#I think a lot about that post that was like someone talking about how they don't know how to compliment art

[thebibliosphere]

Hello! I hope you don't mind me asking, but do you have any thoughts on Howard Schubiner's Unlearn Your Pain, Mind Body Syndrome, treating neuroplastic symptoms, etc.? I was just referred to a pain management group that centers around these concepts, and I'm having some Feelings about the whole thing.

Just wondering if you've had any experiences with this type of treatment, or thoughts about its effectiveness. Thanks!

Okay, so this is going to be long, and I'm going to need you to stick with me through the tangent. I promise it's relevant.

I haven't read Howard Schubiner's work directly, but his colleague Alan Gordon was a key speaker at the Migraine World Summit this year. I found his talk interesting enough to buy his book and do some more research on my own, and I found it worthwhile pursuing on my own.

I know enough from my mast cell disorder to know that the body develops 'bad habits' around pain.

In the case of anxiety, stress, or panic, mast cells become more reactive, and this can make pain worse. This is true for everyone*; it's just those of us with MCAS or some other type of mast cell disorder who have more alarming symptoms like idiopathic anaphylaxis.

So, unfortunately, if I, as someone with MCAS, experience an acute pain from an injury or illness, the inherent stress response of the pain and the out-of-balance response from my nervous system can make my mast cells degranulate. They're little fuckers like that.

Mast cells can also put your body on an inflammatory cycle that is counterproductive to healing. They can literally get trained to anticipate reactions and pre-emptively react, because again, they are little fuckers.

To give you an example of this for me: my major migraines, the ones that land me in the hospital, occur on the dot every ten days. There are no hormonal factors to this that can be found or other consistent triggers or stressors, but I was unknowingly being exposed to an MCAS trigger roughly every ten days for a while. When I realized, I removed the trigger, obviously. Problem solved, right? Unfortunatley no. By then, my mast cells had trained themselves into a new pattern, and the migraine now is both the response and the trigger. It's some bastard thing called Innate Immune Memory. But it's also, partly, my subconscious anticipating the event and priming my body for a reaction, which I am susceptible to because of my MCAS and dysautonomia, which is a type of nervous system disorder.

And this is where the neuroplasticity comes in.

I'm currently in the process of trying to unlearn this response and better regulate my nervous system, which unfortunately makes me sound like a TikTok girly with a link in bio to sell you cortisol healing tea, but I promise you the only thing I'm interesting in shilling is my smutty vampire books. (And this post will be how some people learn I write books)

Anyway, why am I bothering to explain mast cell dysfunction like this in relation to neuroplasticity?

Because, yeah, if a pain doctor handed me a leaflet about 'unlearning pain' and I didn't understand how my body is routinely sabotaging itself on a cellular level in response to acute and neuroplastic pain, I'd also be rolling my eyes and feeling like I've just been handed a bottle of snake oil in the market.

God knows I've been handed 'mindfullness' leaflets by enough shitty doctors who don't actually understand what it means when we say "stress affects the nervous system" and just assume the patient is inventing symptoms to be annoying.

Thankfully, that is not what this is. At least I am hoping the doctor sending you there doesn't think you are causing your own pain. What they are hopefully trying to do is introduce you to something that a lot of chronic pain patients are reporting helps them feel more in control of their lives after many years of feeling at the mercy of their pain.

I don't attend the sessions at my brain injury clinic (yet), but I do know they use neuroplasticity therapy to help amputees with the phantom pain they experience from missing limbs. My physical therapist spent an entire session singing its virtues to me while I was fighting for my life on a balance board. Which is also why I decided to look into it after I heard Gordon talking at the Migraine World Summit.

So, do I think Schubiner's methods are hokum?

No, I think there's a lot of merit to the things he talks about and explains, but I also know the only reason I think that is because of the insight I have into the brain-body bundle through the experiences of my mast cell disease that has taught me there is nothing the brain is incapable of fucking up.

Do I think targeting neuroplastic pain will work well for everyone?

No. I think you need to try it and see if it's a good fit for you.

Some people who attended the World Migraine Summit think it's snake oil/just another way for pain doctors to foist us off into the realm of mental health care. Conversely, other people won't shut up about how learning to break the cycle of fear and panic around their pain has been life-altering for them.

For me, it's been more subtle and is part of a broader spectrum of therapies and medical treatment I use to keep my nervous system in check. It certainly hasn't done me any harm. If anything, I found it quite validating to hear someone say, "Oh, the pain is in your head? Of course it is. Let's try to fix that," and then gave me actionable coping methods. They might not work profoundly in the long term. I'm still a sick bitch with multiple acute causes of my pain. But it's also not harming me the way mindfulness was (many chronic pain patients can find it traumatizing).

I will say, I am concerned that some doctors will use the treatment of neuroplastic pain to dismiss treating acute pain with physical causes.

Just like how mindfulness has been abused by an overworked, underfunded medical system not equipped to handle chronic patients, there's also the risk of neuroplastic therapy being tossed over the fence in a similar fashion as a last ditch Hail Mary to treat patients they don't have time for. But I don't think it's widespread enough yet for that to be the case.

I dunno. Give it a try. If it's not for you, it's not for you.

Personally, I hate anything that revolves around group therapy, but I did find the book "The Way Out" by Alan Gordon insightful in helping me figure some things out. Maybe see if your local library has it before you drop money on any sessions?

_ _ _

*There has also been more compelling evidence recently that suggests that chronic pain conditions like fibromyalgia are also affected by wonky mast cells. Also arthritis.

[infiniteglitterfall]

Disclaimer: I assume we're talking about shit like, idk, locker rooms. I don't even know where else people are "nude in public." Beaches? What are we calling nudity? So if this is a dogwhistle I'm not recognizing, please let me know.

There are a lot of excellent points in the notes. As well as a lot of people sharing about being treated like their existence harms the people who can see them.

But I think @a-mx-writer is kinda nailing it here.

Here's how I would explain the connection between that and fascism.

TL;DR: The idea that we have to protect [vulnerable group] by eliminating [unwanted people] has been used as a tool of oppression over and over and over and over again.

It has never protected anyone. It has never been shown to help anybody.

The only reason anyone ever thinks, "Some people might be harmed by seeing you be like that!" is that they've unwittingly internalized this trope.

Just off the top of my head: Eliminate being trans in public, to protect women and/or abuse survivors. Eliminate being a woman in public, to protect women. Eliminate being a Black woman in public, to protect white women. Eliminate being a Black teen in public, to protect white girls. Eliminate being an undocumented immigrant in public, to protect white girls and white women.

There's quite a pattern, isn't there.

Fascism is a mass political movement that emphasizes extreme nationalism, militarism, and the supremacy of the nation over the individual. This model of government stands in contrast to liberal democracies that support individual rights, competitive elections, and political dissent.

A democracy is about "we the people" being the government. We each have the right to vote for our representatives, to run for office, to talk to our representatives, to vote for what they do with our tax money and how they run everything.

How is this relevant here? A democracy inherently assumes its citizens have a right to exist. In public.

You can't participate in the system if you aren't allowed to exist in public. You can't vote, or run for office, or work a government job, without at some point existing in public.

(Even if you have a mail-in ballot, you probably need to take it to a drop box or your own mailbox or something.)

Fascism is the opposite.

Extreme nationalism: Fascist leaders believe in the supremacy of certain groups of people based on characteristics such as race, religion, ethnicity, and nationality.

Fascism explicitly treats the visible existence of other groups of people as dissent.

Fascism crushes dissent.

That extends to fascist leaders, too:

Cult of personality: Fascist regimes cultivate images of their leaders as great figures to be loved and admired.... To maintain this powerful image, Mussolini prohibited journalists from reporting on his age or health issues.

Even Mussolini couldn't be old, ill, or disabled in public without losing power.

And here's the biggest connection:

Popular mobilization:  Although both authoritarian and fascist governments are anti-democratic, leave little room for dissent, and strive to centralize power, the two types of regimes are not the same. Authoritarian governments want their populations to remain passive and demobilized. On the other hand, fascist regimes seek to energize public participation in society through government-organized channels.

Authoritarians are hoping people won't push back against their policies.

Fascists are encouraging people to carry out their policies at the individual level.

That's where we loop back around to the original post.

The idea that it harms other people to see how you look, or what you're doing, is like... the worst boundaries ever??

People can have all kinds of triggers. It's impossible to guess what might trigger someone else. Someone could be deeply triggered by seeing the same kind of car their abuser used to drive, or the same sweater their abuser used to wear.

Or they might not be triggered by anything of the sort. And instead get utterly T-boned one day by the sight of some kind of condiment or gesture they've seen a million times before. Because it just happened to bring up some big emotion/memory that was ready to come up that time.

NOBODY can control that stuff.

As the saying goes: Anybody who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you something.

In this case, they're trying to sell you on letting them control your body. Or on helping them control other people.

