dancers, “Let’s go in and get warmed up.”

He opens the door and sees you and Jimin at opposite ends of the room, each taking big gulps from your water bottles. Interesting…

Cat walks in and sets her stuff down next to Jimin’s and silently watches him. His face is flushed but she can’t tell if it was because of the intense moment you two just shared, or from the strain of the lifting sequence. She was the first to notice the look you two shared before the crowd outside the door, and she has a weird feeling about it.

Last she knew you were still fighting with Jimin during your pre-practices, although she’s very aware of the saying ’there’s a fine line between love and hate’. Cat makes a mental note to ask you about this morning’s situation later.

The first half of practice is weird, to say the least. Jimin is treating you like nothing happened. And while technically nothing happened, something almost did and you don’t know how you felt about the something.

Needless to say, you aren’t on top of your dance game today. It’s hard to concentrate with your head filled with empty-answered questions and even more confusion.

“Okay, everyone,” Luca echoes, stealing every dancer’s attention, “Let’s take five. When we reconvene we’ll do a recap of Scenes One through Three with no breaks. If we can get it down we’ll move onto the beginning of Scene Four today.”

You and Jimin happily turn in opposite directions, grateful for some space.

“Y/N, can you stay back? There’s something I want to go over with you,” Luca calls out, stopping you from heading in the direction of Cat and some of the other girls.

Oh no. That’s never a good sign.

“Don’t worry, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he says after seeing your smile falter. “I just see a little room for improvement with the last sequence before the song changes in scene three.”

He gestures for you to get into position in front of him, which you do without hesitation.

Luca moves closer to you and rests a hand on your lower back, “Tighten here and stretch.” He shows you how to position your body to make it look more elegant and elongated. “See how much longer you look now?” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Hold yourself like this through the rest of the dance. Trust me when I say you’ll notice a difference. So will everyone else.”

A blush creeps up your neck when his hand slides across your hip before he steps away from you, “Thank you for the tip.”

His eyes burn into yours, and you feel the heat growing in your lower stomach. “Anytime, Y/N.” His lips turned into a small smile, which you returned.

Jimin stalks silently as Luca touches you, his anger bubbling deep down inside him. Fuck, he doesn’t exactly want you, but he definitely doesn’t want anyone else to have you either. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Luca touching you like that or giving you those looks; looks that have disguised intentions with ulterior motives behind them.

He wants to tell Luca where to go and how to get there, but he knows better. Not only would it be unprofessional as hell, but Jimin would probably be screwed out of a lot of future events if he tells one of the best choreographers to fuck off.

He forces himself to look away and takes another deep breath, calming down a little before part two of rehearsals starts.

The second half of rehearsals ends sooner than expected, and Jimin storms off before you even have the chance to talk to him about this morning. You sigh, your eyes trailing his fast exit.

“Y/N! I’m heading to the vending machine for a granola bar, want to come with me?” Cat asks. You’re sure that her question has a hidden agenda too, but you go along with it anyway since you’re starving and need to eat something small before your next class.

“Sure, just give me a second to switch out of my pointe shoes.” You don’t like to wear yours for walking since they’re new and still stiff.

“So,” Catalina begins, watching you put the money into the machine. “What was that this morning? And don’t you dare try to say it was just dancing, because I’ve seen 'just dancing’ with Jimin and that was not at all what I saw earlier.”

You groan internally, not wanting to deal with her interrogation. Cat isn’t the type to judge you if you told her that you would’ve fucked Jimin right then if it wasn’t for the fact that you noticed her (and the rest of the dancers). But you don’t want to admit it to yourself.

Saying it and thinking it are two very different things, and you aren’t sure you can come to terms with saying that you want to fuck Jimin. Hell, you have no idea if you will feel the same way in an hour. So you choose to keep it to yourself for now.

“Did something happen between you two?” she asks bluntly.

“No, nothing happened between us.”

“And is that a good or bad thing?” she questions next.

“Good,” you huff, “I think…”

It’s been another busy few weeks, and things have been going great…until today. To be honest, this is probably the worst dance day you’ve had in years.

“I’m sorry guys, let’s start from the top,” you apologize again for messing up. The scene you’re going over today isn’t complicated by any means, it’s only a transition scene. But your head is elsewhere which, in turn, makes you mess up every couple of seconds.

You're not getting many approving looks from the room. Luca is a little worried, Madam Jamie has pursed lips, and the dancers are severely annoyed with you.

“No, Miss Y/N. Stop before you hurt yourself.” Mr. Jenson lets out a frustrated sigh. “Kyra, would you stand in for Y/N and show her how it’s properly done?”

You’re embarrassed that it’s gotten to this point. What is with you? You’ve done this sequence perfectly with Jimin this past week, hundreds of times at least. Now with the extra dancers on the floor, you seem to be forgetting it all.

Taking soft, shallow breaths is the only thing keeping you from crying in front of everyone. But they wouldn’t notice. All eyes are glued to Kyra, a senior who had also auditioned for the same role as you, as she dances with Jimin.

They dance beautifully, you can’t deny it, even if you want to. You can’t help but wonder if she would’ve been the better choice for the female lead.

“Thank you, Kyra. Everyone back into position now.”

Kyra walks past you and smirks. You know she’s thinking the same thing that you are. She probably also thinks that she’s capable of sweeping in and stealing your position. Like hell if you’re going to let that happen.

Even so, it’s not your decision to make and you know if you keep screwing this up it’s more than likely to happen.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s your deal?” Jimin whispers once he lines up with you again. The last thing you need is for him to make you feel worse for fucking up.

“I don’t know, it’s not a good day for me,” you whisper back as your eyes fill with tears. You’re completely exhausted, defeated, and disappointed.

“Just dance it off, we all get days like this. Follow my lead, okay? I promise I won’t let you mess up again.”

You nod, blinking back your tears. This is a different side of Jimin than you’re used to. He’s caring and knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

After shaking off the earlier mishaps, you get yourself together and push through practice, making sure that the first official run-through of the program is a total success. It makes you feel a hell of a lot better than two hours earlier. You can tell that the rest of the group is just as ecstatic as you and Jimin are.

“That was great, Y/N!” he says, pulling you into a comforting hug. “See, all you needed was a little reassurance.”

You’re slightly sad when he pulls back, the warmth of his body is no longer felt. “Thank you for today. I would’ve completely fallen apart without you.”

“Hey don’t worry about it, make sure you get some rest this weekend. See you Monday!” He smiles softly and waves bye. Who knew Jimin had more to him than what everyone else saw?

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn your head and see Madison, one of the upperclassmen who’s also in the show, walking toward you.

“What are you doing tonight? Some of the girls and I are planning on going out to celebrate our first successful run-through of the show. We’re wondering if you’d like to come?” She leans in a little closer, “We have a fake you can use to get into our favorite club, Wander. We’d love for you to let loose with us.”

Usually, you would turn down any interaction that involves alcohol, especially since you’re underage, but you don’t want to disappoint your potential new friends. Plus it does sound like a lot of fun, and after the practice you just had, you deserve to let loose and relax.

“Yeah, totally! I’d love to come.” Madison smiles and you both trade numbers.

“Okay cool, I’ll text you my address later. We’re gonna get ready at mine before we head out. See you later!” She gives you a quick hug before heading out the door.

You’re secretly excited to hang out with the older girls since you don’t have many other friends in your year. Especially not now with all your free time taken up by rehearsals.

Jimin stands outside the dance studio’s side door, slyly eavesdropping. He makes a mental note to accidentally run into you later. He isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but he doesn’t want to go without seeing you for two days.

You intrigue him, and after your almost-kiss, Jimin wants to know what your lips feel like for real this time, not just what he has been imagining.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks over the pounding music. You have no idea what to ask for; you obviously don’t drink and ordering something from the bar is a little out of your comfort zone since you don’t know what you’re doing.

Madison catches on and takes over. “Five shots of tequila for our group!” she yells while leaning over the bartop so he can hear her.

Oh boy, you don’t know much but you know enough to feel safe assuming tonight will be wild if you’re starting with shots, of all things.

With about a month left until the show, deciding to let loose with the girls is exactly the kind of break you need. Dancing, drinks, and good friends. Looking around, you’re happy to see that you have all three. It’s all a part of tonight’s plan.

What you don’t plan for, however, is seeing Jimin in the middle of the dance floor with Kyra all over him. After practice today, this is a total slap in the face.

You aren’t sure if the progress you’ve been making with Jimin is just one-sided, or if you had been imagining it this whole time. It feels like you’re both taking two steps forward in the right direction and then something like this will happen, sending you ten steps back.

Your eyes are glued to Kyra’s body as she dances with him, her hips moving at the perfect speed. You can’t help but be jealous of her. Not only is she gorgeous and a great dancer, but she also has a way of demanding everyone’s attention in any room she graces. Although, there’s only one person’s attention you want right now, and from what it looks like, you doubt you’ll be getting his anytime soon.

“Oh my god, is that Luca?” Catalina asks with a surprised tone, pointing towards the opposite end of the bar, “No way, it can’t be.”

“It is,” you laugh nervously before looking away. You’re a little worried that he might remember that you’re under the legal drinking age, only by a year, but still. How embarrassing would it be for him to get you kicked out…

“That’ll be $42,” the bartender drones, pushing the over-spilling shot glasses toward your group and happily taking whichever girls’ fifty-dollar bill in return.

You lift your glass along with the others, “Here’s to letting go and having fun!”

The tequila burns the back of your throat but that doesn’t stop you from hollering, “Let’s go dance!”

You pull Madison and Catalina onto the dance floor, coming to an abrupt stop when your back collides with someone., “Oh my gosh, I am so sor–” You pause and stare at the dark-haired man, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi ladies, I hope you’re not getting into too much trouble tonight,” Luca jokes with a wide smile displayed across his face. He looks gorgeous dressed in all black, the leather jacket tops off his outfit.

“Oh of course not, Mr. Black,” Catalina giggles playfully, “We’re all good girls here.”

He raises his eyebrow which makes each of you giggle, “I’m not so sure about that. Can I buy you all a drink? Or is that a little weird?”

You look around at the girls; they do the same.

“Uh, sure? Madison finally says, breaking up the awkward silence.

Cat and one of her friends entertain Luca’s conversation while they wait at the bar. You slyly peek over your shoulder while dancing, looking for you-know-who. You can’t find him, but you’re happy to see that Kyra has moved on to her next man of the night.

"Hey,” Luca says, walking towards you with an extra drink in hand. “Here you go. Shhh, it’s our little secret,” he says humorously.

You thank him for the drink, nervously swirling the ice with the slim black straw in your cup.

“I’m happy I ran into you,” he begins, “Can I talk to you for a second, alone?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” You nod to Cat, silently saying that you’ll catch up with her later. He smiles and pulls you aside from your friends.

“What’s up?” You ask tensely while Luca grins, running a hand through his hair.

“I just want to tell you how impressed I’ve been with your progress so far, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you at rehearsals.”

Oh my god.

“Really?” You gape.

“Absolutely,” he reaches for your hand, bringing you closer to him before bending down to plant his lips on yours. You freeze as he kisses you gently, entirely unsure of what to do in that situation.

He quickly pulls back after reading your body language, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Luca,” you say curtly, taking a step back, “I appreciate your tips in class and kind comments, but I think we should keep things professional here. You’re the choreographer and I’m a student...”

“Of course, I apologize again. How about I walk you back to your friends and we forget this happened?”

“That would be perfect.” You’re thankful that things don’t seem too awkward, and you only hope things will stay that way when you see each other Monday morning.

Jimin’s fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms as he clenches his fists. Fucking Luca Black. He was heading your way to say hi, but Luca led you in a different direction than the one your friends are heading to. He should have known better, but he follows behind slowly. And what he sees when he finally turns the corner doesn’t sit right with him.

Luca’s hand on your cheek as the two of you kiss. Jimin isn’t exactly sure who initiated it. And even though it’s eating him alive, he doesn’t want to know because it pains him either way.

He watches as Luca pulls away, and takes note of your stunned face. Jimin wants to believe that was because you didn’t enjoy it. He can’t hear what you’re talking about, and he truly wants to believe that Luca is making you uncomfortable based on your reaction to the kiss. But that hopeful thought is squashed as soon as you smile and take Luca’s hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

Jimin is still trying to process what he just witnessed even though you’re both long gone. He steps out of the shadows and throws his drink at the wall, ignoring the sound of the glass breaking behind him. Grumbling under his breath, Jimin takes the closest exit and slams the club door behind him.

He heads home with the hopes that a cold shower will ease his rage, but the cool water running down his back isn’t doing much for his boiling blood, nor is it getting rid of the image of Luca’s lips on yours. And inevitably, he can’t get you out of his head either which in turn results in him masturbating to those thoughts of you … which is anything but calming.

Jimin closes his eyes and imagines that it’s him kissing you, not Luca, and that he’s the one who has you pushed up against the wall. He can practically hear your soft whimpers, the ones you make when you’re doing partner stretches that always have him close to losing it right there in front of everyone at rehearsals.