What you do. How you dress. Who you date. What body parts you have. Where you have them. What color they are. What size they are.

The idea that we have to protect [vulnerable group] via laws eliminating [unwanted people] is a tool of oppression.

The idea that we should each be individually eliminating unwanted people - whether that's from view, from public life, or from existence - is a tool of fascism.

the people who go "we shouldn't be so open about nudity because it could trigger someone's dysphoria" are like two steps max removed from "fat people being fat in public could trigger someone with an ed". like peoples' bodies are not the problem here, trying to restrict someone else's body because of how you personally feel is indistinguishable from conservative praxis. i'm sorry if that sounds harsh but there is basically no interpretation of "we need to control the bodies of [demographic]" that does not fall down the slippery slope of fascism.

[wisgoat]

I am not gonna pretend. I wasn't a petty unhinged asshole perfect victim who did nothing wrong, cuz I lashed out and I was scary and uncomfortable to be around as I was facing salem's ex and their friends constantly harassing and bullying me sending me crazy transphobic things, feeding mine and salem's stalkers private informations they are in no right to share, denying ever doing it amd constantly playing the victim like it's a normal thing to just release to the public someone's disability earnings and to disclose exactly how he uses it, there has been so many instances of just breeches of privacy, genuine obsession and gaslighting and I did lash out at the person doing all of this a lot.

The fact they demand a public apology from me and salem after being a sex pest, obsessing and publicizing and speculating about our Sex life in the most intrusive and inappropriate ways, hanging out and being okay with people who are extremely fucking transphobic towards me, and straight up just called me a breeder TIM who will never be a woman, nothing else than salem's fetish? Really? You're gonna complain I was an asshole to you? When all you do is not only reblog, and add context and clarify and add details to my stalkers and help them stalk me easier, you also deny doing that and say you're just sharing your experience and how dare I even insinuate you're stalking us. Let go of salem. He is not coming back to you. Stop being in fucking denial and stop trying to get us to break up. You act like your page which is filled with fucking crazy lies and smears and exaggerations among some things that are true that I did that were genuinely awful, nasty responses to being stalked, you act like it isn't used in like 15 callouts where you put selfies of me next to porn salem made, acting like you aren't the direct reason why he was ran offline for nearly half a decade now. Youre always saying "I didn't mean to, it wasn't me, I only put your faces, fetishes, steamID, earnings, ethnicity, gender, exact days you were born, if I had phone number I would put it in there too, every single friend I have that's not involved in any of this, and also random bad faith reading of a post in a way that makes you a pedophile and zoophile, but im allowed to talk about my experiences"

You're full of shit! You spun me into a devious crypto nazi because i shared a story how i was abused by my dad who was very reactionary and basically a nazi, insinuated i only transitioned to escape this so i socially am not seen as a nazi, you hang out with people who call me an ARYAN FUCKINH PERSON or simply just "white european". IM POLISH, MY GREAT GRANMA WAS A SLAVE FOR NAZI FARMERS, MY GRANDMA LIVED THROUGH THE WAR TOO, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MY FAMILY HAD TAKEN AWAY FROM AND SUFFERED BECAUSE WE WERE NOT TREATED AS WHITE ENOUGH. Of course you dont, why would you. You're a dumb fucking american who knows nothing about the world, thinking the fact ur partially Mexican absolves you from ever educating yourself. Get a grip.

All that while spewing straight up hitler level anti sex purity culture narratives and demanding we both act to your morals. Nevermind that ive seen drawings you made that are embarassing and fantasized about everything you called me out for, and everything you called your ex you did to her and fantasized about it. You can deny it say i have no proof but ask me this. Do you really want me to? Do you really want me to post porn you made that's embarassing the same way you did to both me and salem? Or are you doing this just to avoid responsibility of having to justify or saying sorry for things you did.

You're not getting an apology from me, go fuck yourself and as for what i want from you, i want every moment of your life to be filled with grief and guilt that you are capable of doing this to someone and that youre not a perfect victim. It's the least you deserve, and I dont care what yoy do as long as i dont have to deal with my boyfriend's ex discussing how my boyfriend secretely doesnt love me and how we like to have sex and this and that ITS NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS YOU CREEP

[moniquill]

So there's a post going around that I'm not going to engage with because my point is entirely different than what the discussion is covering there...

It's this thread: https://www.tumblr.com/galileosballs/783607164314976256/some-of-the-responses-to-this-have-been-in

(I will not be weighing in on that thread)

Here's the thing about schooling and Kids These Days from the elementary to the college level using generative AI (which is Bad for many reasons; I am not defending it):

School (for the purposes of this discussion, public school in the US because that's the only kind of schooling I personally have extensive experience with) is not designed to promote learning.

Lamentations about the ethics of the students who do this, about how this is devaluating education, about how it's frightening that future doctors etc are cheesing their way through medical school with AI all have their eyes on a particular symptom of a much, much bigger and deeper problem. That problem is ULTIMATELY capitalism, but on the way there it's about pedagogy.

I, from the perspective of not having been beholden to school for many years, can confidently say that I did not learn a single fucking thing in school between fourth grade (age 9; I learned how to do long division) and college (age 18, learned a lot of different things, absolutely none of them particularly relevant to any paid work I've ever had). School was a six to eight hour time sink (plus however long homework took) in my day that actively got in the way of me learning things WHILE piling a bunch of stress and trauma onto me that I had to spend years recovering from.

School, in the US, is designed from the ground up to train children into compliant workers. It's about showing up on time, being willing to follow arbitrary and often unfair rules, doing as one is told by figures of authority, and giving the desired answers to direct questions (while asking as few clarifying questions as possible). Curiosity and creativity are actively punished by public school.

"Does saying things that are true and that you know are true only matter when someone is giving you a little prize for it?" Literally yes, that his how the system is built. Under capitalism, there is no motivation to say true things that are true that you know are true. It is likely, in fact, to get you punished! If you want to change that behavior, YOU HAVE TO CHANGE THE SYSTEM THAT PRODUCES IT.

This quote, in particular, seems to miss the point hugely:

"Some of the responses to this have been, in essence, "well, it's not our fault for being raised in a bad educational system that prioritizes grades over comprehension". And you're right, it's not your fault.

But you freely admit the system is bad. That it values the wrong things.

So why do you limit yourself to only achieving what it values? Do you not aspire to be better than a system you know is wrong? Don't you want to change the world?" with a post script of "the system is bad and that fact absolves me of moral responsibility to be a good person” is CEO rhetoric frankly"

It should be noted that absolutely no one in the thread has espoused a belief that 'hat fact absolves me of moral responsibility' - they are all talking about ways that the system is rotten from the ground up and needs to be dismantled and rebuilt. Many, many people reblogging the chain are ascribing malice/excuse-making to people who are merely correctly identifying the problem. Explanations are not excuses; sorry that someone taught you that at some point.

No one in that thread has said "I use AI, and think that it's a good and laudable thing to do!" - that is not a position that anyone seems to be holding.

There are a lot of people in that thread who are indignant that anyone is going to college who isn't deeply invested in learning, as if that's the goal that sends people to academia.

We do not live in a world that rewards learning. We live in a world that awards the possession of credentials.

We do not live in a world where people pursue careers because they are inherently important and meaningful to them - they pursue them because they want to survive under capitalism. Most people are not going into healthcare, for example, because they genuinely want to help heal people who are sick or injured; they're doing it because it's a stable career that generated a livable income. I say this as a person who works in healthcare and deals with others working in the field.

"If you're using AI to get through your education you've not fucking earned your qualifications. That AI did."

No one has ever 'earned their qualifications' re: possession of a college degree. They have merely shown a capacity and willingness to jump through the required hoops.

Do you think that you can shame people into not using shortcuts?

I want readers to look at this thread:

which has a much more coherent idea of what the problem is and what can be done about it. I want readers to look into pedagogy; check out these old-ass videos:

And just... just go watch every Ted Talk by Sugata Mitra.

I think we as a society need to be far more honest in what the goals we have are and how they're best achieved. Most of the jobs that people end up spending their lives doing should not be asking for college degrees. Most people do not want or need to go to college. Most people in college, in school at all, are there under duress and the threat of destitution.

I really want people to reblog and reply to this with thier own thoughts - I know that's no longer vogue on tumblr, but I am trying really hard to bring it back. No, the replies will NOT be opened. Fucking reblog it.

[torglives]

on pangi and abandonment

awhile ago, on stream, lukey threw around the words commitment issues when talking about tr pangkey. it is more likely than not that he was talking about his own character, but a lot of the audience assumed he was taking a shot at pangi. which is very… hmm! not in a bad way, i think it just goes to show how easy it is to misinterpret his actions if you aren't clocked into the way he navigates his relationships with people.

he obviously has issues, but with his attachments they stem more from (i'd argue entirely from) his deep-rooted fear of abandonment rather than commitment.

pangi is passionately committed to people. this has never been something he's tried to hide or keep secret. it's something that cc pili mentioned during an on-stream ooc conversation about pangili/pangkey (watch that whole conversation, actually. he's nailed pangi's character very well. and his own obviously but that's a given. i love pili) -- "there is you who, i feel like you have separation anxiety to some degree. i feel like you're very "it's this person, or nothing." ... kind of like a ride or die situation." -- he brings up also, why this was such a point of contention between pangili1, because they had very different attachment styles, with mocha tending to lean towards avoidant attachment.

in the clip linked, a chatter says "abandonment issues hmm i wonder why (lifesteal)"-- and that's the perfect segway for me to drag ls pangi back into the spotlight. yay! i've said this before, but lifesteal and pangi's relationships on the server/throughout its history are probably one of the most important keys to really understanding him. on lifesteal, pangi has never truly been anyone's first choice. he devotes himself to people, to causes, but no matter how hard he'll ride or die for those things, it is never reciprocated. at his core, he is very lonely. he's not wanted in the way he wants to be wanted, but gives it his all anyway. it always ends the same way, he always ends up the same way: alone. quite literally abandoned.

of course this translates into the realm, and pangi finally finds someone who, to him, is what he's been looking for--his ride or die. his person, as much as he is theirs--in pili. it's pili or nothing, and this is the first time it's been mutual, so he plays it by ear. he lets it grow into co-dependancy willingly, because to be wanted is everything he's been looking for. but pangi is no stranger to abandonment, and during their first crisis, when pili says 'i don't trust you anymore,' pangi shuts down. he tries re-working over that open wound that pili left in his (VERY BRIEF) absence, because it's how he's learned to adapt. they, of course, come back together. and then pili dies, brutally, in front of him, with clown in mind. in february, after mocha died, i wrote this in an (outdated) (so i won’t link it) thought post:

pangi, as a character, is unable to linger. he feels the need to jump from thing to thing, never giving himself the proper time to sit and process. when his worst fear is proven, when he is shown that he isn't wanted or needed somewhere--he shuts down the part of himself that was trying to be wanted and needed. his way of 'staying on top of it all' is just adding another layer. he buries it under something new, and tries to forget about it and barrel onto the next thing. it never works.

which applies here too. i think it says everything i could even say. pili dies, and pangi is once again alone. despite his commitment, despite pili’s, it wasn’t enough.

and then ros and aimsey come along, and they’re kind to him--they get stuck in the null together, and nobody else can understand that outside the three of them. they both say things like "it’s us against the world," and "the three of us," and this works for awhile. pangi has people he can devote himself to, but this time it’s different, because there’s a disconnect--there’s a part of pangi that they don’t understand, the parts that more or less belonged to pili. pangi gives his all, but more importantly, his trust, but he’s never been great with words, and there’s no intrinsic understanding of violence like he’s used to, so it causes fallout. pili and pangi shared a similar mindset, that’s part of what made them work so well. for pangi, pili had aspects of home. ros and aimsey, despite how much they care, don’t understand that culture. ros breaks his trust, once, and to him, that’s abandonment. that’s always been a tell-tale sign of it. that’s betrayal, so pangi refuses to linger. he kills at the ball, takes the brunt of their anger, and leaves, because someone must leave. someone always must leave, so he does.

aimsey finds him a few days after, and says: "why did you think we hated you? it’s not like you do one thing that makes us upset and suddenly you’re the worst person in the world." -- but honestly, that’s all pangi knows. it’s all, or it’s nothing.

he still cares about them, so much, but it has put a permanent strain on their relationship, on his trust for them, because they don’t understand each other in the same way. he cannot be truly devoted to them, because he has been shown that they are not truly devoted to him. and that’s not their fault, not at all, it’s simply a gap in understanding. it’s something that pangi doesn’t understand about them, or them about pangi.

what’s that quote? "if you give me the slightest hint of abandonment and withdrawal, i would outdo you."

i could go into detail about the intricacies with his relationship with lukey too, but if you compare them to the points i’ve listed i’m sure you can draw the conclusions yourself--why they work so well, aligning in areas that have been missing.

people are very familiar with his hate, because it burns bright and is unavoidable. people are less familiar with his love, just as passionate, because it is easier to overlook, it’s less common. he is undoubtably devoted to those he hates and those he loves, and is consumed by how he feels for both of them. he will always commit, but is terrified at the slightest taste of being left behind, of being a second choice. of not meaning to others what they mean to him. again. it’s all, or it’s nothing.

[book-lore]

Okay, so I shouldn't likely take the bait on this but I will this once to say something in case someone comes across this and it does the bad thing of embedding into the back part of your mind: You are allowed to leave a relationship at any time at all. Three days. Five years. Twenty years. It doesn't matter. Sometimes there's nothing even wrong necessarily except that you grew apart from each other. People can (and do!) love their partners and end up needing different things in a relationship. It's okay if you have come to that point and you realize that the sacrifice for the relationship won't make you happier than leaving it. It will hurt, but not as much as growing resentful of them for giving something you really wanted up when they couldn't make up the deficit in the end. That isn't a failing, it's just life.

As to the second post in this: if someone has a structured timeline for the events in your life like this, run. This isn't funny, this is the biggest of red flags. Your relationships are personal and if they are going to be meaningful and healthy, you shouldn't be forced to throttle them with an imposed timeline that makes you feel pressured into decisions about them. In the grand scheme of a marriage, especially if you are being pressured to marry young, a year is no time at all. There's plenty you will not know about a person in only a single year. Six months is nothing. Some people are going to be running full speed into this kind of relationship with enthusiasm and it's not up to anyone but the participants to decide if that's going to work for them or not. But impositions like the one in the second post present clear indications on specific expectations and almost certainly, in a case where someone is expecting to be married by such a tight deadline, there will be other expectations. These are going to include what you can or can't do with your body. How many children you will be expected to have. What kind of role you will have in your own home. When someone sets out a clear and non-negotiable timeline for when you should be making a decision about what ought to be a pretty large change in your life, it's never for your benefit. Healthy relationships aren't like that and this is how people end up in abusive places that become difficult if not impossible to escape.

As always, you are the one to make these decisions and I hope you will think about them as much as you feel you need to. Even if you do, it's possible to make mistakes. Just don't let someone else force you into one. Take the time you need. Talk a lot. Walk away if it's time. Do not give up your autonomy or be pressured into a decision because someone told you that time is running out. You have a whole lifetime to figure out living.

These people are so fucking crazy sidjsifjsofkkslvmslc

[yoongihan]

Services Rendered - BC - 2/3

pairing: escort chan x femreader

genre: smut, with little plot, a lot of talking, fluffy, but there be angst in this part

word count: ~ 13.5k

warnings: sex work, smut: pentrative safe sex, hand jobs (both rec.), oral (both receiving) ; a lot of kissing, older reader, chan goes by chris, reader shorter than chris, many more 'babys' and 'yeonins' because it's chris, the most ethical escort service ever; alcohol imbibed, but no one's drunk, more discussion of insecurities on reader's part, cursing. if i've missed something, let me know.

rating: 18+/M

summary: seeking a solution to your lack of experience, you assume the process will be business-like. you're entirely wrong.

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. i swear i thought it'd take a couple weeks and i started it right after posting the first part. i don't think the final part will take as long (she says while packing her apartment to move states literally next week). thank you so much for the kind reception of the first part. there's some book discussion in this part, those books belong to their authors. i hope you enjoy it. big thank you to @moni-logues for reading this over and making sure it actually makes sense.

part one

Part Two

You wake up at some point, way too early. The sleepy realization that you aren’t in your own bedroom gives a moment of panic, but it subsides. You also realize that you aren’t currently the little spoon, or any spoon at all. There’s another irrational moment of panic, this one about him, that he’s left, that he’s gone. 

You roll as gingerly as one can toward the other side of the bed, which reveals a head of messy hair and a peek of bare shoulders. Had he ditched his pajama shirt sometime in the middle of the night? Does it matter?

Your heart rate slows though. He’s still there. 

You turn back toward the nightstand and the bright digital numbers that tell you that you are up well before any person needs to be. You get out of bed, standing to walk to the bathroom. As you do, you realize that you are sore. It’s a stupid thought, honestly. Of course you’re sore, but still, it’s surprising, and unnerving. You’re sore because you’ve had sex. 

You had sex.

You shut the door to the bathroom before you turn on the light and once you do, you nearly audibly groan at what the mirror shows. Bedraggled. The last vestiges of your makeup are smeared (even though there wasn’t that much to begin with), eyes a bit bloodshot, hair a disaster. 

You wash your face thoroughly and pat it dry. You also decide to brush your teeth. You’re not convinced a stunning specimen like Chris would even have morning breath, but you definitely do, and maybe even if you sleep a few more hours, this will mitigate the worst of it. 

When you return to bed, he hasn’t moved at all. You slide in, staring at the back of his head, wondering about the course of today. 