But it isn’t him who’s stretching with you. His length quivers in his hand as he speeds up, trying to change his thoughts to you aroused in the club bathroom, his hand sliding underneath your dress and slipping into your panties. Jimin throws his head back at the image of you getting all worked up, but once again, it isn’t him that’s driving you wild. It’s Luca.

After the fifth attempt and still failing to picture himself with you, Jimin gives up. He groans, looking down at his length’s angry red tip that’s aching for release. And there’s only one thing that will give him that. You.

But not an imaginary you. The real you. The real you wanting him just as much as he wants you. He doubts that you ever will, not when you can have Luca instead.

Meaning that Jimin is basically screwed.

Monday is a killer. Jimin has been hateful to you all morning, and you genuinely have no idea why. He seems to be fuming now at the end of rehearsals, compared to the quiet angry vibe he was giving off earlier this morning.

“Hey, great job today Y/n. You’re doing phenomenal. I can’t wait to see this all come to life next week. See you tomorrow!”

“Thanks! Yes, see you tomorrow Luca.” You wave bye while he rushes out of the room, leaving just you and Jimin behind.

Jimin waits until Luca is out of earshot before saying anything. He’s been annoyed all day by your and Luca’s behavior after witnessing the two of you making out in the hallway of Wander.

He’s disgusted, even more so by the afterthoughts of Luca bringing you back to his place and taking advantage of you. Needless to say, he didn’t sleep much this weekend.

“God, you’re such a suck-up,” he criticizes, failing to hold back his evil words. “How special do you think you’re going to feel when the paid help you’re boning doesn’t remember your name the second he moves on to the next school and finds a new student to seduce?”

“Excuse me?”

“You can pretend all you want but I saw you Friday night. With him.”

Oh god…

You shake your head, “Jimin, I can explain–”

“Whatever, waitlist. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He turns around and internally grimaces, upsetting you isn’t what he was going for. He’s pissed and unfortunately, you’re the only person he can take it out on. It’s a dick move to say things like that, especially since you deserve to be here just as much as everyone else.

Jimin knows he should just let it go, but he can’t help it. It’s been eating him alive all day. He’s pissed that you’re acting like a damn fool because of Luca’s attention. Luca’s eyes hadn’t left your body the entire day.

Fucking perv.

Jimin is more pissed that it’s bothering him so much. He shouldn’t care, he doesn’t–or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Jimin’s words stung, and you’re shaking out of pure anger. “What the fuck is your problem? I can handle the normal stick-up-your-ass behavior but it’s on a whole new level today. Chill out, okay? It isn’t what you think. Nothing happened after he kissed me. Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but it actually made me, like, super uncomfortable and he apologized directly after. We both agreed it wasn’t professional, so piss off Jimin. And even if I did decide to take it further with Luca, it wouldn’t concern you. So stay out of it.” You’re near him when you finish, with crossed arms and eyes glaring.

It’s unbelievable Jimin would make such a comment; the last thing you need is for him to start telling people what he saw.

You know you would be harshly reprimanded for using a fake ID to get into a club, but also for accepting a drink from someone who is a teacher, and especially for kissing that same teacher.

Jimin is just as heated as you are. So his intuition was right that night. His anger only grows, wanting to punch Luca over and over again for making you uncomfortable like that. How could Luca not tell that you weren’t actually into him, but rather idolized him for his contributions to the dance world? How dare he use that against you to pull a move like that?

“Fine,” he growls in your face, totally furious at the situation, and furious with himself for caring this much about it–about you. You’re driving him crazy, even now when you’re pissed with him. It turns him on how strong and defensive you always are, and fuck, he wants to do something about it.

“Fine,” you snap back, taking another step forward as your eyes subconsciously lower to his parted mouth.

In a matter of milliseconds, your lips collide and your hands are all over each other’s bodies. He lifts you into his arms and slams your back into the mirrors. It’s a miracle that they don’t shatter from his force.

You gasp at the contact and Jimin takes the opportunity to shove his tongue further into your mouth. Your legs lock around his waist while you continue to explore each other’s mouths and bodies ravenously.

Jimin pulls away and tugs your leotard down your arms, freeing your breasts from the tight compression.

“You’re so fucking annoying, do you know that?” He snarls before leaving a line of rough kisses along your neck and down your chest. You whimper at the sensation and run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re so fucking loud, do you always have to say so much?” You moan in response.

Jimin is starved for your taste and can’t wait any longer. His hands travel down your side while his lips close over one of your soft peaks, sucking it in between his teeth.

You mewl, crashing your head back against the glass from the sheer amount of pleasure.

Jimin abruptly pulls away and brings his face back in front of yours. “What? Do you have something to say?” he asks with fire in his eyes. But with his lips replaced by his fingers, twisting and tugging, you’re helplessly tongue-tied.

He moves one hand lower and another soft moan escapes your lips, his middle finger dancing dangerously above your panties before dipping into your slickened folds.

Jimin knows exactly where and how to touch you, causing your head to spin. He feels himself hardening watching your face contort in pleasure, and nearly coming in his pants when you slowly lick your bottom lip, pulling it in between your teeth and letting out a long moan in the process.

“Mmm, Jimin,” you cry, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Jimin notices this and instantly pulls away. You don’t get to come that easily. Even though it makes him super fucking excited to see what his touch does to you. God, this is so much better than what he imagined.

You whimper at the loss of his touch, “What the fuck?”

“Turn around,” he demands, his eyes flooding with lust and a dash of something dark. He undresses you rather quickly, leaving your tights and leotard wrapped around your legs.

You decide you aren’t going to let him have all the fun, sneaking a hand back behind you. Jimin grits his teeth in pleasure as your hand slips into his pants. His length twitches in anticipation of feeling you wrapped around him. You pull his member out and lead him between your damp folds, moaning deliciously at the contact.

The scent of your arousal has now filled the room and Jimin can’t hold back any longer. He wants to fulfill his fantasy of taking you hard and fast, right here in front of the mirror. Without a warning he slams himself into you, causing you to lose your breath.

Your back is against him as he relentlessly pounds you from behind. The force of his thrusts are hard and you use your hands as leverage against the mirror to avoid being crushed by him, even though it would certainly be worth it.

Jimin brings a hand up around your neck and holds your head straight so he can watch when you come. You’re close and he knows just what to do.

“Say my name,” he demands, using his other hand to pinch your clit. “Look at me and say the name of the man who’s making you come like you never have before.”

“Jimin, oh my-” The waves of pleasure wash over your entire body, every inch of your skin tingles. You pulsate around him, but he’s not done with you yet.

“That’s damn right.” Jimin twists you around again, lifting you against the reflective glass. He keeps his fast pace, with a fistful of your hair held between his tightening fingers.

“You’re such a fucking slut. Look at you losing it over my cock,” he snarls with a clenched jaw, “I’m gonna fuck you like this until the rest of the class comes in.”

Jimin rams into you with twice the amount of force as before. “I’d make that fucking Italian bastard watch as I take you hard and make you feel this good.” He brings his lips up to your ear and whispers, “He could never,” before harshly biting your ear, sending you completely over the edge for a second time.

Jimin watches you unfold, your beauty completely mesmerizes him. Your entire body is on fire from oversensitivity while Jimin’s fingers rub your throbbing nub. You watch, completely hypnotized, as he brings his soaked fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Oh, don’t think we’re anywhere near done yet,” he smirks devilishly, moving his thumb back to your clit and rubbing in crude circles. Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation, and you can’t catch your breath. It’s too much.

Jimin hisses when your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight right now.” It isn’t long after those words leave his lips that he’s shuddering inside of you, his release shooting into the depths of your heat.

Your insides coil as you reach the peak of your third and final orgasm. Jimin holds your legs steady as you come hard over his cock, and swallows your moans with his mouth.

He slowly retreats out of you and presses his flushed cheek against yours. You can feel his heartbeat thumping out of control while you both catch your breath.

After a moment, he draws back and lowers you to the ground. You both chuckle at the state of your appearance. “I think I have a towel in my bag, one sec.” He says while tucking himself back into his pants as you readjust your hair, trying to make the whole ’i just had sex’ look a little less obvious.

You’re still breathing heavily when he returns to wipe you clean.

“Mmm,” you hum in total satisfaction, and still a little out of it - if you had to be honest. “I should piss you off more often.”

He gives you a look, “Hurry up and get dressed before anyone sees you.”

You’re the one to smirk this time, “I thought you wanted people to see me?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“Hurry up, you’re taking too long,” you whine while Jimin attempts to undo his stage pants as fast as he can.

“I’m trying,” he mutters, silently praying when his zipper finally works, “There we go.”

He lines himself up to you and pushes into your center.

You bite your lip to avoid making any noises as he stretches you out. The two of you are in the small storage closet behind the stage; there’s only about an hour or two until the opening night show starts.

Jimin thought you had to be joking at first when you whispered how badly you needed him after you both were dressed and ready to warm up with the rest of the dancers. But much to his delight, you weren’t kidding.

Hopefully, they won’t notice your absence. Who are you kidding, they probably know that you two are fucking. Plus, it’s kind of obvious when both lead roles go 'missing’ at the same time.

At first, he was torn between following you into the tight space–wanting to be in another tight space–and doing what he normally would call the right thing, which was preparing for tonight. But after seeing the look on your face, Jimin was quick to follow you into the closet.

“Shhh, you need to stay quiet,” Jimin grunts quietly with a hand over your mouth, silencing your moans.

You grip his shoulders as he quickens his pace, bringing you both over the edge.

“Holy fuck,” he quietly whines, the sensation of your inner walls clenching his length is addicting. It isn’t long after your sweet release that he’s quivering. He pulls out, knowing you can’t dance with his release filling you. He shudders one last time, his come shoots out and onto the wooden floor below.

You giggle, “Good thing we’re in a place that can clean that up.” you say referencing his load.

He rolls his eyes at your joke and leans in to give you a quick kiss, “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“Yes, typically.”

You flatten out your costume and zip each other up, leaving the closet one at a time. You first of course, since you needed to touch up your makeup now. Leaving Jimin behind to clean up his mess.

About fifteen minutes later you meet Jimin backstage to practice, stretch, and chat along with everyone else. The jitters are bouncing off of everyone and you can’t stand still from excitement, a little nervousness too. But mostly excitement.

“Jimin, are you feeling okay? You look a little stiff and tired if I must say…” Madam Jamie mentions after watching him practice a few scenes.

“Nothing to worry about Madam, had a tiring warm-up is all. Not to worry though, I am more than ready for tonight.”

Madam Jamie reminds him how important rest and lots of water are when practicing hard before moving along to the next student.

“Hmmm, what is it that you usually tell me?” You begin, giving him a coy look, “Oh right. 'Just dance it off.’ That should fix your issue, correct?” You look down at his crotch, and back up at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, daring you to go on.

“After our vigorous warmup, I’m sure you do. But we’re going on stage soon. So suck it up, sweetie.”

He can’t wait to make you regret that statement when he teases you later tonight. He had big plans to celebrate. And knowing you, you would love them.

#jimin fanfic #jimin oneshot #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fanfic #bts smut #jimin bts #park jimin #ksmutsociety #kvanity #shadowkoo #300

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violetflowerswrites · 8 months ago

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I Hate Motorcycles

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN Reader

Summary: The Red Hood saves you from a bank robbery gone wrong, and reveals that your best friend, Jason Todd, is back from the dead.

Word Count: 1.7k

Disclaimer: bank robbery, weapons (guns, gas, knives, mace, taser), minor injuries with mention of blood, mentions of kidnapping and stalking, reader swears like a sailor, loss and grief, attempted murder, angst, consensual kiss.

A/N: I’ve been reading Batman comics and the BatFam has just wrecked my heart! I wrote this in like an hour because I kept thinking about the emotional whiplash that is losing Jason and his unexpected comeback. I’m not an expert on DC comics and I’m not sticking to any specific storyline. Just a lil Drabble for fun. Enjoy!

“Are you fuckin kidding me?” You muttered under your breath as broken glass, screams of terror, and angry shouts crackled across the bank.

The one day you decided to beg for a loan from the city’s stingiest bank, it gets robbed.

Fan-fuckin-tastic.

Multiple assailants in ski masks shouted the usual—“hands up or we’ll shoot!”, “put the money in the bag!”, so on and so forth.

You could practically taste the caked on dirt of the discolored carpet as you pressed your face down, splayed out on your stomach with your hands up in surrender.

Carefully, your eyes trailed across the foyer, wondering if you could just casually dip a hand into your pocket and pull out your switchblade, or mace, or taser.

This was Gotham after all.

Everyone has to be prepared for the worst.

But, no such luck. There were 8 armed men with machine guns.

Huh. That seemed like overkill.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have time to process that thought when a bright green gas started to waft through the glass building.

Then, the unmistakable sound of giggling.

What the fuck?

On instinct, you army crawled towards the nearest broken window, desperate for fresh air. In the chaos of over fifty hostages suddenly caught up in raucous laughter, you managed to hold your breath and pull yourself up to the windowsill.