Will it be a sex-fest? You doubt it because you hardly think you have the stamina, even if he’s studied tantric or whatever. 

Will it be awkward? Possibly. You’ve had only a handful of waking hours with him. What will happen when there are long, non-seducing hours? Conversation had been fine last night, but this is so much time. 

Will it be claustrophobic? The hotel room is yours until twenty-four hours plus from now. That doesn’t mean you can’t leave the hotel, but does an escort want to be seen in public with his less than perfect-looking client? Does he want to be seen with you, as though you’re a couple?

You shake your head, closing your eyes despite wanting to reach out and trace your fingers along those bare shoulders. You don’t know how much time passes; you don’t think that you really fall back asleep, but you do doze some. A pleasant dreamy fog of rest, mixed up with memories of the previous evening: a pull of emotions and impressions. 

When you come back to this plane of existence, you can feel lips on your shoulder. 

“Chris?”

“You expecting someone else?” His voice is deep from sleep and glazed with amusement. You rub your eyes, by the nightstand clock you can see that a couple hours have passed since your first wake up. There’s a lazy bite on your shoulder, you shiver before tentatively rolling over to see him. 

The wild hair, the barely-open eyes, the flushed skin. 

God, he’s so beautiful. 

“Hi,” you say for lack of anything creative. “Good morning.” His head tilts to the side and sniffs once. 

“You brushed your teeth,” he accuses as he covers his mouth with his hand. “That’s hardly fair.” He starts to pull back the covers, as though to leave the bed. 

“It’s not a big deal–”

“Nope,” he interrupts, laughing as he slides to his feet and heads to the bathroom. “We have to be the same here. Equality, right?” He winks at you before entering, the door shutting behind him. 

You sigh, embarrassed now for NOT having morning breath, before forcing yourself to sit up, back resting on the headboard. You touch your hair to make sure it’s not too crazy. 

When the door opens, not more than a minute or two later, you’re already back to feeling horribly anxious at what the day will bring. He walks to your side, looking down at you. 

“Equal now?” you ask softly. 

He sets his knee on the bed, gracefully climbing on without even touching you, enclosing you with his presence. You stare up at him, swallowing as your throat feels dry. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes sparkling. He leans in, his hands pressed into the mattress at your sides. His lips find yours, a minty burst. It’s biting, the mint, but his mouth and tongue are soft and warm. It’s like sinking into a hot bath. 

“Morning,” he murmurs, lips barely a millimeter from yours. He goes back in, drawing it out, making you sit up higher, your hands encircling him by the neck to keep him close. When he breaks for air, he lets his nose bump yours before sitting back on his heels. “Sleep okay?”

You’re muddled from his kiss, brain slow to engage. “Mmmhmm.” You move again to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You can tell he’s grinning when your lips meet his, but you slip your tongue in his mouth, curling with his. He groans, reaching to pull you on top of him instead. His hands slide along your legs to your hips, gripping tightly as you continue to taste him. It’s relaxed this morning, the tangling of your bodies. He seems not inclined to speed up, rubbing his hand up and down your back, almost in rhythm to the kiss. It’s so engrossing, being wrapped up in him, that you don’t even question when your hips start to rock against his. 

Well, the stuff you’ve heard and read about morning wood certainly is true. He groans when you thrust just right; you echo his groan, barely audible since detaching from his mouth seems wrong. 

He breathes your name against your mouth. “Hold on.”

The words eventually make themselves recognizable in your mind and you break away. “You don’t…want to…I thought guys were always up for it in the morning?”

“Oh, I am. We are,” he says quickly, as though he realizes that you’re beginning to feel ashamed by your assumptions and zeal. “But you might be sore? A little? And it’s by no means required.” He cups your face in his hands before you look and dart away. “Talk to me.”

“A little sore.”

“Thought so.” He kisses you softly, nose brushing yours before letting his head fall back on the headboard. “Breakfast?”

It’s difficult to switch from desire for him to considering desire for food. “I mean, we can do room service.”

His fingers trace along your ears before dropping to his lap. “Let’s go out. Do you like diner food?”

“I wouldn’t trust someone who doesn’t.”

He laughs, reaching out and squeezing your thigh. “That does seem like a good litmus test.” He stares at you for a second. “Want me to shower first?”

You nod slowly as you roll off his legs, sitting back against the headboard next to him. “You want to go out?”

He looks over at you, still comfortable on the bed in the twisted sheets. “Supposed to be a nice day. I figure, good breakfast, maybe we go to the park…” He trails off at your expression. “Do you not want to?”

“No, that…that sounds nice,” you mumble, eyes falling to your hands, folding back the sheet like that will make order out of chaos. 

He leans over, mouth at your ear. “Did you think it would be sex 24/7?” His whisper and breath on the sensitive skin makes you tremble. 

“I both thought too much and not enough about this weekend.”

“Meaning?”

“I worried, but tried not to imagine what scenarios might happen. I didn’t think you’d…” When you look over at him, he gives you a questioning look. “Never mind.”

“Nope, you promised to tell me. What you’re thinking.”

“That’s still in effect? I think you mastered getting my brain mushy and senseless.”

He chuckles, hand grasping your chin to turn you to him for a kiss. He lingers, enough to make you want all over again. 

“Tell me?”

You want to look anywhere but at him, but his hold on you is firm. “I wasn’t sure going out like a date was something we could do.”

He stares at you for more seconds than you wish he would. “Sometimes I’m hired as a date for events.”

You suppose if you’d given yourself a moment to think about anything you know about sex work (specifically from films and books), you would have remembered that. Hopefully no one would blame you for focusing solely on the ‘sex’ part of the occupation. 

“Right.”

He kisses you again. “You’re worried about something.”

“Do you want to be seen with me? In public?” Might as well just ask. He already knows you’re insecure about things.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he counters, fingers skimming your jaw and cheek. 

“I’m older than you.”

“I know.”

With as insightful as he’s been already, you hoped you wouldn’t have to spell it out for him, but apparently he’s making you do that anyway.

“You don’t mind being seen with me? Even though I’m…”

He kisses you for a millionth time. “A couple things. I chose to take this job. With you. That includes being seen with you. Also…” He shakes his head. “I feel like I should make you say another positive thing about yourself.” He lets his hand glide down your neck, a caress. 

“Chris…” You think for a moment before continuing, “I don’t think I’m disgusting or repulsive. I really don’t. I just know how the world sees me. And my good qualities…” He grins when you smile. “Don’t seem as admired by society as the qualities I lack. It’s not low self-esteem, but a realistic understanding of the world?”

“That seems a little like justification for not thinking you’re beautiful. And you are.”

You can’t help your immediate grimace at the compliment. 

“See?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s…I don’t trust compliments about how I look.”

“From anybody or from men?”

Insightful as fuck.

You sigh. “Why ask when you seem to already know?”

His thumb traces along your collarbone as he answers: “I like to make sure my assumptions aren’t completely off.” He takes a moment, his touch lackadaisical. “So, breakfast…out?”

“Yes. If you’re sure.”

He rolls his eyes before cupping the back of your neck to kiss you. “Yes. I’m sure.” And he gets up to walk back into the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door and you open your mouth to question, but he pops his head out. “Feel free to come in if you need to. I’m not shy.” He winks and disappears. 

Yeah, you’re not doing that. Sex is one thing (a thing you’re still processing), but domestic daily acts together? That’s a level of intimacy you can’t fathom. 

You are combing through your luggage for something to wear when he comes out of the bathroom…in only a towel.

“All yours,” he says, going to his own bag to find clothes. 

You stare, which is silly, because you’ve already seen him two seconds ago with only pajama pants on. It’s the same thing, right?

It’s not. The towel leaves less to the imagination, and the scattered drops of water catching the light on his torso heighten your awareness. 

He glances over at you when you don’t respond, or even move. He smirks. 

You scoff, embarrassed. “You know you’re hot,” you retort when you grab your clothes and move toward the bathroom. He catches you by the arm, pulling you close. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, nose to nose with you. His fingers caress your forearm as he lets go and you mutter a ‘you’re welcome’ as you dash into the bathroom, shutting the door behind. 

–

“Is that enough meat?” you ask, not in a judgemental tone, but more in astonishment. He grins cheekily across from you in the booth. 

“I told you. I’d share if you got the pancakes.”

“I know, but…” You gesture to his plate with toast, eggs, and enough bacon and sausage for the carnivore in anyone. “It’s…impressive. Thank you. I really do hate choosing between sweet and savoury for breakfast.” You set pancakes on the spare plate. 

“Well,” he begins, setting some of his protein on your plate. “I did use up a lot of energy last night.”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the amusement and know he’s smirking again at you. 

He says your name plaintively when you don’t look up or comment. 

“I think you just like embarrassing me.”

“I think you’re cute like this.” He points at you with a fork. “You’re cute always, but especially right now.”