Immediately cutting your hands to a bloody mess.

Biting in a swear of pain, you persevered, hauling your body across the shards until you fell in a heap on the sidewalk outside.

Your breath came in dizzying gulps, but nevertheless, your gaze blurred as the exposure to the gas was rendering you unconscious.

Just before your eyelids shut, you heard an incredibly loud revving of an engine.

And saw a blurry red streak of a motorcycle sailing through the broken window and into the bank behind you.

Your last coherent thought was:

I fucking hate motorcycles.

…

The story of why you hated motorcycles was a simple, although tragic one.

Your father was a mechanic, a brilliant one, but poor. You grew up helping in the garage as much as you could, trying to make ends meet.

Then, your father started to take on jobs for vehicles that weren’t…normal.

Decked out motorcycle-turned-gliders, cars that could transform into boats, that sort of thing.

Soon enough, you weren’t so poor, but your father still kept up the appearance of just being another struggling business in the great city of Gotham.

You knew better than to ask questions.

Until one day, a boy came. He asked for a motorcycle in special colors—red and yellow and a hint of green.

By then it was obvious to you that your father—and by extension, you— were fixing up vehicles for none other than Batman and Robin.

The vigilantes, the crime-fighting heroes of your city.

It was inevitable that the two of you, being practically the same age, would strike a close friendship. If he wasn’t busy fighting who-knows-what in the dark alleys of Gotham, Robin would come over and spend hours with you working on his bike.

And he was such an asshole. A demanding, violent, arrogant jerk of a kid who wanted his motorcycle to be as deadly, dangerous, and fast as possible.

You, being an incredible mechanic like your father before you, took it as a personal affront to your pride. You constantly fueled each other, challenging each other to do better, be better.

And together, you were a formidable pair.

Until the Joker came.

And he was gone.

Batman lost his Robin, and your family soon lost its main source of business.

That’s why you were at the bank, trying to get a loan to cover the mortgage of your garage.

For years, you cursed Batman and his vigilante crew, blaming them for getting your best friend killed.

But, just as much, you blamed yourself. If only you hadn’t given him such a formidable vehicle, or hadn’t goaded him into fighting as violently as he did.

Maybe he wouldn’t have died.

So now, every motorcycle was a heart-stabbing reminder of him, and your failure to protect someone you loved.

…

You awoke to the feeling of someone placing a helmet on your head and lifting you up.

Firm hands wrapped your arms around a thick midsection, as your legs straddled a motorcycle.

Shit.

Someone was kidnapping you.

Before you could react, the wheels squealed and you peeled off into the rain-slicked streets of Gotham. Fear coursed through your now ice-cold veins and you shut your eyes, holding on for dear life as the rider pushed the vehicle ever faster.

After what felt like an eternity, you both finally stopped and you cracked open an eyelid to see a shocking sight.

Your garage.

Whoever took you knew where you lived.

Fucking hell.

This was worse than you thought.

Gathering your wits, you whipped out a knife in one hand and a taser in the other.

“Who the fuck are you?!” You screamed at your kidnapper. “How do you know where I live?”

“Ah—shit—this looks bad. Look, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to scare you—“ the man wore a red metallic mask, his voice altered by some kind of technology. He sounded more like a robot than a man.

“Yeah? Well you’re doing a piss-poor job of it. You got 3 seconds to explain yourself!” You lowered your stance, clearly ready to attack whoever this leather-clad stalker was.

”You got hit with laughing gas at the bank. It’s the Joker, he’s back, and I just couldn’t stand by while you were in danger. I couldn’t stand watching you from afar anymore.” The man stumbled through an explanation, backing up until his legs bumped into the motorcycle.

In a quick glance, you looked at the vehicle and immediately recognized it as one of yours. It was tricked out with fatter tires, a different front windshield cover, and red and black paint, but the engine, the shape of the body, that was undeniably your engineering.

It was Robin’s bike.

You rushed up to him, closing the distance and pressing the blade of the knife to the gap of skin between his black Kevlar turtleneck and his mask. Your other hand pressed the taser into an exposed seam between the armored protection on his side.

“Where the fuck did you get this bike?” Your voice dropped dangerously low, your tone seething with murderous anger.

In that moment, Jason could see in your gaze just how deeply the pain of loss ran through you. You were a mechanical genius, a competitive, intelligent, shit-talking inventor. But you weren’t a fighter. And you definitely weren’t a killer.

But, Jason knew that if he didn’t tell you the truth, you would have murdered him in cold blood on the steps of your home, without a single ounce of regret.

“Take off my mask.” He whispered, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the blade of the knife.

Your eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why?”

“You need to know who I am.” He replied cryptically.

Jason could see the gears turning in your head as you realized that this mask-wearing fucker could be working with the Batman.

And good ol’ Bats wouldn’t waste a perfectly good bike, even if it belonged to his Robin, whom he treated like a son.

A now dead son.

Jason held his breath for a beat more as you considered his words, but curiosity got the better of you and you complied.

You eased up on the knife to use your finger to pull the mask off his chin, and it fell to the floor with a sharp clatter.

A second later, your knife and taser fell to the floor as well.

“Fuck.”

The single syllable popped out of your jaw-dropped mouth as you stumbled back as if Jason had shoved you.

It was him.

That unmistakable sheepish look of taking things just a little bit too far on his handsome face. A face now aged and scarred a bit, and a shock of white hair attached to his forehead.

“It’s me. I’m back.” He shyly smiled at you, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t just come back from the fucking dead.

An uncontrollable wave of rage washed over you and you recovered, your hands quickly forming fists which rain all over his chest.

“Fuck you! Fuck you, Jason! You fucking died! You have no fucking right to be here right now! You fucker!” Raw screams of grief and disbelief wrenched out of your body, as sound unrecognizable to you since the first days that you lost him.

Thought you lost him, forever.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jason hugged you tightly as if he never wanted to let you go again. You didn’t realize that tears were streaming down your blotchy cheeks and were now soaking through the bullet proof vest on his chest.

“How? How are you here?” You spluttered through heaving lungs, trying your best not to break down into sobs.

“I’ll explain everything, I promise.” He ran a soothing, warm palm down your back. “But, there’s something I need to say, something I regretted not telling you before I died. And I’ve been thinking about it every day since I came back.”

His gaze down at you was soft, and you can see tears pricking the corners of his blue eyes.

“Say it, you fucking asshole.” You punch him one more time in the shoulder, but Jason could tell your heart wasn’t in that one.

With the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen from him, he opens his mouth and says:

“I love you.”

Your eyes widened in shock as those three words hit your ears, and your heart.

You didn’t realize you’d been waiting to hear that for years.

And you thought you never would.

Jason cupped your chin and lifted it to his, pressing his lips to yours and—fucking hell.

It felt like coming home.

…

#jason Todd #jason todd fluff #Jason Todd angst #Jason Todd fic #jason todd drabble #Jason Todd x reader #red hood #red hood fic #red hood fluff #red hood angst #red hood x reader #Batman #batfam #Batman and Robin #Robin

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celestoria · 2 years ago

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Lights, Camera, Action

Summary: Congratulations, you’ve reached a milestone! You decided to host a raffle. Winner gets a free one-on-one cam call with you. Though it was your first time doing this sorts of stuff, what could go wrong? You realized you spoke to soon when your lucky winner was in fact your classmate from college

Pairing: Alhaitham x Cammer!fem!reader

Tags: College AU, Cammer, Implied Academic Rivals, Toys, Mutual Masturbation

Words: 1.7k

Do not interact if you are 16 or below (17+)

You’re celebrated by your professors as one of their best students. Like how can they not? You attentively listen to lectures, never pass your homework late, and ace even the most difficult of tests. The textbook definition of “goody two shoes” was meant for you.

That’s what everyone tells you though, but if you had to give your opinion, you’d simply disagree off the bat.

Outside of academics, you lived your life as a debaucherous cammer. Your body is constantly flaunted in front of a camera to be streamed by viewers who look at you with ardour. Part of the reason why you entered the industry is to help pay your student loans but also, you simply enjoyed it since it brought the excitement you have been searching for your whole life.

No one called you out about your double life despite recently hitting a huge milestone of thousands of subscribers. You weren’t sure if it was just luck being on your side or if that dirty little secret of yours could be masked by some makeup and a wig.

Speaking of milestones, such success should be celebrated. Before anything else, you wanted to show your gratitude to your faithful fans. What’s not a better way than to hold an event? One lucky winner gets to have a private call with you and you would practically do anything their lust-driven desires crave.

It didn’t take long for you to pick a random winner. You had to do this quickly since it won’t be long until your finals start. Meaning you only had this weekend.

Lucky for you, the person who won your raffle didn’t take long to respond, and easy enough, he asked if you could have the call after two days from now. How convenient. You had the same ideal set date too.

The day came and you were sitting restlessly on your chair. Your eyes fixated on the clock of your computer and your thumbs twiddled each other.

If you were, to be honest, this was the first time you did a one-on-one session with anyone because you felt more nervous if another person looked at you while you did all the sorts you’ve done. You’re better off with a faceless camera directed at you. Now you feel more confident after gaining so much support.

Sadly, you spoke too soon.

Maybe you got too arrogant and so sure of yourself that no one will ever recognize you. However, You didn’t think about it the other way around and only realized it now as your lucky winner turned on his camera, making your blood run cold. You only knew one person with grey hair that had teal hidden underneath and green eyes that looked at you with such a calculated gaze.

Alhaitham.

He was your blockmates in your current semester but you rarely saw him. What made you remember him so well is that despite constantly playing hooky in almost every class, he’d never fail to give a perfect score on all his tests.

People either love him or hate him. Your professors often commented how your work ethics were complete opposites, yet when it comes to test results, you were neck on neck. Sometimes Alhaitham is more knowledgeable than the professor when it comes to certain topics. Some of your campus mates even called him “the definition of a true prodigy”.

Still, he was the last person who you would think would watch cammers like you, let alone subscribe to you.

You made sure you conceal your emotions since it wasn’t the best time to react. Despite this, you can’t help but notice how fast your heart was beating. Maybe that’s why words had spilled out of your mouth.

“Hi,” you smiled, even though it felt like you had to take all your courage to say that.

He nonchalantly replied with the same words. God everything he says makes you feel anxious but now was not the time for that. You had to be professional. Fate made him win fair and square and you want to give him the highest quality of your service.

“So what do you want to do,” you bit your lip and slowly slipped down the bra strap.

“I assume you received a small parcel in your PO box recently,” he replied and you nodded.

Without another word, you grabbed the box yet to be opened. You just got it today and you didn’t have time to check what’s inside earlier. You opened the box and buried deep underneath all the packaging peanuts was a set of toys that must have cost a fortune.

Fans solemnly gave you gifts but you didn’t expect Alhaitham to be the type of guy to go the extra mile for this type of situation. Although you were grateful, you can never really seem to understand this guy.

“You know what to do,” he smirked as he leaned back on his chair as his excited eyes were fixated on his screen.

With a facade of confidence, you slowly slipped down your panties and leaned on your chair with your legs on the armrest, giving him a good view of the wet cunt you placed on display.

The toy vibrated once you turned on the switch and slowly slipped it inside of you. Your back arched forward and your eyes rolled. Your hands fondled your covered breast as you moaned out, trying your best not to break eye contact with the screen.

Despite this all being cyber sex, his eyes flickered with carnal excitement. His hands traveled to his aching crotch where a sticking bulge formed. He undid his pants and whipped out his hardened cock, thumbing his sensitive tip as you gave him a show.

“Is that the fastest my gift for you can go? I’m pretty sure a high-quality toy like that can go a little faster than that,” he commented. “Go turn up the speed to its maximum level and don’t you dare look away from your screen.”

And that you did. The toy moved so fast inside of you that your hips started to squirm in your chair. Your moans became shaky and your eyes had to keep so much resistance for you not to shut it tight. With your gaze restricted only to the screen, you noticed how Alhaitham started to jack himself off faster than earlier.

His deep grunts were somewhat close to being mumbled but with the mic right near his lips, they were crystal clear in your headphones. A tingling sensation ran down your spine and everything his voice expressed with such devious pleasure. It was as if he was right there beside you placing the vibrating toy deep inside you.

Juice leaked from your pussy and pooled down on the leather cushion of your seat. Your legs started to shake and your grip on the chair handles tightened.

“Can I come? Please let me come,” you begged.

“Not until I’m finished. Don’t worry I’m almost there.”

Liar.

Alhaitham was far from finished and he knew perfectly how to get your hopes up. He enjoyed how your hips swivelled and how you tried your best not to stop yourself from screaming out of pleasure.

You can call it sadistic but he prefers calling it “getting his money’s worth”. Besides, seeing you play with yourself basically at his mercy was something he quite enjoyed seeing.

Soon after, Alhaitham’s voice hitched, and beads of white leaked off the tip of his cock. The hands that moved in a fast motion finally slowed down.