The meal is mostly devoured in quiet as you are hungry (you expended energy, too, after all), but you find out that Chris loves working out, playing sports with his friends, going to concerts, and cooking.

“I’m not good,” he assures you about cooking. “I’m not awful, but I’m not going to impress anyone.”

“But cooking is a skill. There are people who pretty much order out for every meal. Minus like cereal and sandwiches.”

“I still do that…sometimes.”

You laugh at his sheepish expression. “I do too. Some days after work, I’m too tired to even think about making something. It’s enough to decide what I even want to eat.”

He nods. “Understandable.” He puts another piece of bacon on your plate even though you’ve definitely eaten your quota of food for the morning. “Do you like what you do?”

“Work-wise? I guess. It’s enough for now. I can do the job, some days I feel like I do it well. But I wouldn’t say it fulfills me. Helps me pay the bills.”

“Is that okay?”

You startle when you stretch out your legs and hit his. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he replies simply before hooking his foot around yours at the ankle. His eyebrows lift at your expression, like he’s daring you to make a scene. “Is it okay to not be fulfilled by your job?”

“I…” His foot is rubbing your calf and it shouldn’t be stimulating, but my god, it is stimulating. “Well, are you?”

“Fulfilled?” He cocks his head to the side, thinking. “Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I’ve done well.”

“This job?” you ask, swallowing before grabbing your mug of coffee. Chris, with another very unique trait, doesn’t drink coffee and is having orange juice. “Your…current work?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes warm. “This job.”

“I mean…not the acting, not like specifically…a…client…but your work overall…”

He leans closer, despite the table in the way. “I know what you mean.” He waves down the server and hands her a credit card before you can even get your wallet out of your purse. 

“You…”

“My treat.” 

“Tax-deductible?”

He laughs. “Sure. Something like that.” 

You finish your coffee by the time he’s signed the check. He slips his hand in yours (he’d done the same on the walk from the hotel to the diner) and leads you back outside. 

“Anything you wanna do?” he asks. “There’s a park a few blocks away. Some shops if you’re so inclined.” 

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Us just…hanging out?”

He watches you while you both wait at a crosswalk. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. I…I feel like I might be wasting your time.”

He squeezes your hand. “I don’t feel like that. You said that you don’t take time off from work a lot.”

“I did?”

“In your interview. I figure this can be about some relaxation as well as…other activities.” 

“I don’t want you to be bored.”

“I don’t want you to be bored either.” He gestures toward the sign that announces that you’ve arrived at the city park. “But…there’s fresh air, trees, and a used bookstore all within a couple blocks.”

“A used bookstore?”

He grins at the delight in your voice. “Fresh air first.”

It’s a nice park. People are out on a clement Saturday, walking their dogs, playing frisbee, and having picnics. Chris leads a meandering pace, stopping to pet dogs whenever the opportunity arises. You also indulge scratching behind the ears for several, getting licked and jumped on. You don’t want to think about the dusty paw prints left on your pants, just Chris’s big smile and laugh when he falls from a squat position because the golden retriever is a little too excited. 

He’s still chuckling when you offer your hand to him (the excitable dog and his owners have already moved on). He takes it and you brace your feet to pull him up. He brushes himself off, and before you can overthink it, you do the same, wiping the stray dirt from his t-shirt. He grabs your hand after a moment, lifting it up and kissing it softly.

“Thanks.”

You want to ask if he’s the top employee at his company. How could he not be, with warm eyes looking at you like you matter. How can any client go back to their real life after time spent with him? 

It’s a dream. A dream that you made happen, but still a dream.

“You’re a dog person,” you reply to his gratitude, trying to move his focus off of you. 

“I am.” He doesn't let go of your hand, but draws you toward a bench. You sit next to him, clasped hands on his thigh as he looks out at the people milling about, dogs chasing sticks. “My folks have a dog, but my life is so busy that I can’t have one now. Maybe someday.”

“That sounds nice.” You stare at his profile for a few seconds. “Dog, house, white picket fence?”

He laughs. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know about the fence. What’s your ‘someday’? Your job sounds pretty involved.” He glances at you. 

“It’s silly.”

“Is it?”

“I mean, what I want.”

“Lies.”

You take a deep breath and turn your focus on the trees. “I want a quiet life. Sure, I’d still work, but it’s mostly at home. I have a small garden where I grow things that end up on my table. The idea that what I put effort into actually is something that benefits me tangibly. Instead of just a paycheck.”

“Don’t insult the paycheck.”

“Everything I work with is conceptual, you know? I can’t touch it, see it. It’s documents and meetings, and something posted on the internet. There’s nothing to hold.” 

“Makes sense. I like traveling, but it’d be nice to have more than a tiny apartment to come home to.” He squeezes your hand. “Want some ice cream?”

You look around, confused.

“It’s behind those trees,” he says, pointing. “Stay here, I’ll go get it. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Surprise me.”

His eyebrows rise. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on me,” he says, before leaning close. “You trust me?”

“You seem to have me pretty figured out already.”

His brow furrows. “I doubt that.” He’s so close with his unsure expression, it’s cute. You cover the remaining distance and kiss him softly. He returns it, light and breezy. “See…I didn’t know you’d do that.”

You grin at him. “That’s because you can’t see what I see.”

The blush growing on his cheeks makes him all the more endearing. “Smooth talker,” he mumbles before kissing you again and getting up. You watch him go before looking back out at the activity. 

You can’t remember the last time you sat somewhere and people watched, without taking out your phone either to scroll or work. It’s calming. Chris, his very presence reminding you why he’s here, sets your nerves alight. In all the good and anxious ways. You worry so much about what you say or do, that in this moment, it’s nice to just be. 

“I got two that I like, so whichever one you prefer, I’m good with the reject.”

You startle at his voice, intently watching the final outcome of a boy, about ten years old, in a tug-of-war with his beagle. 

“What did you get?”

“Chocolate peanut butter, and mango sorbet.” He carefully sits next to you, a cone of melting goodness in each hand. 

“They both sound good, but I'm leaning toward mango.”

“Interesting decision,” he says, handing over the bright yellow-orange swirl. 

You take a lick of it, closing your eyes to enjoy the burst of flavor before responding to his words. “Is it? Is there some psychological diagnosis about me choosing fruit over chocolate?”

“Possibly,” he replies, leaning against the back of the bench, staring out at the clearing, still inhabited by people, dogs, and activity. “Are you denying what you really want due to some social concern that you can’t have the thing you desire?” He raises an eyebrow when you laugh. “Are you assuming I would rather have chocolate and you are appeasing me over having the thing you want the most?”

“Maybe mango sounds better than chocolate right now.”

He scrunches his nose. “Unlikely.”

You laugh again at his mocking disbelief before enjoying several more bites of the sorbet. “Did you study psychology or sociology in school?”

“Neither. There was a gen ed intro class I had to take. It was cool.” He offers his cone to you. “You have to try it, to know if you made the right choice.”

The familiarity of sharing ice cream with someone you met yesterday is not lost on you; how strange this entire experience is. So you lean over to taste and it is really good. You offer your cone. 

“Equality, right?”

He chuckles and tries the mango. 

“I don’t regret my choice,” you say when he goes quiet, either pondering psychology classes or chocolate over mango. 

“Hmmm,” is all he gives you. “I can’t complain. This is really good.” 

You smile at his apparent glee for ice cream, and how the sun shines on his face, highlighting his skin, casting shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks. 

The smear of chocolate by his lips. 

“You…you have…,” you begin, gesturing to the mark. 

He doesn’t look embarrassed, but leans toward you. “Can you get it?” 

You wipe it with your thumb, offering the remnants to him without much thought. Then you see his eyes spark when his lips touch your skin. There’s a light scraping of his teeth and the ice cream feels less like an enjoyable dessert and more like a precursor to something else. 

When he draws back, your eyes are glued to his mouth, your thumb still proffered in supplication as you’re frozen.

“It’s melting,” he says softly, nodding toward your ice cream cone. You blink and focus  on the sorbet, eyes straying back toward him after a little bit. “So…do you want to go to the bookstore after this?”

Your thoughts are definitely not on books, or shopping, or anything public. You don’t answer, unable to figure out how to say what you want. 

He says your name, drawing your gaze from what’s left of your sorbet to him. Does he know? Can he tell?

“I don’t want to go to the bookstore.”

His eyebrows raise. “No? Um, there’s…” He pulls out his phone, you assume, to look up what’s around. “There’s a farmer’s market several blocks away. And–”

“Chris…

He glances over. “Yeah?”

You take a deep breath, channeling whatever confidence you have in everything but sex. “I’d like to go back to the hotel.” The confidence lasts just the duration of the sentence, and you look away immediately.

“Yeah? Why?”

Your head turns so fast, because you can’t believe he might be oblivious, not after last night, but he’s grinning widely at you, those beautiful brown eyes heated. 

“You like making me spell things out, don’t you?”

“I do. I like how flustered you are about the very reason you hired me.” He stands up, waiting for you to do the same. “We can finish on the way.” 

He chats the whole way back about when he was growing up in Sydney, but you can’t really focus on his actual words. Just the rolling sound of his voice, the accent in full effect. You’re thinking too much, as per usual. Worried, as usual, about how you’ll perform. It doesn’t seem to matter that everything last night went way better than you could have hoped or imagined. Your brain doesn’t allow you to relax, to take in the evidence that you can ask for this, that he might want to even if it is why you hired him. 

When you two are waiting for the hotel elevator, ice cream wrappers discarded in a street bin, he bumps shoulders with you. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“Into the twisted, thorny mire that is my brain.” 

He laughs and kisses you without warning. It’s almost perfunctory, natural and domestic. “Your brain sounds like the part of the Sleeping Beauty cartoon, where the prince has to hack his way through the huge vines into the castle.”

“That. With no castle or end in sight. And probably a bit grimier.” 

The elevator doors open and you both enter as he is still chuckling at your description. “Grimier?”

“Yes. The cartoon seems too clean, you know? That much plant life would be dirty with soil and insects, and that mossy loamy smell.” You lean back against the elevator wall as the doors close. “Maybe swampy too.”

He’s still grinning when he turns toward you, lips finding yours in half a laugh. The relative privacy allows you the freedom to slide your hands around his middle, pulling him close. He’s cosily warm; the ice cream has left you a little cold and his natural temperature banishes that chill. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tantalizing. Your head falls back against the wall as the elevator dings to announce its arrival to your floor. He pulls away, hand slipping into yours to drag you toward the long hallway. 

It feels both interminably long in distance as you stumble after him, but also short because…sex…again. With him.

How does most of the world’s population consider sex to be a normal (albeit enjoyable) thing?

Once you’re both inside the hotel room, he looks at you with that raised eyebrow. 

“What?” you ask, wishing your missing boldness would not be missing. 

“I’m half-wanting you to just pounce, I guess.”

His smile softens the sharpness of your nerves. 

“Just half?”

He moves close, not touching you, waiting. “More than half…what’s got you looking so wide-eyed?”

“Nervous.”

“Why?” At this, his hand comes to your cheek, careful. 

“I guess I thought, you know, having sex once would make me less awkward about it.”

His eyes soften. “Once would make you a sex goddess?”

You make a face at the absurdity. “I didn’t say my thoughts made logical sense.”

His hand molds to your cheek and jaw. “It’s okay to still be nervous. And it’s okay to be awkward.”

You know you’re pouting, but you can’t help it. “I just…I want to…enjoy and for you to enjoy.” Your face heats at that last part. 

He dips his head so you can’t look anywhere but at him. “I do. I will. And I’ll tell you if I’m not and we’ll try something else.” His thumb pulls lightly at your bottom lip. “Trust me?” 

“I do…” If you think too deeply about it, it’ll worry you how much you trust and admire this man, after less than twenty-four hours of knowing him. “Really, I do. It’s more me, than you.”

He lets his lips brush yours delicately, as if inviting you to make the decision to add pressure and intensity. It’s so lovely, like the touch of a rose petal. You cover his hand on your cheek with yours and lean in, prolonging the kiss. His arm curls around you, pulling you flush against him. Using his hold on your face, he angles your head, shifting from a quiet kiss to hot and wet and shiver-inducing. 

“Wanna try something new?” he whispers, lips still touching yours with the question. 

“Um…”

He draws back, still holding you because he rightly knows you might try and run away. 

“Like…?” 

He bumps noses with you, teasing. “I have a feeling you already know what you want to try.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why do you make me say everything?”

“Cause you need to. So it’s clear,” he replies, unbothered by your frustration. “It gives you the power. This is your weekend, baby.” He dives back in, the kiss as stubborn as he is. You melt against him, wishing you could be absorbed by his heat and scent. “What do you want?” It’s as though he addles your brain on purpose, just to ask questions like that. 

“Orgasm,” you breathe.

“Sure. How?” His head drops to suck a mark on your neck, making your fingers dig into his arms. “You can say it.”

“Your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Never mind that you know you’re flushed from saying it. “Do…you…mind it?”

The smirk is devastating. “If someone…in your future, tells you they don’t want to…dump that person. Immediately.” He maneuvers you to the bed, chuckling at your inability to walk normally. He sits you down, so your feet are planted on the floor. 

“You’re overestimating my dating life,” you finally say. 

He cocks his head to the side, regarding you before dropping to his knees. You swallow, hard. 

“I think, if you truly wanted to date, you could. Successfully.”

“Have you met people, Chris?”

He laughs, resting then sliding his hands along your thighs. “I have and I stand by what I said.” He presses one kiss on your knee before starting to undo the button and zipper of your shorts. “Why wouldn’t someone want to date you?”

You’re so focused on where his hands are, how he’s slipping off your shoes and socks. He massages your calves idly, like he’s barely thinking about it before tugging off your shorts. 

He says your name when you don’t reply. 

“I’m not answering that,” you breathe out as his hands map your legs.  “It’s like you asking for me to say something nice about myself yesterday.” 

“Lay back, baby,” he says, rising up on his knees to kiss you softly. “We’re back to the color system, okay? Red if it’s too much, or not good. Or if you don’t feel safe. Yellow to slow down, or change. Green if you’re out of your mind with pleasure.” His smirk makes your eyes narrow in mock-annoyance. “I really want it to be green.”

He kisses your bare knee before trailing his lips up along your inner thigh. 

“Yeonin?”

You make some sound in response. 

“You gotta relax.” You feel him cover your hand which is clenched tightly in a fist (you didn’t even notice) and carefully undo the curling of each finger. “You’re supposed to enjoy it.” He has that amused thread in his voice. 

“I do. I am.”

His fingers slot with yours. “Deep breath.”

You do as he instructs, and your muscles relax with the exhale.

“Good girl.”

Oh.

“Hmmm, I figured,” he says softly, lips back on the inside of your thigh. There’s a nip and a soothing touch of tongue. As he gets closer, you try not to squirm, but it’s impossible. He lets go of your hand to hold your hip down. “Easy.” Then you feel his mouth on the gusset of your underwear.

The noise you let out is humiliating, but you cannot be appalled at yourself because holy shit. He chuckles, and you can feel the vibrations in your core. He hooks a finger on the fabric, his finger brushing your swollen and sensitive and wanting cunt. You whine as he pulls the clothing down your legs and off. His hands slide back up your thighs, thumbs barely brushing you there.

“Chris,” the whine is more pronounced. “Please.”

“So polite,” he says, his breath fanning out on your clitoris. It feels like an eternity, his fingers digging into your skin, breath heating then cooling, before you feel his mouth. You’d levitate if his hand wasn’t so firm on your hip, keeping you on the bed. A slow lick, excruciatingly slow. He hums, sending vibrations again, this time more intense before his lips enclose over your clit and he sucks. 

You are forming words, you think, but you might be nonsense as well. There’s ‘Chris’ and ‘More’. 

“As you wish,” he answers one of those ‘more please’s with that low voice, full of provocation and fondness. His fingers, first one then a second, slip in, curling up and proving how much attention he pays as he finds the exact spot. You shudder and his fingers retreat; this time you whimper.

“Not so fast, baby. It needs to build for a bit.” His explanation in no way makes you not wordlessly complain the next two times he does the same thing. He checks in with you, asking for your color, and saying the word ‘green’ is its own kind of torture as breathing is challenging. Your hand is in his hair, twisting, tightening. He’s laughing, but when you raise your head to actually see him, his eyes are black, pupils blown out, and you’re sure the image of him looking at you while giving you oral will be seared in your brain for fifty years. 

Then he doesn’t back off or relent and you are sent beyond this mortal plane, the experience not old hat to you, the pleasure prolonged as he continues until you come back to yourself, breathing heavy and fingers releasing their grip on his tousled hair. He lifts his head, hand patting your thigh and wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand. When you stare at him, unable to speak, he climbs onto the bed to lay next to you. 

“Verdict?” he asks softly. You pull him to you, kissing him messily, trying to rid him of his shirt at the same time. He obliges, tossing his shirt to the floor before cupping your face in his hands to kiss you deeply, apparently not in a hurry like you seem to be. 

“Good,” you finally speak, breath somewhat back to normal. “So good, god, Chris…” You don’t know what to say, how to phrase how much this means to you: to be given pleasure so freely, that he cares enough to get you off with no expectation of reciprocity. 

But you want to reciprocate. You start to undo his jeans, and you don’t notice that he’s only smoothing your hair, pressing soft kisses on your cheek, forehead. 

“You always want to rush,” he murmurs as you shove down both jeans and his underwear. It’s not a protest, his dick definitely isn’t saying no, but you look up at him even as you take him in hand. 