“You can cum now,” he panted and indulged in the euphoria spreading across his body,

You pulled the slick-coated toy out of your pussy and the sweet release was finally yours. Your mind went black and all you could do was stare at the screen in front of you that displayed a flushed man with a tight shirt that if only you could, you’d tell him to take it off. But hey, he isn’t the cammer here.

“Shall we continue with our show,” you slurred and gave him a Cheshire cat smile. You teased him with the vibrating toy in your palm by placing it near your clit as you unclasped your bra with your free hand.

He smirked. “I knew there was a reason why you were my favourite cammer.”

————

It was late at night and you were at a nearby diner sitting parallel to your friend, Kaveh. He once promised to treat you to dinner if you helped him finish up his project. Though that was two months ago, you can’t help not to pass up the offer of a free meal.

You looked down at your table with the memories from earlier this afternoon still playing in the back of your mind. It was a new and fresh experience for you, sure but what stuck with you is how out of all the people in the world who could have won your little event, it was someone you’ve seen walk the same campus field as you. Not that you hated it. If you were honest, you want to do it all over again, and even possibly have a one-night stand with him.

And speaking of the devil himself.

“Hey, who told you that you could just come here uninvited? I told you I had private business to attend to,” Kaveh scolded.

Despite steam practically coming out of Kaveh’s ears, Alhaitham remained unphased.

“I saw on the sticky note on the wall that you were having dinner here. I decided to drop by because if I were to clean up after cooking, I’d include the mess you didn’t bother to wash when you left,” Alhaitham rebutted before he shifted his attention to you. “Who’s this? She looks familiar.”

Your heart stopped and the heat from your cheeks rose. Anxious thoughts spiralled in your mind and you prayed he doesn’t remember you from earlier.

“She’s my friend. I promised that I’d treat her for dinner and here we are,” Kaveh explained as Alhaitham sat down. “She also happens to be in the same class as you so stop giving that puzzled look. You’re literally scaring the poor girl.”

“I was only retrying to recall where I met her, since you said it I do remember her attending the same classes as me.” Alhaitham settled down and continued his little banters with your friend.

Kaveh turned to you. “Excuse my roommate, Alhaitham, here. He can be a jerk sometimes. Anyway, why don’t you start ordering?. A promise is a promise right?”

Either you got your hopes up from feign ignorance or he was truly unaware, but seeing the three of you somewhat get along without trying to recall what happened earlier made all the things better.

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #haitham smut #whether he knows or not #that honestly depends up to you #alhaitham smut #alhaitham #roiree risque

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jaemified · 1 year ago

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last christmas | part 2

“this year, to save me from tears ; ill give it to someone special.”

❆ pairing ; strangers to ?? park gunwook x fem reader

❆ genre ; fluff, slight drama +(ft taesan/jaehyun of bnd and yunjin of lsrfm ^^)

❆ warnings ; swearing, and kinda toxic relationships

❆ wordcount ; 2.4k

❆ synopsis ; beginning your second year of college and you feel youve hit rock bottom. on your own after your ex kicked you out, and taking on a seasonal job at a christmas shop to pay off student loans? everythings gone to shit. but then, you see him for the first time. and you realize there really was a little light in the darkness — your someone special.

♡ kona speaks ! - vaguely follows the plot of the film last christmas (2 part story)

read below the cut !

you cant say you were all to proud of yourself now.

sure, you were a pretty incredible student by high school graduation, with a 3.9 gpa and all (not to mention making it to seoul national university with your beloved boyfriend).

but, that was a year ago.

who wouldve thought it was possible for your life to go so far downhill, in just a span of roughly over 12 months?

your parents had found a better job opportunity in london, but your mom wanted you and your brother to be nearby.

meaning doing so without running it by you of course, which led to her enrolling you into imperial college as a foreign transfer student.

your boyfriend was pretty upset, but nevertheless, followed you despite your best efforts telling him not to (which meant him forfeiting his scholarship at snu).

once your family first heard he would follow suit to london, they gave you an ultimatum. and stupidly, you chose love over family.

they never approved of him anyway.

it was fine for the meanwhile.

at least until you broke up, and he decided to place the blame on you.

it was your flat you bought with your own money anyway. what did he ever do for you? how dare he kick you out of your own home!

you watched while gyuvin pulled your luggage out the closet, pushing it towards you.

“what the hell are you doing!” you exclaimed as he began to pull your clothes off hangers and throw them towards your direction.

“helping you leave.” he muttered.

“what did i even do? you just wake up one day and decide its my fault you followed me to another continent despite me saying you shouldnt? i told you not to leave your dreams behind, and you chose to ignore me!”

“well maybe you didnt try hard enough! i just know that i dont feel the same about you now as i did then.”

“so thats it?” you scoffed. “you realize this is my apartment? i pay the rent. you just practically live here for free. you cant just kick me out of my own home!”

he only ignored you and shoved piles upon piles of clothing into 2 separate suitcases, before gently escorting you to the door.

“gyuvin. gyuv! kim gyuvin! you cant just leave me here!” you begged.

“im sorry y/n. but its over. maybe if you hadnt taken all that mattered to me we couldve worked out.” gyuvin spoke before slowly closing the door, leaving you out in the cold wearing only pajamas.

“what the fuck am i supposed to do now..” you whispered to yourself, thinking of the only possible places to go.

sure your number of options was minimal, but you began with the only person you thought you could count on anyway.

“what the hell are you doing here?” taesan expressed in shock while he stared at you standing at his front door.

“need somewhere to crash.. surprise?” you shrugged jokingly, trying to lighten the mood as you and your brother werent on the brightest terms.

“goodbye y/n.” he sighed as he turned to lock you out.

“han taesan you let me in this instant! you cant just leave me to die in the middle winter!” you exclaimed, stepping through the door frame so it couldnt close.

“wheres gyuvin?” he scoffed. “i mean, youre the one who left me with mom and dad to buy a house for him anyway.”

“we broke up. blamed me and said i was the reason he lost everything in seoul or whatever. and he still kicked me out of MY home.”

taesan let out a heavy breath, looking around before pushing the door out more for you to walk through.

“..you mean it?” you pondered hesitantly.

“i suppose. i know we warned you about him and all, but youre still my baby sister.” he half heartedly grinned, pointing his head in the direction of his hallway as a gesture for you to come in.

you knew he was still mad at you despite not showing it, but knowing your brother, hes still someone who you could rely on in any situation.

“yeah. and uh- just a heads up, i still live with jaehyun and leehan, plus we dont have an extra room so.. we’ll just figure it out later.”

“thank you.”

a week later and you were doing better than before. though it wasnt easy to forget the incident, you still managed with the new living situation and all.

you woke up bright and early the following morning for work, ready to sell christmas ornaments for the rest of your life under your boss, huh yunjin, as you were now on break from school.

considering jaehyuns bed wasnt all too comfortable, you still slept pretty well. youre grateful he took the couch for you during that first week. ‘maybe ill get him something as a thank you.’

“what are you doing up so early?” taesan asked, holding off on the toast he was about to eat as he watched you rush downstairs.

“got work. not like dads willing to pay student loans anymore right?”

“the christmas shop, still?” jaehyun asked from his seat on the couch.”

“cant have a full time job as a full time student. it just worked out while im on christmas break.”

your brother nudged you in your stomach, motioning for you to thank his friend for his deed.

“-oh and thanks for taking the couch. i owe you. if you want food or anything ill cover the cost and pick it up in return.” you continued.

“its fine. i get it, the last few days were rough. dont worry about it.” he smiled.

after a quick 10ish (or so) minute walk to the street side store you worked at, you realized you were about 5 minutes past the time you were meant to clock in for your shift.

walking into the store, it was no surprise it was already crowded by 8:36am seeing as christmas was 2 weeks away now.

“y/n! y/n get over here! where is your uniform?” yunjin questioned as more of a whisper yell.

before you got the chance to reply, she quickly cut you off and said, “nevermind that. just please hurry to change and come help me with all these people!”

you wave off her dismissive behavior, and speed walk to the bathroom, making sure to pass the lockers to grab your uniform on the way.

“i forgot how itchy this was..” you grumble as you slip on the ugly elf costume yet again before leaving to the front desk.

“welcome in! please let us know if theres anything you need help with!” yunjin smiled as another person walks through the door, putting on her customer service voice.

“guess you dont need me anymore?” you asked jokingly, noticing there was no one within a 10 foot distance of the check out line.

“why must you take so long to change? i only had enough time to help half those people. the other half left after mr smith came in to return all the ornaments he broke again. he really knows how to hold up a line.” she sighed, moving in the direction of a huge box of broken material.

“you cant keep letting them return damaged product. we are losing enough money as is, santa.” you gestured to her new character change yet again as you realize where a good chunk of the budget went. “what was wrong with the reindeer costume?”

“it didnt make it clear that im the owner. the shop is called santas workshop dont you know? cant call it santas workshop if theres no santa.”

you laughed brightly at yunjin while she picked up the box to bring it to the back, just as another person walked in.

“welcome in!-” you call out, before cutting yourself off as you caught a glimpse of his face.

he was pretty gorgeous, you couldnt lie. from what you noticed, he had shortish black hair and big eyes to compliment his soft lips (not to mention his build was pretty insane too. he definitely works out).

the very same guy who caught your attention came to you shortly after, seeking some assistance on picking a gift, so you were happy to comply.

“im not sure what she’d like. its hard shopping for a 14 year old.” he said.

“what’s your relation to her? just like so i know how close you are so its easier to help.”

“my younger cousin. we arent that close, but its our first family gathering in a while and my mom wants me to get something for everyone. but shes always been.. far from an open book. so im lost”

you thought long and hard about what your cousins around that age like, before coming to a final decision.

you attempt to reach for the legos, but you almost fall over as it was just barely out of reach, sitting on one of the higher shelves.

carefully, he steadies you by holding your arm and reaches to grab the item you were aiming at.

“this?” the guy questions as he hands you the orchid lego set.

“yeah! im not sure if it suites her or anything but you cant go wrong with legos. the price isnt too bad and its suitable for anyone at any age for the most part.” you shrugged.

“that actually.. makes perfect sense. youre really good at your job, no? thank you.”

“no worries. if theres anything else i could help you with, weve got a new selection of stuffed animals your girlfriend might like.” you spoke like it was nothing, acting as if you werent just trying to get information.

“i actually.. dont..i don’t have a girlfriend.” he chuckled awkwardly as he brought up a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“oh really? im surprised someone like you doesnt have a pretty girl on your arm.” you said nonchalantly while you attempted to hide your smile (as if you were going to make a move).

“oh stop!” he waved off when you pointed out how red his ears were getting, assuming you only were trying to boast his ego (hes so unaware)((please get the hint)).

you walk back with him to the register so he could pay after realizing there wasnt much more he needed. “that’ll be 45 charged to your card.” you smiled.

“thank you, ms..?” trailing off as he notices he never actually got your name.

“han. y/n han. glad to be of assistance.”

“oh and- one more thing?”

“sure, what else?”

“what time does the store close?”

“10 at night. extended business hours every saturday.”

“surely youre joking? theres no one else here but you and the owner! thats in like 13 hours. youre working a 14 hour shift?”

“yeah but i get paid way extra so its fine, i really do need it. and yeah we are beyond understaffed but its alright.” you laugh, masking your exhaustion and dread with a bit of your lighthearted energy.

“really? i could never, must be so tiring.”

“it is, beyond imagination. but we do what we can.”

“get home safely then alright? its scary leaving that late especially considering the predators go after pretty ladies.”

“youre a tricky one arent you! how dare you mask that as an attempt to flirt.” you gasp playfully, “ill be fine, its not that far of a walk.”

“walk? youre not really walking home are you?” “well yeah, its not like i can drive when i dont have a car myself.”

“by any chance, might you need-”

“y/n! leave the poor man alone! i need you to stock the shelves in the ornaments section!” yunjin calls out from the storage room and interrupting the conversation.

“ill get to it.” you call back.

“well, i should get going then. it really was lovely meeting you.” he smiles.

“thank you, take care!” you reply, waving as he leaves.

it only hit you many hours later (quite literally an hour before you clock out) that you never got his name, and you regret it oh so much!

even yunjin felt pity for you, multitasking and listening to you ramble about the mysterious man despite all the work she had going on whilst you both sat in her office seeing as there were no customers beyond 9:30pm.

“why cant we close early if theres no one coming past a certain time? its not like anyone needs to be christmas shopping at.. 9:49 at night.”

“its just in case theres anyone who needs something, we cant miss a chance to make more money when we’re low on rent money.” she reminded.

“its only 11 minutes though.”

“and where do you have to be in 11 minutes? you live with your brother and his two roommates with no boyfriend and instead worry about a man you just met.”

“ouch, you need to go out more.”

“y/n you know i love you but i have no time for that nonsense. i need to have fun, yes, but money is essential. clubbing and drinking does not get you there, we both know that.”

finally, the dreaded 11 minutes were up and it was time to lock up after a crazy long shift. though, you cant say you were looking forward to walking home after standing in heels all day.

it was all most as if your prayers were answered (or just by a really strange coincidence(?)) that someone on a motorcycle stopped in front of you as you crossing the street.

“heard you needed a ride?” the guy from earlier said as he took off his helmet.

“what are you doing here? its late out.” you replied, acting calm as if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest.

“cant leave you to walk alone in the dark, can i, pretty lady?”

“youre smart, ill give you that.” you smile when you feel your cheeks go hot.

“ill take you home. come on.”

maybe it wasnt the best idea to give a stranger your address, but he seemed nice enough, and pretty trustworthy to say the least.

you sat behind him as he drove through the streets, with your arms wrapped around his waist, your chest flush against his back as you wore the helmet he let you borrow.

he was so naturally warm you felt his body heat through the sweater he wore, thankfully keeping you from being to cold.

soon enough you were home, and he was walking you up to the front door.

“thank you for today even if it wasnt all that much, i had a lot of fun. you made my work day more.. bearable.” you smiled.

“of course, you can always call if you need a ride or anything. dont want you getting sick when its storm season.” he reminded before slipping you a postcard with his number on it.

“id love to get to know you more, but i just broke up with my boyfriend last week.. give me some time?”

sure you technically were the one who found him attractive first but, you never actually thought about initiating something more.

he smiled without a second thought, nodding his head slightly. “of course, i understand. just know ill be here, waiting.”

“wait! i never got your name?”

“ill see you later y/n!” he called out as he left, driving off in the opposite direction.

you sighed and unlocked the door with the spare key leehan gave you, and notice him sitting next to jaehyun when you walked in.

“you have a boyfriend and you didnt tell me? how could you! i thought we were friends.” leehan expressed dramatically from the couch as you took off your shoes at the door.

“not a boyfriend, just a friend. why were you even- whatever. wheres taesan?”

“in the bathroom.”

“thanks. uh- jaehyun is it okay if i change in your room since i left my clothes there?”

“go ahead.” he reassured. “oh! also, by the time you come back the pizza we ordered should be here too.”

you close the door behind you and pull out the index card from earlier to save the number as a contact. however, you couldnt help but smile as you read what it said below.

“your personal uber when you need it! +44 28xxx0xx29 -xoxo gunwook park :)”

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typewritingyip · 4 months ago

Text

The Arcturus Missions

Part Two - To the Stars

Part One

———

When people speak about cultural differences, they expect some language barriers and mishaps because of how you were raised. Sticking four people of not only different cultures but different age groups on a rocket not destined to return to Earth might not have been the brightest of ideas, but they were some of the best pilots that Earth had to offer and the ones with the least attachments. Both those combined made it seem like the perfect idea, differences be damned.

Hound was originally from California but was a military brat, so he spent the better part of his life in the culture of the US military, enlisting himself at eighteen and not looking back. When the pilot program came around, he set himself on the long list of volunteers to see if he’d be compatible with Mecha or not. When he eventually was found compatible, he was shipped off to the research center to work on a special Mecha, one that was made more to confuse the alien than to destroy it, perfect illusions and the perfect decoy. That was back when everyone still thought we had a fighting chance. He’d had his suit for years and its overhaul for space fairing was just par for the course of how his career had gone. Pilot 1124; divorced, no children, mother deceased, and father career military. Near perfect candidate for Arcturus mission.

Breakdown was from what is once again Ukraine, growing up behind the iron curtain left him at a slight disadvantage when it came to understanding the Mecha Suits. He was initially pulled into the Soviet program while under mandatory conscription, it was just a few months before his two years were up, but when he was found to be compatible with a recently vacated suit there was no questions on who would fill it. The solitude of working in a suit appealed to him, cause when you’re in the suit and turn down radio communications, it’s like it’s just you and the enemy you’re tearing apart. Very fitting for him. His suit has gone through many renditions both before and after the fall of the curtain, even its adjustments by Mecha, on semi-permanent loan; were normal. He just tried to make sure his cockpit remained the same, it was the environment he became the most familiar with, even more than his apartment in Kiev. Pilot 1457; no wife, no children, mother and father reside in Kiev, Ukraine; siblings vary. Non-perfect candidate, cooperation with former Soviet Union mandatory. Candidate for Arcturus mission.

Sunsteaker and Sideswipe were civilians from Florida, no previous family enlistments of record, no prior record of draft selection. These two came about later in the program, hand selected by Mecha for military training and transfer to the primary facility. When the boss saw their shining personalities at a not-so-legal street race, it was practically love at first sight. Being younger when the aliens first attacked had left both with scars in both literal and figurative senses, being compatible with vacated suits that often worked in tandem made them the right choices for the selection. Neither suit was particularly powerful, but both were considered abnormally fast. With limited options in their previous region of residence and mutual desire to make a difference, candidacy was the only feasible option. They more often than not work together and are currently heading towards the record of most take downs by tandem units. Overhaul was limited, newer suits without much need for adjustment. Pilot 2450 and 2451; no wives, no children, mother deceased, father deceased, siblings enlisted together, perfect candidates for Arcturus mission.

For a mission that wasn’t meant to go well, picking the right candidates was key. For each of the missions, three of them were already planned out of course. The work on the Mecha needed to be started as soon as the first batch were done, they didn’t to be able to sustain a human life for at least a year in space plus more intense gravity that what existed on earth, as a precaution. You didn’t know where these things could or would crash once a pilot was dead inside, if recovery efforts could be made in a hand full of decades for the suits that saved the earth, that could turn a major profit in a hand full of years. Limited or no connections for these pilots was important. It was bad enough that Jazz had some family that needed paying off and he was meant to come back with data for the Arcturus missions, he was meant to go back up on Arcturus One. Well, there wasn’t much use in looking at the past, not when there was an enemy to annihilate.

The day of the launch was the first time in several years that when suiting up for a mission, none of the pilots put on the assistant suits, but flight suits for the shuttle. Each was still colored in the tones of their corresponding Mecha, helmets on to hide a majority of their features and numbers sat right below their name badges. It was the wait that was practically killing them, sat inside a giant warehouse with nothing to keep their mind off the endless expanses of space. No one could be bothered with trying to face them, for those who didn’t pilot a suit they could never understand the sacrifice and those that did were being kept away. Life and death, the state of the world as they knew it could lay on their shoulders and the data that their suits would collected and send back to earth while they hurdled towards their potential doom.

“Do you think Jazz felt like this? His last night before bugging out?” Sideswipes voice was both muffled and painfully loud, coming through their helmets while being muffled in the echoing space.

“It’s possible, but he didn’t have to deal with the fan fair of the last few weeks, so maybe not. He might have gotten a decent night sleep and woke up, ready to face the stars.” Hound leans his head back to stare at the glass ceiling, the sky was almost too blue out there. The type of day when those things would attack without mercy, he shudders slightly.

“You think the others will be able to handle the fight while we’re gone?” Now Sunstreaker was asking the dumb questions, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his needs, helmet in hands, “Losing four of us is a lot.”

“They will be fine Kid, losing four for a specific region is easier to cover than four deaths spastically.” Breakdown’s voice was the very stereotypical, learning English from movies, that tone that actors of the seventies and eighties had when over exaggerating their words. His ankles were crossed and he was leaned back comfortably in the chair, eyes closed though hidden by the helmet.

There was silence for a few seconds, before Hound cleared his throat, “Besides, if any of us kicked the bucket in our mechs, half of ours are outdated and would be out of commission for a while and the other half are far to specialized to get compatible pilots for straight off the list.” Rubbing his shoulder, he shrugs a bit. Sideswipe looks over, “Everyone said the same thing about First Aid’s mech, that freak of nature seems to not want to let go of that guy.” In some manner, they all hum, nodding or grunting, “Sometimes the suit just knows when it has the right pilot.” Breakdown’s tone was final, meaning that the conversation should end there.

“You think we’ll find him though, right? We’re heading on the same flight path.” Sunstreaker looks to Hound, fingertips lightly grasping the bottom edge of his helmet, “I don’t know. We can only hope.” Then they fell to silence again, they’d have enough time to talk each others ear off for the rest of their lives, no matter how long that would take, they’d have the rest of them together now whether they liked it or not. Sideswipe lightly grasps Sunstreaker’s shoulder, Hound goes back to staring and frowning at the sky, while Breakdown stares at his boots.

—

It took a while for them to get called to their action places, as if this was a film set and not a launch pad. There was nothing for miles out here, but the sheer number of camera’s recording their last steps on earth was part of the plan. Plan for funding, plan for advancement, and plan for god knows what else. The boss with his dazzling smile stayed away, watching from afar, leaned against a car far nicer than any pilot would be able to afford even with their insane salaries. The warehouse with its glass roof wasn’t far from the specially crafted launch pad, that was supposedly brand new but already covered in scorch marks from Jazz’s under the rug mission. None of the pilots said anything though, the money that was just minutes away from hitting the bank accounts of those they cared about most was to important. And those without loved ones, well they didn’t want to take it away from the other pilots and their families.

Walking in a line, they didn’t say anything, staring at the shuttle with the slightly folded Mecha attached to it, the cone on the front to cover them all making it appear like a giant umbrella was covering them from a non-existent rain storm. The launch pad was recessed into the ground, to prevent some of the damaging fuels from leaching or spreading onto the nearby land. If there was one thing Mecha was trying to seem, it was conscious of the planet they protected. The lift was just big enough for the four of them and an operator to fit on it, that and a camera trying to get their closeups perfect. Hound lightly shoved the hovering camera robot, trying to stay focused. Sideswipe chuckled lightly, adjusting his flight suit a bit, Sunstreaker shoves him slightly and shakes his head. It was starting to feel normal, the prep for this mission, at least this part was not dissimilar to going out in a suit for a fight. The lift jars to a stop, sending them stumbling lightly as the gate opens to the gantry, the ship’s primary door standing open and waiting. Looking at each other, they step put and to the ship.

Each seat was marked with their call sign, designating their set position, the in cabin cameras rolling for the launch. A airlock to the cargo bay was blocking the view of the specially made gangways into the suits, designed to attach to the alerted entranced into their piloting stations. No longer would the suits slip open to take in a pilot, now only had one entrance and exit; when shut it was hard to tell there was an entrance to the suits at all. The last thing Mecha wanted was whatever this enemy was plucking their pilots out of the cockpits in space, it was bad enough they were figuring that out planet side. Strapping into their seats, the airlock was closed by the lift operator with a whispered ‘good luck’. Pilots stuck together even through the stupidest moments. Like taking the fight into unfamiliar territory that had already claimed on of their own.

Before the microphones were turned on, there were quiet murmured prayers and declarations of revenge, Jazz’s name on all their lips for a moment before Hound turned the switch to activate the microphones. Calling out flight preparations and getting the shuttle ready to launch itself, four mech suits, and pilots into the vastness of space; was almost intimidating.

It was like any other mission to space, whenever astronauts were heading to the ISS, it was almost like that. Only they weren’t stopping in orbit and were going farther than almost any human had before, it would be easy, or so said the boss. God he was awful. The engined ignited with a roar and a harsh tug as gravity attempts to keep the rocked tethered to the planet. Each pilot was watching their given system, no longer worried about the cameras or those listening, focused on each other and the mission. With the pull and the radio traffic, the assent into space would become a blur for all of them, not bothering staring out the windows and focused entirely on their equipment. Space and the fight of a life time laid in front of them.

—

A loss of contact was expected, planned even, it was usual on the other side of the moon. They could speak freely, though their instruments were still the priority, “Did any of you think about the fact we’re going to be stuck together for, who knows how long? Cause that just occurred to me.” Sideswipe was now staring out the window as the lunar surface that none of them would get to touch, frowning slightly as the tinted shield of his helmet was clearing away from the harsh sunlight of the southern sky they’d been in, now hours ago. His brother turned to look at him, “I reminded you what this mission was, several times, over the last year and it’s just now occurring to you?” The tone was one of almost hate, the kind of hate you could only have when your sibling was being an absolute moron, “Well, yeah. I didn’t really listen to your rants.” The first thing thrown in zero-g was an iPod, still hitting Sideswipes helmet but not as harshly as Sunstreaker would have preferred.

Breakdown felt like putting his helmeted head through the console in front of his, “This is going to be the longest mission ever.” Removing his helmet, he rubs his face, looking to Hound who’d already taken his off, “You can say that twice.” As a helmet was thrown across the cockpit of the shuttle, “A very, very long mission.” Both the older men glanced back at the bickering twins, who had now unstrapped from their seats and tumbled back towards the main hold and their suits where artificial gravity would help them fight each other better. The loss of contact was normal, primarily because they knew that this first stretch of the mission would either succeed or fail. Data was still getting sent back to earth, slowing in its response the further away they got from the planet. It was normal, it was totally fine, things would be fine. At least, they kept telling themselves that.

The view out the front glass was of infinite space, Jazz’s last coordinates logged into their system for a potential recovery of his mech and a hopeful anticipation of finding wherever those aliens called home. Or even just their own launch point, since no one knew where or how they kept coming to earth, to many questions with even fewer answers.