You want to say that time is limited. That it’s less than 24 hours till he leaves, a part of that has to be dedicated to some sleep as you can’t function properly to get yourself home if you don’t. You have to rush because you don’t have any guarantee that you’ll get to experience this again.

And not with him.

So you say nothing, denying a realization of feelings that are better looked at tomorrow, when you’re on your own. 

“Can you get a condom?” he asks, his voice strained as you explore his length, intrigued by how hot it is, how delicate the skin, and how stiff. “Please?”

You meet his eyes with your own smirk. “Now who’s being polite?”

His lips twist. “I’m always polite.” And he gives your nose a peck. You ignore the flutter of your heart at such a small gesture, letting go of him to grab a foil packet from the box. You roll it on him, squeezing carefully. 

“That okay? Green?”

He huffs a laugh, face flushed and glowing with light perspiration. “Green.” He wraps his hand around yours and starts to press the head to your entrance. 

“Like this?” you ask, not sure why side by side, facing each other is shocking to you. Sex always seems like one person is above, the other below. There’s something even more intimate about this.

“Yes?” He smiles. “Okay?”

You nod as he slips in, your earlier orgasm allowing the breach much easier than last night. You clench instinctively and he slides a hand down your side to your leg, lifting it so it’s slung over his. The angle changes and you gasp.

“Better?” He tips your chin up to capture your lips again as he draws back to thrust. You grip his shoulders, lost in the feeling of his cock moving against your walls, the rhythm of his tongue with yours. You don’t think (not much anyway), drowning in the sensations of heat, sweat, sharp inhales and exhales. He whispers compliments, words you don’t really comprehend, but with his accent, the timbre, you think it’s poetry. 

His fingers bring you to completion before he lets go and comes himself.

Chris props himself up on one elbow once you both get your breath back. He’s giving you that sleepy grin, self-satisfied (you can’t be mad at him…he should feel satisfied) and content. He moves a piece of your hair out of your eyes. 

“Still green?”

You snort then laugh. “Yeah, if I had strength I’d give you a high-five.”

He holds up his hand and with effort you smack it, making him giggle. “That’s a first for me.”

“Never been high-fived?”

“Not after sex.”

“Pity.”

He falls to the mattress next to you, eyes never leaving you. You stare back, breathing mostly normal now. 

“It was good for you, too?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t sure?” He scoots closer, nuzzling your shoulder, leaving a kiss. 

“I mean, it sounded like it was good. But…I guess I want verbal confirmation.” 

He moves even closer so your faces are inches apart. “Yes. It was great even.” He kisses you without heat, only sweetness. He rolls to his back, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s early.” He glances at the nightstand clock then at you. “Any thoughts on how we can while away the hours until dinner?”

There’s nothing to hint mischief in his voice, but you still think he might be angling for more of something. You want to, but you’re also a little shaken by what’s just occurred. That he wanted to, did, and did so with skill. 

“You did say there was a bookshop?”

If he’s disappointed, you can’t see it in his face. “To add to that stack over there?” The books you brought have not moved a millimeter since yesterday.

“One can never have too many books.”

“Nerd,” he teases, clasping you by the jaw to turn you toward him for another kiss. “We’ll get dressed and go then. Maybe you can recommend something for me.” He dwells on the kiss, lips tasting yours. He pulls back as your eyelashes flutter open. “Hmm…though…” 

You go still entirely when you feel his hand rest high on your thigh. “Chris…”

“You can have three,” he says easily. “Should tide you over until after dinner, yeah?” When his fingers find where you are sensitive, you shudder. 

“I don’t think…” Surely you can’t again. He’s gentle, attuned to your workings so well that it takes a light touch, circling and pressing. 

“Sure you can. Just a little one.” 

With a kiss, he muffles your sharp exhale when your stomach drops yet again and the spread of pleasure tingles through your body. 

“A goddamn menace,” you huff out as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Yeah, you’re really upset about it, I can tell.” He slides out of bed and into the bathroom without another word while you’re prone for several minutes before hauling yourself up to gather your discarded clothes. 

–

“Oh, it’s lovely,” you say reverently when he slows you down in front of the bookstore. You were so intent on avoiding the two teenagers on skateboards that you missed it. 

He opens the door and you enter into tall, overstuffed bookshelves. It’s not a big space, but every inch of it is used. There’s a small counter and till to your right, and the clerk nods in greeting. You nod back, reaching for Chris’s hand and tugging him toward the fiction section. “You said to recommend something.”

“Yeah, I have a job that I have to fly to, so I’ll need something to pass the time.” If he notices your falter at the mention of another ‘job’, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t ask, though the morbid side of you wants to, if it's this kind of job: creating intimacy with a client, a stranger. You tell yourself it could be a legitimate acting job, but it punches you in the chest anyway. 

“What do you normally read?” you ask with a steady voice. You stop in front of the Bs, pulling out a copy of Wuthering Heights. “Want a great presentation of badly-parented children that grow up and treat each other horribly?”

He chuckles. “That’s such a sales pitch.”

“It’s a pretty copy, though,” you say, sliding it back on the shelf. 

“I read more nonfiction.” He sees your expression. “I know, it’s boring, but a lot of it has been acting methodologies. To expand my skills.”

“Would you prefer nonfiction?” You run your finger along the spines, stopping on familiar surnames. “I have a few I could recommend.”

“No, no way. Give me something that’ll suck me in.” He comes up behind you, resting his chin on top of your head, arms around your waist. 

“Okay…more recent, or stuff like this,” You gesture to the books in front of you. “Classics?” You lean back into his embrace, savoring. There’s a long list of moments from this weekend you want to carve into the stone of your memory. This is one. 

“Uhhhh, maybe more recent. I’m not that smart.”

You sniff, covering his arms with your hands, holding him close. “That’s ridiculous. And besides, there are multiple kinds of intelligence.”

“There are?” You feel his words in your hair as much as you hear them. 

“There’s a theory that there are nine, and less than half are what would be considered academic.” You pause. “Sorry, I get a little ranty about stuff like that. You know how there are people who are so good at reading others, registering their emotions and how to empathize?”

“My mate, Felix.” He’s so sure. “He’s very affectionate, very aware of how to care for his friends and those around him.”

“Yes, exactly. That’s its own intelligence. You can be an astrophysicist, but cannot walk into a meeting with any awareness of the people around you. Two types of intelligence.” 

“So all that to say?” His words are shaded with repressed humor. 

“I’m going to find one classic and one more modern book for you.” 

You feel him kiss the top of your head. “So generous.” And he lets go. “Am I allowed to find something for you?”

You turn to him. “You want to?”

“If you trust me.”

“Absolutely.” 

Your confident response visibly surprises him; he blinks then that devastating smile, complete with dimples, appears. He drops his head to kiss you before disappearing down another aisle of books. 

You wander along the classics first, considering what you know of him, what story might immerse him. It’s easier to focus on that than on the job he’ll work after you. 

You have no idea how much time passes when Chris finds you in a corner, legs crossed and seated against the shelves. There’s a stack of five books next to your knee as you leaf through one. He squats down in front of you and waits until you notice him. 

He chuckles when you jolt at his presence. “I thought you were only recommending two?”

“This is my short list,” you reply indignantly at his amusement. “You might go and play sports with your friends, but I read when I have free time.”

He plops down across, offering you one book. You reach out to take it as he speaks.

“I’ve not read it, but I know the author wrote a book I liked as a kid. And I read the first page? I don’t know…I thought it sounded a bit like what you were talking about at the park. A simple life.”

A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle; a memoir of her time at her family’s farmhouse. 

“Oh this sounds lovely.” You clutch it to your chest. “Thank you. I didn’t even know she had nonfiction.” 

“Glad you like it…” He looks at the books. “Do you need help narrowing down?”

“No. I think I’ve got it.” You pull two and hand them over. 

“Okay, I’ve heard of Frankenstein…why that one?”

“It’s a good book that happens to be a classic. It’s not terribly long in case you are intimidated by the older language. And it’s very different than any movie that has Frankenstein in the name.” You tap the other. “The Talented Mr. Ripley–”

“Also has a movie or two.”

“Yes, but I thought, with you being an actor and that’s basically what Tom is doing, you might enjoy it. It’s a series, so if you do like it, there’s more. Though it’s really dark, so I don’t know if you are into that.” You start to second-guess yourself. “Nor is it that recent…It’s from the fifties. Give it back.” You reach for it, but he holds it out of your range. 

“No. These are the ones you picked and I’m intrigued.” He shrugs. “I also like that neither is like, Game of Thrones-sized.”

“You read those?”

“God, no. I thought about it when I watched the show. Then saw the number of books in the series and the page numbers and decided: not for me.”

“If you like fantasy, I can–” You start to scrabble off the floor.

“Yeonin…I’m happy with these. Thank you.”  He doesn’t say anything for a second, smile still bright. “Want to browse more? Or should we go get a drink before dinner?”