A loss of contact was normal. They lost contact with Jazz and his mech after two weeks of him in space. It would be way harder to lose contact with a shuttle and four mech’s, right?

———

A/N:

Wow, thank you so much for enjoying the first part! I promise that part 3 is going to follow. I don’t know how many of these I am going to write, or where it’s exactly going, but the four people aboard the shuttle are out for revenge. On who? They aren’t entirely sure, but whoever is holding Jazz is likely it, right?

Anyways, next part will probably dive more into their mission, and likely the loss of contact with Earth. Who knows how they get to Cybertron, hehehe. All the boss knows is that Arcturus One merch is selling like hot cakes, they can fake contact for a little while with the tech they possess, plus Arcturus Two takes off in less than a year! So they got to get ready for that.

Hope you all enjoyed.

Specifically want to tag @lunarlei68 & @whirlywhirlygig for re-blogging the first post. If you haven’t read it, it’s linked.

Thank you @keferon for inspiring us all with this.

#transformers #jazz #tf mecha universe #keferon #hound #breakdown #sunstreaker #sideswipe #maccadam #the Arcturus missions #mecha pilot jazz au

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shunin-gumis · 10 months ago

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Nagi initial SSR Story

A Taste of Happiness (Part 1)

Please note that this story has some spoilers on Nagi's background (about his luck) that's related to the L4mps main story!

I've used Momiji as MC's name, Chief is their title.

Any notes with a * are at the end of the post.

Location - Flower Laundry

Momiji: It's a good thing we had our meeting near 'Flower Laundry'. This coffee stain should come off easily.

Momiji: I should check on Yachiyo-kun tomorrow, he apologized so many times he almost made a dent in the ground grovelling.

Momiji: Good morning Nagi-ku-

Nagi: Welcome...

Momiji: Huh!?

Momiji: Wha- you're clearly not ok, how did this happen!?

Nagi: I was just working as usual.

Nagi: But earlier, one of the customers I made a flower arrangement for gave me some sweets as thanks, so I was about to take a break, but all of a sudden a hamster was running towards me.... ah, it's not just any hamster, it's probably Machiko, the one that the kindergarten nearby takes care of.

Nagi: Anyways, I tried my best to get out of Machiko's way, but then I noticed the trampoline that Akuta's group had left here...

Nagi: I ended up landing on it and bounced back all the way up through the ceiling for a homerun.

Momiji: I think I got the gist... I'll get you down now!

Nagi: Phew... you saved me, I owe you my life.

Sonia: You also saved our ceiling! Thank you very mush~

Momiji: Don't mention it, I got the coffee stain off cleanly thanks to you.

Nagi: I'm glad if I was able to help you in any way.

Nagi: I'm sorry that I can't keep you company any longer though, Chief.

Nagi: The deliveries and other work I was supposed to get done got delayed, so I should head out soon...

Momiji: If you don't mind, I could help you out? I drove the company van here.

Momiji: I'm all done with my work today, it should be ok as long as I just shoot Kafka a message.

Nagi: Are you sure?

Nagi: Ah, but there's been a warning for a weather bomb since morning. You might get dragged into a lot of trouble because of my unlucky predisposition*

Momiji: Haha, that's not a problem at all! In fact, it'll probably give me a lot of practice for future troubleshooting. Bring it on!

Nagi: ...Thank you. Then, I'll take you up on your kind offer.

Nagi: Can I ask you to help with the deliveries first-

A scary person: Hey you!! Pay back your debt already!!

Nagi: I'm terribly sorry, I'll pay back the interest first, how much is it?

Momiji: Wait! Don't take out your wallet!!

----------------------

Momiji: ...The delivery ended safely. But Nagi-kun's trouble encounter rate really is impressive.

Momiji: First it was the loan shark who came to collect a debt at the wrong place-

Momoji: Everything's loaded. Where do we have to take them?

Nagi: The shopping mall is up first.

Nagi: There's several new stores opening soon, so they requested the deliveries. We can split up the load once we get there.

------------------

Construction worker: Sorry, there's construction underway here, please take a detour.

Momiji: We literally just passed through here earlier though!?

-----------------

Momiji: Then we'd been forced to take a detour because of sudden construction work, and after that...

Momiji: A random elementary school student challenged us to a race, pizza crusts came flying at us out of nowhere, I barely had time to catch my breath with everything going on.

Momiji: It must be really difficult if he has to go through this every time a weather bomb happens....

Nagi: ..............

Nagi: .....Chief, we should go stock up on flowers next.

Nagi: The weather app shows that the atmospheric pressure has stabilized now, so nothing bad should happen like before, it should be smooth sailing from here. Let's go on my bike.

Nagi: Here's a helmet, wear it tight.

Sonia: Nagi-shan, Chief-shan, pleash be careful.

Sonia: I've packed the usual tools in your bag, pleash take it with you!

Nagi: Thank you, Sonia... We'll be back.

*Nagi has a predisposition that makes him attract misfortune whenever he's feels happy.

Nagi uses the weather app to track sudden changes in atmospheric pressure/weather bombs because that's his way of knowing he's going through a "luck rebound"

Part 2

#18trip #18trip translation #18TLip #hachinoya nagi

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fincrif · 1 month ago

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Personal Loan Pitfalls to Avoid in 2025

A personal loan can be a great financial tool when used wisely, offering quick access to funds for emergencies, home renovation, education, or debt consolidation. However, many borrowers make avoidable mistakes that lead to higher costs, financial stress, and repayment issues.

To ensure you make the most of a personal loan in 2025, let’s explore the common pitfalls to avoid and the best strategies to manage your loan effectively.

🔗 Looking for a Personal Loan? Apply Here: Check Personal Loan Options

1. Borrowing More Than You Can Afford

One of the biggest mistakes borrowers make is taking a loan amount higher than their repayment capacity.

✔ Solution: Always assess your finances and ensure your EMIs do not exceed 30-40% of your monthly income.

🔗 Check Affordable Loan Options:

IDFC First Bank Personal Loan

Axis Bank Personal Loan

2. Ignoring Interest Rates & Loan Terms

Many borrowers overlook the actual cost of borrowing by not comparing interest rates, fees, and loan tenures.

✔ Solution: Compare interest rates, processing fees, and hidden charges before finalizing a lender.

🔗 Best Personal Loans with Low Interest Rates:

Bajaj Finserv Personal Loan

Tata Capital Personal Loan

3. Overlooking the Impact of a Low Credit Score

Your credit score directly affects your loan approval and interest rates. A low credit score can lead to loan rejection or higher interest costs.

✔ Solution: Maintain a credit score of 700+ by making timely payments and avoiding unnecessary debt.

4. Falling for Pre-Approved Loan Scams

Many fraudsters send fake pre-approved loan offers that require advance payments before disbursing the loan.

✔ Solution: Always apply for loans through official bank websites or verified financial institutions.

🔗 Apply for a Personal Loan from Trusted Lenders:

Axis Finance Personal Loan

5. Not Reading Loan Terms & Hidden Fees

Many borrowers focus only on the interest rate and ignore charges such as: ✔ Processing Fees ✔ Prepayment Penalties ✔ Late Payment Charges

✔ Solution: Read the loan agreement carefully and ask about hidden charges before signing.

6. Choosing a Longer Tenure Without Considering Interest Costs

A longer loan tenure reduces your EMI, but it significantly increases the total interest paid over time.

✔ Solution: Choose the shortest tenure possible that allows comfortable EMI payments.

7. Defaulting on EMI Payments

Missing EMIs can lead to: ❌ Penalty charges ❌ A lower credit score ❌ Legal action in extreme cases

✔ Solution: Set up auto-debit for EMIs and maintain an emergency fund for loan repayments.

🔗 Learn How to Set Up Auto-Debit for Loan EMIs: Check Loan Repayment Options

8. Using Personal Loans for Non-Essential Expenses

Avoid using personal loans for: ❌ Luxury vacations ❌ Gambling or risky investments ❌ Unplanned shopping sprees

✔ Solution: Use personal loans only for necessary expenses like medical emergencies, home improvement, or debt consolidation.

9. Not Exploring Balance Transfer Options

If you already have a high-interest personal loan, you can transfer it to another lender offering a lower interest rate.

✔ Solution: Consider a personal loan balance transfer to reduce your EMI burden.

🔗 Best Lenders for Balance Transfers:

InCred Personal Loan

10. Applying for Multiple Loans Simultaneously

Multiple loan applications can: ❌ Lower your credit score ❌ Make lenders view you as a high-risk borrower

✔ Solution: Compare lenders carefully and apply for only one loan at a time.

11. Not Checking Prepayment & Foreclosure Charges

Some lenders charge high penalties for prepayment or foreclosure, making early repayment expensive.

✔ Solution: Choose a lender that offers low or no prepayment penalties.

12. Relying on Unverified Lenders or Loan Apps

There are many fraudulent loan apps that charge excessive interest rates and misuse borrower data.

✔ Solution: Apply only through recognized banks, NBFCs, or verified fintech platforms.

🔗 Apply Safely for a Personal Loan Here: Check Verified Loan Options

Final Thoughts: Avoid These Mistakes for a Smart Borrowing Experience

A personal loan is a valuable financial tool when used responsibly. Avoiding these common pitfalls will help you save money, protect your credit score, and reduce financial stress in 2025.

Key Takeaways:

✔ Borrow within your repayment capacity ✔ Compare interest rates & hidden charges before applying ✔ Pay EMIs on time to avoid penalties ✔ Beware of loan scams and fake lenders ✔ Use personal loans only for essential needs

🔗 Looking for a Reliable Personal Loan? Apply Here: Check Personal Loan Offers

By following these tips, you can make smarter financial decisions and ensure a hassle-free borrowing experience in 2025!

#Personal loan pitfalls to avoid in 2025 #Common mistakes when taking a personal loan #Personal loan mistakes borrowers make #How to avoid personal loan scams in 2025 #Things to check before taking a personal loan #finance #personal loan online #loan services #personal loans #nbfc personal loan #bank #fincrif #personal loan #personal laon #loan apps #fincrif india #Personal loan repayment mistakes #Hidden charges in personal loans #Best practices for personal loan management #Why personal loans get rejected #Personal loan EMI management tips #How to compare personal loan interest rates #Personal loan default consequences #Loan balance transfer benefits #How to reduce personal loan EMI burden #Personal loan credit score impact #Fake loan approval scams #Should you prepay a personal loan?#Personal loan tenure selection tips #Loan agreement hidden clauses

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quixoticall · 1 year ago

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The View Between Villages

Summary: Steve Harrington offers to be your ghostly tour guide after your mysterious, unexpected death.

AN: Hiiiii, if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been then, first of all thank you for thinking of me, and secondly, I have been sick with bronchitis for weeks. Tbh I never understood in Regency novels where they would make such a huge deal about someone being sick until now. That shit took me out. Anyway, in my convalescence I watch the show, School Spirits and I couldn’t help but see the similarities between Wally and Steve—both men of the 80s, hot labrador retriever jocks with a compulsive need for parental approval? So, that’s how this lil piece was born. I would love to continue writing in this universe so please, if you have any requests, send them in! In the meantime, I am hard at work on This Could Get Ugly and a lovely lil Eddie number inspired by another Noah Kahan song.

Warnings: School Spirit!AU, Major Character Death, talks about own death, brief mention of violence and death, angst, this is sad! Ghost!Steve and Ghost?Reader

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

WC: 2K

It’s Steve Harrington who first declares you dead. Admittedly it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize, it wasn’t like they sent out notices for these types of things either, as convenient as a note would’ve been:

To Whom it May Concern:

We regret to inform you that on February 12 of this year, you will unfortunately perish under unclear circumstances in the city of Chicago, Illinois at Northwestern University. Please make sure to get your affairs in order before the set date.

No, none of that, instead you had attended three whole lectures before noticing that no one was acknowledging you—not your professors when you raised your hand; not your classmates when you asked if they could loan you a pencil; not even your best friend when you ran into him in the hall. You thought it could’ve been a weird prank. Then the news began to spread, you were missing. Reported by your roommate after not having come home from a late-night study session at the library. And then they found traces of blood in the boiler room of the library’s basement.

Still, you thought to yourself, maybe you were having a really long terrible dream. Or maybe you were in a coma. Or doing one of those VR headset things. Or maybe you were dead and cursed to spend the rest of eternity haunting the very campus where you died.

Your friends were never the gym type, which is why you end up at the school’s pool in an effort to avoid the pain and desperation you feel every time you see their tired but still-hopeful faces.

That’s where you see him. Or, more importantly, where he sees you. You first spot him sitting at the edge of the pool, observing the ongoing swim team practice and are immediately struck.

Sure, you may be stuck in some weird reality where you may or may not be dead but you can still appreciate a hot person. Especially one as handsome as Pool Guy who’s striped swim trunks sit low on his hips and he has a smattering of dark hair trailing from his belly button almost up to the base of his neck. Thick, chestnut-colored hair swoops in his handsome face in golden-touched waves and gracefully frame a pair of honey-hued eyes. Of course you were going to stare.

You’re sure you stare for an indecent amount of time, but it wasn’t like that mattered, you remind yourself, you’re invisible to him like you are to everyone else.

Except you’re not invisible to him because Pool Guy was making eye contact and worse, he was waving, solidifying the fact that he is very aware of your presence. He can see you.

“Hi, you must be new here. I’m Steve Harrington, class of ‘86,” he introduces himself, with way too much verve once he swims over to where you’re still frozen in place.

“You can see me?” You ask, once you find your voice, “How can you see me?”

You reach out to grasp his offered hand and to your shock, your fingers don’t go straight through his, like it would with anyone else’s. Instead you’re enveloped in the warm solid grasp of his hand.

He cracks a smile at this, “because I’m dead too. Which, I totally get you’re probably wondering how someone this good-looking could’ve died so young but i will—“

“Dead?” you squeak out.

“Sorry,” he says with an awkward grimace, “I know not everyone likes that term, um, how do you identify—?“

You cut him off once again, “I didn’t know I was dead.”

It’s his turn to be confused.

“Really? Most people are really quick about putting it together. When they see their body the memories all come back. I mean even I put it together and I was never the smartest even before the accident—oh, shit. You’re the missing girl. The one from all the flyers.”

Clearly he’s referencing the myriad HAVE YOU SEEN ME? flyers with your face on them that paint the campus. Up until now, you had been categorically missing not dead, and now that someone has spoken your fate out loud, you’re certain it is all but sealed.

“Listen, I am so sorry. Let me go get someone who’s way better at this than I—“ you cut off his apologetic rambling,

“I need to leave right now.”

Before he can say anything else you’re running in the opposite direction as quickly as you can.

You don’t go back to the pool after that.

Being dead wasn’t so bad. Sure, you had spent a solid five weeks distraught over the loss of the life you had once lived and mourning everything you will never get to do. And yeah, it was a uniquely painful type of loneliness getting to see all your friends and never getting to interact with them, especially during those first few weeks when your disappearance was hot on everyone’s lips and heavy in the hearts of your friends. But outside of all that, being dead was okay. At least, you didn’t have to submit any more papers or do laundry.

After your encounter with Steve Harrington, class of ‘86, you decide to hole up in the library. You desperately convince yourself that if you search the shelves enough you’ll be able to find something in one of the many books that talk about the afterlife that might provide you some clarity about your newfound ghostly status. Surely there’d have to be something helpful. Anything. A ghost manual, perhaps or some graduate research paper about being stuck in between realms. You’d easily settle for a Chicken Soup for the Ghostly Soul.

Or you think traitorously to yourself, a tour guide to the afterlife, someone who has experience with being dead and a great set of abs. Every time you’re close to convincing yourself to go back to the pool, the embarrassment of your mortifying first encounter pulls you back. No way you were going to see him again. Just because you were dead didn’t mean you’d lost all your dignity.

Your internal back-and-forth ends up not mattering because he ends up coming to you.

You spot his well-coifed head maneuvering through the tall shelves from where you’ve holed yourself up on the fourth floor mezzanine and watch as he weaves through the unassuming crowd, completely unnoticed, just like you.

He’s wearing clothes this time, which both disappointing and surprising since you haven’t quite figured out the mechanics or social expectations of how often ghosts should be changing clothes. In a pair of snug-fitted jeans with a Northwestern Athletics sweatshirt and a pair of high top Nikes, he takes the winding steps up to your unofficial perch two at a time . If this is what he looks like some 40 years dead, you can’t imagine what he looked like when he had a pulse, it must have been like staring into the sun.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively when he approaches, like he’s sure you’ll run off spooked.

“Hi.”

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just, well, my friend Robin told me she saw you here and I wanted to come by and apologize for what happened. At the pool. I truly had no idea, sometimes I just say things without thinking, which I am working on, trust me.”

You smile, appreciative but defeated, part of you was hoping he was coming up here to tell you that there had been some sort of mistake.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it was just a bit of shock, is all. I guess I’m still adjusting to this whole being dead thing,” you joke weakly.

“Yeah, about that, if you ever need help adjusting or learning the ropes or anything like that, I—we are always happy to help. There’s a few of us that band together and we’d love to have you. Truly,” he claws nervously at the back of his head as he makes his offer the tip of his sneaker digging into the worn library carpet.

“Thanks,” you say, genuinely, “I really appreciate that.”

He looks at you now, finally, and his gaze is golden, warm honey and it’s like a shot to the chest. Like you’ve promised him the moon. A hand is extended towards just slightly, a twitch, and you realize he’s expecting you to take it.

“I can’t right now, though,” you say, lamely and you watch his smile waver. Quickly you add, ”I need some time, I think, before it becomes permanent. If I go with you, I’m dead. Alone up here, I’m still just missing. Does that…make sense?”

He nods, furiously, “It makes total sense. You can come find me by the pool whenever you’re ready. I will be there.”

He makes a move to leave and you register the paper in his hand for the first time. It’s a flyer with your face on it, different than all the ones before.

“Wait, what is that?” You ask, fingers skimming the plush of his sweatshirt to get his attention.

“Oh, um,” he swallows thickly, “they’re having a vigil for you tonight, I wasn’t sure if you’d seen or if you were going, but if you were going, I was going to see if you wanted some company. “

His voice is small now and the regret is etched thickly on his face.

Fingers shaking, you extend a hand out for the flyer. Steve sighs but gently places it in your trembling grasp nonetheless.

It’s true, what he said about the vigil, you had no clue. You’re not sure how long you spend staring at your own face, long enough for the words to stop making sense, but not long enough for them to stop meaning anything.

Steve stays the entire time and when you sink to the floor, tear tracks heavy on your cheeks, he sinks with you. You cry, and he stays.

“I can’t go,” you admit, and then, in the same breath, plea, “How can I go?”

Next to you, Steve lets out a shuttering sigh.

“When I died, they did something similar, my parents came down from Indy and everything. I couldn’t bring myself to go either. But shit, maybe if I did, I would’ve gotten what I needed to move on from here. Closure or whatever. Or maybe not, who knows? But I will never know and I would hate for you to never know.”

It’s still too hard to go you decide, but you can’t pretend it’s not happening. Instead, the two of you sit on the roof of the library, feet dangling over the ledge watch a river of candlelight flowing through the center of campus. You can hear, faintly, as your friends make speeches talking about how kind you were, how good, how funny and undeserving until their voices fail from holding back tears.

You cry the whole time, but you don’t regret it.

The two of you stay sitting there far past the end, Steve’s arms wrapped around you, holding the pieces of you together.

After, when you’ve had enough of it all and the last candle has gone out, you turn to Steve and say, “thank you, that did make me feel better. You were right.”

He chuckles wryly.

“I don’t hear that I’m right very often,” he admits before cracking another smile, “but I could get used to hearing it, especially from you. Now, what do you say about getting some ice cream? No offense, but that thing was a total downer.”

You laugh, genuinely, not only at his joke, but the absurdity of it all before playfully shoving his shoulder. In response, Steve pretends to lose his balance and almost fall of the ledge and you both know it’s silly but it makes you smile so it’s worth it.

Dying is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to you, but at least you are not alone.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagines #Steve Harrington imagines #Steve Harrington x yn #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x you #school spirits!AU #ghost!steve Harrington

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soranihimawari · 2 months ago

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Sign here

Or a short story about a new banker y/n willing to give Miya Osamu the business loan he deserves!

Based on @haebai-png ‘s Osamu: Work

This platinum almost out grown roots mean sits across from your desk. The bank today is filled with a few applicants and others doing their daily errands. After reading his letter of recommendations along with the deed of an older arcade going out business, you make sure you cleared every check box for this young entrepreneur. Ok, maybe not so young, you two seem to be of the same age, yet for lack of better understanding, you keep that comment to yourself.

You clear your throat and say between clicking and typing on your end, “You’re that onigiri guy I’ve been seeing at the local street vendor days in the park, right?”

His ears perk up and then turn a soft shade of peach. He’s a bit pale, but you could tell he used to be out in the sun for a while working on his tan…and onigiri of course. Nodding he hums.

“Ya been to the stand before?” He nervously chuckles as you hum.

“Killer combos dude and that umami?! To die for!” You smile.

A few more seconds go by as you’re viewing the final paperwork. He rubs his hands together silently praying for approval for his first ever shop. You excuse yourself to pick up the printed contract for the business loan, asking your work-senpai to re-read this document to see if there were any errors.

Luckily there were none and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“He looked so sad and nervous coming in,” you explain, straightening out your suit. “I guess he never really had much success trying to get approved…”

You don’t know that Miya Osamu, nearly 27 years old by now, has tried for the past two years to get a business loan. He’s been stuck selling his onigiri out of his truck and or motorbike since his early 20s or at least setting up a small table in the night markets. You’re just lucky you got everyone in your department at the bank to get hooked on his cooking.

Your work-senpai, Ms Miri, hums agreeing.

“In a post pandemic world it’s harder for family owned businesses to stay afloat, but boy did he try his best to save up how much…holy shit!”

She whispers her surprised expression when she sees just how much Osamu is putting down.

“I believe in him. He’ll do well!”

You practically are beaming as you return to your cubicle.

You knock to grab his attention and you wave the papers. He stands, wiping his hands on his pants, holding his hat apprehensively chewing his cheek like he’s pouting.

“Cute,” he hears me quietly say that.

You hide behind the stack of papers clearly embarrassed since you realize what you had said before clearing your throat.

“Ahem, Mr. Miya Osamu?”

“Yes Mx Shinkai?”

You pass him the papers. “I’m elated to report that your business loan and business credit line is now approved. Congratulations and thank for choosing Raiden-Bank to start your ventures.”

He drops his hat as he reaches for the papers.

You pull out a pen with a cap on it, “it’s all there. All you need to do is sign here.”

***short time skip***

Onigiri Miya night before opening day has finally arrived. You are the first person outside of family and friends that is invited to the mock service. The invitation said to only bring yourself, so that is what you did on your late afternoon from work.

You knock on the door and you see that Osamu is alone tonight—his staff probably sent home early to prepare for the grand opening tomorrow.

Osamu spots you at the door and unlocks it for you.

“Come in,” he says as he locks the door behind you.

“Woah, this looks so great!”

You settle into a booth you notice is set up for two. You take your time glancing around the interior. Blowing out a low whistle complimenting him on a job well done. There are various pictures of him and friends and his famous twin brother. Then, there’s one of you on a Polaroid frame eating one of his test creations earlier last month as your friend bloomed.

“Out of all these guys on here, I like this one the most,” he says. Then he has a drafted agreement in his hands.

“And I’m hoping since they believed in me and my onigiri that they’d be co-founder with me? Sign here if ya like.”

And you never reached for your pen fast enough with the broadest smile.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora recs #sora after hours #🌻. dash #haikyuu x reader #miya osamu

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artdcnaldson · 8 months ago

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kit on main? whaaat?

anyways um re: roleswap au yeah i think art would just straight up give up. like we see from the start that art likes tennis, but he doesn't Love Tennis Like That. he's a good player who, under tashi specifically, gets to be Very Good, but no ones mistaking him for the next roger federer, yanno?

but maybe that's part of it? maybe he does give up. maybe he loses tashi and loses his tennis with it and thats the point? idk maybe he takes a break from it. goes back to school, plays on an intramural team to keep the skill up a little, gets a post-grad degree. maybe he makes something of himself in another world, in business or science or academia, and he stays as just the best guy at his country club.

maybe sometimes he still plays the lower ranked challengers for some shits n gigs, enters with a few mates from the club just because they can. no biggie. it's just a fun, casual way to kill a weekend in new rochelle.

until fucking patrick zweig and tashi motherfucking duncan (now zweig?) show up.

idk man im spitballing here but you know heres some food for thought ♡

Ohhhhhhh <3

Art Donaldson going back to school to become like, idk, an orthodontist or a physical therapist or something. His family floats him a loan to start his own practice, and he’s so handsome, so charming and nice it takes off.

He likes playing in tournaments, still keeps all of his trophies and Stanford merch framed at his practice. His Junior US open trophy, the trophy from Atlanta, but it’s mainly filled with trophies from smaller challengers and local tournaments.

He’s well liked, he’s personable. People like playing him even if they know he’ll win. He’s really content, honestly.

He’s 30 and he’s already set to retire comfortably. If he has kids he can let them take over the family business, keep them taken care of for life.

He’s just playing for fun— because he needs that tie back to his glory days, or whatever. He doesn’t even think he’ll win or advance past the second round, but Patrick’s there.

Patrick, fresh off meniscus surgery, unwilling to take the time off and be coddled. He’s dominating his way through the bracket, and Art can’t just lose now.

His body aches, he’s not built to play so hard, so consistently. He sits in the sauna at the country club, wondering what the point even is. Patrick isn’t talking to him. Tashi’s avoided him like the plague. He’s fine with that. It sting seeing them. Patrick, his ex best friend, ex… whatever. Tashi, who had their marriage annulled after three months. She thought things would be different. They both did.

Art’s entire body perks up as the door opens, as Patrick slinks in, naked and uncaring. Three years ago his sex tape leaked in some massive icloud hack. Art watched it, felt very familiar with the body in the grainy footage.

He has a new scar on his knee, Art’s eyes flick up, meet his, and Patrick’s smiling in a way that wrinkles around his eyes.

“Hey, pal,” Patrick says, and he sits way too close, his hairy thigh pressed against Art’s. He’s trying to get in his head, to throw him off, which is pointless. Art doesn’t care about winning. He cares about Patrick. “Congratulations on making the final. I’m sure your country club is real proud.”

Art looks away, cheeks burning. “Oh, fuck off.”

#ohhhhhh #oomfie

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chaoticpuff17 · 2 years ago

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Amygdala

masterlist

chapter 3

Margot couldn’t stop thinking about what Maria had said. There was no way that Yoongi had been in love with her back then. She would have noticed. Wouldn’t she? Or surely he would have said something? But no, that didn’t sound like Yoongi. He wasn’t one for bold proclamations. He’d always favored more subtle gestures of affection like bringing her her favorite drink when she was stressed or letting her pick the activity, but those were all platonic. Nothing had ever come from them. She’d never even dreamed that something would come from their friendship, not in that way at least. They’d just been friends, and that’s all she thought they’d ever be.

It made no sense to her to try to pursue something romantic during her time abroad when she knew that she’d be leaving. Her departure date had been looming over the friendship the entire time she’d known him. They’d both known that eventually she’d go home. It was the natural thing to do, and there was no way that Yoongi, practical as he was, would have developed feelings for her when he had known that she was going to leave.

She on the other hand was not so practical and neither was the crush she’d had on him back then. It was partially why their falling out had been so hard on her.

It had broken her heart in a lot of ways to leave when she had. She’d had to leave Maria and Tae-il. She’d had to leave all her new friends. She’d had to leave Yoongi, but she’d had a life waiting for her back home, and she couldn’t stay. That didn’t make leaving any easier though. It was also what made accepting what she now knew about Yoongi so hard.

Tae-il had described a sort of loan shark operation run by the local gangs. They’d give you a loan when the bank wouldn’t, but the interest rates were criminally high, and the consequences of not repaying your debt were brutal.

Tae-il hadn’t had any other choice though. Maria’s hospital bills had to be paid, and insurance wouldn’t cover everything. The bank had refused to give him a loan, and with no relatives he could turn to, he’d sought a shadier means of paying for Maria’s treatments.

What still confused Margot though was how Yoongi had gotten involved in that kind of business to begin with. He hadn’t been when she’d known him, or at least she didn’t think he had been. But the more she thought about it the more she could see how some of his personality traits might have lended themselves to his success in his chosen field.

The Yoongi she knew could be cold at times, even unfeeling when he wanted to be, and he was wickedly smart. He wasn’t the top of the class, but the way his mind worked was something else. He always knew what to do, always knew how to make the best possible outcome a reality. There wasn’t a problem he couldn’t figure out if he put his mind to it. She always thought that trait would take him far. She just hadn’t imagined that it would be far into the underbelly of society.

She was home for the evening, helping Tae-il around the restaurant, when she was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of Tae-il trying to whisper to someone but failing.

She looked over curiously, and all the blood drained from her face as she saw just who Tae-il was talking to.

There stood Yoongi, completely nonplussed by the older man’s ire. In fact, he looked perfectly relaxed, and he wasn’t even looking at Tae-il. His gaze was firmly fixed on her.

“Tae-il-ssi.” she came over, placing a gentle hand on his arm, telling him without words to step back and let her handle it. Even if Yoongi and her weren’t on the best of terms, they were still on better terms than he and Tae-il seemed to be.

“Margot,” Yoongi greeted her, a small smile on the corner of his lips.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, standing firm with her arms crossed under her chest despite her apprehension.

“I came to take you to dinner.” he shrugged, seemingly unaffected by how they’d parted the last time even if she wasn’t.

“I don’t want to go to dinner with you, Yoongi.” Her tone was soft but firm as she held her position. She didn’t want to seem combative, to spark an argument, but she wanted him in no doubt of the fact that she wanted him gone. “You should go.”

The grin fell from his face, but just as Margot was doing her best to remain non-confrontational, so was Yoongi. He knew she was upset, and he didn’t want to do anything to exacerbate that, but he still wanted to see her, to plead his case. He needed to plead his case.

“I know you’re upset, but,” he began, and her whole body tensed, her eyes flashing ready to fight at the thought of him trying to explain her own feelings to her. “I would like the chance to apologize.” she didn’t say anything, watching him warily. “Please.”

She sighed, uncrossing her arms and trying to figure out a way to get him out of there. “I can’t go to dinner with you.”

Yoongi tilted his head to the side, sizing her up and analyzing to see what the hold up was, why she wouldn’t join him. “Not even one dinner for an old friend?” she inhaled sharply, prickled by the reminder of their friendship and how abruptly the comradery had failed upon their reunion. “Not even to let me explain myself?” She wrapped her arms around herself again as if to shield herself from him. “Come on, jagi.” Her head shot up at the term of endearment. “One dinner won’t kill you.”

“Yoongi…”

“One dinner.” He promised, though he had no intention of keeping it.

“Margot-ah!” a new voice entered the conversation, drawing Yoongi and Margot’s attention away from each other, and to the rather dashing young man who had stepped in with an easy going grin spread across his face.

“Namjoon-ssi.” she greeted, relieved for the interruption.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked.

“Go?” she asked, mildly confused with Yoongi echoing, his eyes darkened as he glanced between the two of them, mind whirling with the possibilities of why she would be going with him.

“Our date.” Namjoon replied easily. “You didn’t forget did you?”

“Our… date…” she spoke slowly, her mind trying to catch up to what he was saying. “Our date! Of course! How silly of me!” she plastered on a bright smile, relief washing over her at the easy exit from her conversation with Yoongi. “Let me just go grab my purse, and I’ll be ready to go, yeah?”

She scampered away, leaving Namjoon and Yoongi alone together, one still with an easy going smile and the other looking two steps away from committing a crime.

“So how long have you known, Margot?” Namjoon asked conversationally. “That discussion looked a little… intense.”

Yoongi smiled. It was a dark and dangerous expression, too sharp, too feral. “Margot and I are old friends.”

“Really? I haven’t seen you around before…” Namjoon trailed off, leaving the impression hanging in the air that Namjoon thought he was lying. “But Margot-ssi is so sweet. She has lots of friends. I’m sure it’s easy to forget a few.”

Yoongi bristled at that. He knew a barb when he heard one.

“I can’t say she’s ever mentioned you either.”

“Okay, I’m ready!” Margot appeared, slightly out of breath, with purse in hand. “Shall we go?”

“Margot,” Yoongi, took her wrist, only for Namjoon to put his hand over his and remove him.

“Let’s go, Margot-ah.” Namjoon smiled, putting emphasis on the endearment and setting Yoongi’s blood to boiling as he took her arm and led her out of the restaurant, leaving Yoongi behind.

“Namjoon-ssi,” She began as they left the restaurant but was cut off quickly.

“Don’t look back.” He ordered in a hushed tone. “He’s still looking.” She looked up at him wide eyed, and he shot her an easy smile. “Just smile like we’re having a nice conversation.”

She nodded, pasting a smile onto her face as they walked in case Yoongi was still watching them and trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in her stomach at the thought of everything that was happening.

“Shit.” Namjoon muttered under his breath, having them duck into a coffee shop.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, brows pinched together in concern.

“We’ve got a tail.”

“A tail?” Her brows shot up into her hairline. “Is he following us?”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not him, but you definitely have someone following you.”

“Shit.” She agreed, sinking into a seat a little floored by the news as Namjoon pulled out his phone to make a call.

She had to assume that the tail was from Yoongi. Who else would have someone follow her? But it was incredibly disconcerting. Why was he having someone follow her in the first place? What was he gaining from it? Whatever the reason was, she felt less secure than she already had.

There was a very thin balance between what she could handle and what she could not at that moment. Maria having cancer, she could handle it. Yoongi being some sort of criminal, she could not. Tae-il being in debt, she could handle it. Men following her was something that fell most definitely into the could not handle pile.

She didn’t know why Yoongi was so determined to talk to her, but it was slowly pulling at the threads of her sanity. There was only so much stress she could take before she started to snap, and the idea of someone following her was toeing the line of what she could reasonably handle.

“Hey,” Namjoon appeared with drinks in hand, finished with his phone call. “You okay? You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Yeah…” she snapped out of her daze, gratefully accepting the drink. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed.”

Namjoon nodded, taking his seat. “Who was that guy back at the restaurant? Your conversation looked kinda intense.”

“He’s…” Margot stopped, not knowing what exactly to say about it. Who was Yoongi to her? He wasn’t a friend, not anymore, but what did that make him? “I don’t really know anymore.” she admitted, shrinking into her seat a little.

“Are you in trouble?” Namjoon leaned across the table, a serious expression on his face as he questioned her. “Are you in danger?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” she shrunk even further, wrapping her arms around herself as she tried to process everything. “I haven’t… I don’t think I’ve ever been in this position before.”

“That man…”

“Yoongi.” she supplied almost automatically.

“Yoongi.” he nodded, noting down the information at the back of his head. “Is he bothering you? Has he come around before?”

Yes. He was most certainly bothering her.

She nodded. “We asked him to stay away after the incident a couple of days ago, but he showed up out of nowhere today.”

“What incident?” his frown deepened.

“Some guys came by the restaurant a couple of nights ago. They were flipping tables, making a mess. They were demanding payment on a debt Tae-il owes them apparently.”

She knew she should have felt some hesitation or shame sharing such private business with a customer, but she needed to tell someone, and Namjoon, if she remembered correctly, was a detective, making him the perfect person to tell.

Tae-il didn’t want to get the police involved, but what else could she do when someone was following her? It also helped that Namjoon was taking her so seriously.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a legal loan?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so, at least not from what he’s told me and what’s happened since.” She sipped her drink, looking around nervously. “Is the guy still there?”

Namjoon nodded solemnly. “I called a buddy of mine on duty to come check out the area, hopefully scare him off.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” The smile Namjoon sent her was genuine this time, not meant to play a part to the man watching them. “I’m happy to help my favorite noodle shop worker.”

“You know I’m a teacher right?”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know, but I only ever see you at the restaurant.”

“I would hope so. It would be concerning if you were still in elementary school.” She informed him dryly, her expression breaking into a small smile as she watched him blush. “Is there anything Tae-il and I can do?”

“There’s not a lot anyone can do unless Tae-il-ssi makes a police report. Unfortunately you don’t own the restaurant and can’t make one for him, but I am concerned that you’re being followed. Who exactly is this guy that Tae-il-ssi took a loan from?”

“Min Yoongi.”

Namjoon choked on his drink, sputtering as he tried to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, did you say Min Yoongi?” He coughed, looking at her incredulously.

“Yes?”

“When you said Yoongi I didn’t know you meant Min Yoongi!”

“You know him?”

“Know him? Everyone knows his name.”

She eyed him trying to figure out just how bad the situation was for him to be reacting like this. “That bad?”

“It’s not good.” He admitted, finally able to breathe again. “He’s a big name in Korea’s underworld.”

Her eyes widened at that. She knew he was involved in something illegal, but she hadn’t imagined that he was some sort of kingpin.

“What exactly have I gotten myself into?”

“Nothing good.” Margot didn’t like the grim set of his mouth as he spoke. It made everything seem that much worse. “You said you know him? How the hell do you know Min Yoongi?”

The question was spoken more in disbelief than it was anything else. Just like Margot couldn’t wrap her head around Yoongi being a criminal, Namjoon couldn’t wrap his head around the foreign woman from one of his favorite restaurants knowing Min Yoongi.

“We knew each other years ago when I was here to study abroad.”

“Damn.” Namjoon breathed out, leaning back in his seat. “And he still remembers you? Enough to have you followed?”

“You think that’s his doing?”

“Probably.” He admitted. “I just can’t figure out why he wants you followed. It doesn’t really make sense.” He leaned forward again, elbows resting on the table. “What did he want when he showed up today? It isn’t every day he shows up in person just for a debt.”

Margot hesitated. “He wanted to have dinner.” She started slowly. “He wanted to explain about the other night.”

“When his guys were at the restaurant?”

“No. I think it’s for the day after. He came by, and that’s when I found out he was behind the guys that messed up the restaurant.”

“He’s shown up twice in one week? To see you?” Namjoon’s brows were practically disappearing into his hairline by this point. “Damn. Were you guys dating or something?”

“No!” Her voice cracked a little as she almost shouted the word. Why did everyone think that she and Yoongi had been something more than friends? “We never dated.”

“Have you been in contact with him since you came back to Korea?”

“No. The first time I saw him was the other night. We didn’t exactly leave things on the best of terms back then.”

“Why does he want to see you now?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

Part four

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