“You don’t drink.”

“I don’t, but there are some really good mocktails out there.” He stands up, holding out his hand for you. You take it, letting him pull you up with ease. 

You bend down to gather the books that you pulled in your pursuit of finding some for him, and start to put them back. He doesn’t say anything, but shadows the retracing of your steps, humming something you don’t recognize, but is comforting. When you're done, he plucks the L’Engle book out of your hand and heads toward the till.

“Chris…” You hurry to follow. “Don’t you…Christopher.”

He turns at that, surprised. “Oh, good thing you don’t know my full name if this is all it takes.”

“If you’re going to buy my book,” you say as the clerk takes the stack he holds. “I should buy yours.”

“No.”

You actually harumph. “Then I’m paying for dinner.”

He opens his mouth, says nothing, then closes it. “We’ll see about that.” He thanks the clerk, who seems amused by the both of you. He hands you the brown paper bag. “You can–No, I can’t even let you do that. I’ll carry them.”

You huff, “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins at you, holding the door open. “I’m okay with that.”

You wait for him to step alongside you. “I’m certainly fine with drinks, but do we need to change for dinner?” You were in what you’d put on this morning: shorts, a soft and fluttery blouse. He was in jeans and t-shirt (it sounds simple, but the way the t-shirt fits him is illegal). 

“I meant to ask. Did you want to go fancy?” He stops you both at a red ‘don’t walk’ light.

You think about it, noticing how your arm is almost touching his, thinking maybe you should take his hand again, stay in that moment for a bit. But you feel his gaze on you as the light changes and you both make your way across the street, so you don’t, trying to remember his question. 

“I don’t feel like you could fit a suit in that one bag of yours.”

“You really are fixated on me in a suit.”

“You put that image in my head,” you reply, enjoying his grin. “It’s really your fault.”

“Sure it is. I do not have a suit, though I could probably do a bit better than this, if you wanted to?” He looked down at himself before switching the bag of books to his other hand and taking yours. He does it so easily without a concern or second-guessing. You wish you could have his confidence.

“I didn’t pack my ball gown.” 

“Pity.”

“I’m okay with wherever, really. We’ve already established neither of us can do spicy, so I trust whatever you decide on.” You laugh. “I think I just like not having to make a decision.”

“You can make the decisions later,” he says so casually as he leads you to a bar, more tavern, but a bar. You almost stumble at his words, the implications of later sending a wave of heat through you. It reminds you of the decision he’d coaxed out of you an hour or more ago. 

You’re so flushed, it’s like you already had spicy food. 

He squeezes your hand and pulls you into a stool at the long curved wooden bar. The bartender hands you both a menu which includes food, but you flip to the cocktails while Chris looks at the ‘zero-proof’ section. You smile over the top of the menu at him.

“What are you smiling for?” he asks, not even looking up. His observational skills are off the charts. 

“No reason.” How can you tell him that every detail about him makes you smile? You wouldn’t have minded if he did drink, but the fact he chooses not to strikes you as admirable, and cute. 

You are so far gone on him, it’s concerning. 

The bartender comes back to take your order: for you a rosemary gin fizz and for Chris, something with papaya. 

“Thank you for the book, again.”

“I hope you like it.”

Can you ask for some sort of contact from him? So you can tell him what you think once you finish it? Can you ask for a phone number so you can hear what he thinks of his books?

But you signed a contract about confidentiality. You could request him again if you wanted to have another weekend, night, hour, but this truly had been a venture and dent in your financial security.

You’d be so tempted to use every cent to see him as much as you could.

“I’m sure I will.” You can’t look away from him, happy to soak in the brightness that he radiates. 

“Stop.” He laughs at you.

“You’re handsome, Chris. I can’t help it.” It’s nice to be on this end of the teasing, to see the red in his skin, the duck of his head and glancing away of his eyes. 

“Please stop.”

“Fine,” you sigh in mock-exasperation.

He looks back and grins before resting his hand on your thigh. Your drinks are delivered and there’s a swapping to try the other before settling and discussing favorite books read in school. During the entire conversation, he doesn’t stop touching you in some form. None of it is inappropriate (you almost wish it was, a little), staying in the realm of casual and affectionate. 

But you are so stirred by it. You’ve spent years seeing how your friends and their partners interact in public, and casual touch is a thing you envy so much. The reassurance of someone’s presence by you, always. 

Chris is saying something about Fahrenheit 451, and your eyes are welling up with your everlong internal monologue. 

He says your name, interrupting himself. 

You shake your head. “Sorry. Thoughts.”

“Gonna share them?” 

You sort of want to. Because nothing you’ve revealed to him has backfired; he has not shamed or chastised you for being open and vulnerable. 

But these thoughts put a burden on him, a possibly very unwanted burden. They shove your feelings and wants and needs on a man who is only next to you to fulfill a contract. There is no longevity in this transaction. 

You’re lucky he turned out to be as wonderful as he is.

You shake your head again in answer to his question. “Not this time.” 

He looks skeptical, but lets it pass, before asking if you want another cocktail. It was exceptionally good, but you don’t want a buzz from any substance. He’s enough. You’re also a lightweight with spirits and you don’t want to hinder any part of tonight. 

He nods and asks for the check. You protest again, and he smiles winsomely as he hands the bartender his credit card.

“Can I buy dinner then?”

He sighs dramatically. “You make it very hard to properly court you.”

You laugh at the old-fashioned word. “Is that what you’re doing? I feel like I’m already very wooed.”

He shrugs, signing the receipt before standing up, hand out to you even though sliding off a barstool does not require assistance. 

Like you’d deny yourself the chance to hold his hand. 

“So,” you begin, curling an arm around his as you move into the nearly-gone sunshine outside. “What’s for dinner, since we’ve dispensed with the fancy?”

He leads you across the street, his other hand resting on your arm that’s tucked into his. Perhaps ‘courting’ is the correct word. 

You wish it was an autumnal day, with chilling wind so you could have an excuse to burrow into his warmth even more. 

“Hotpot?” he says, stopping in front of a restaurant with that in its title. “I never go to these with friends because they get it so spicy, but I figure, you and me…”

“The non-spicy ones.”

He laughs and opens the door for you. “I like that. The non-spicy ones.” 

You’re directed to a table, and you’re chuckling as Chris explains to your server that, basically, you want the blandest option they have. He, your server, looks unimpressed by the both of you. But the food is delightful, and filling, and not too spicy, though it does come very close to your threshold of tolerance. 

You both drink a lot of water. 

Dessert is bingsu three doors down from the hotpot restaurant, with strawberry and chocolate. He playfully smears some chocolate sauce on your lips, giving you no time to lick it off before doing so himself as though he’s reminding you how easily he can turn you on.You don’t need reminders, but you enjoy them. 

Which leads you back to the hotel, and your room, and the bed. 

He sits on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands with a glint in his eyes. “So…you said something about lingerie last night.”

“After that dinner?”

He smirks. “You think that’s gonna matter?”

“Of course I think that’s gonna matter,” you argue, hands immediately going for your stomach which is…quite full. 

He rolls his eyes and gets up, helping himself to your suitcase. 

“Chris!”

“You can’t tell me you have lingerie and not let me see you in it. You aren’t that cruel.”

You had felt very optimistic when you’d bought it, but that positivity is fleeting and currently absent. 

He pulls it out, finger-hooked in one of the shoulder straps. “Wow.” He looks at you. “Please?”

You try to argue again, but it’s hard to deny him anything, not with heat in his eyes, and a pout on his lips. 

Taking the garment from him, you squat down to grab the second piece, the bottoms, and he doesn’t move away. 

“You don’t have to put those on.”

Bashfully, you look up at him. “No?”

He shrugs. “Just saying.” He winks and walks over to the window to look out. “Up to you.”

“He says after begging for me to put it on.”

“Begging?” He turns to see you heading to the bathroom to change, but you waver at his tone. “You haven’t seen me beg…do you want to?”

“I…” You’re completely at a loss. “Do I?”

His smile verges on the arrogance of a smirk. “Maybe.”

You hurry into the bathroom and assess yourself as well as the lingerie. It’s difficult to see yourself as attractive to someone you find attractive, but surely with the evidence of the past day, you can accept that Chris does, on some level. And all things that are attractive can be enhanced with something pretty: makeup, a perfectly wrapped present, a book with sprayed edges. 

You repeat these mantras in your head as you undress and pull on the lace and satin. It’s a fairly simple piece, not in the realm of scandalous according to your friends who helped you pick it out. But as you remind them, and yourself, your deep end is not others’ deep end. You adjust the top, so it fits and holds in what it needs to hold in. 

You assess again, full view in the mirror. You tidy up your leftover makeup, and accept your hair (you can’t work miracles) as is. 

Deep breath. You look fine.

You open the door, and peek out. He’s still by the window, the city lit up below him. He makes such a lovely silhouette that you forget what you’re supposed to be doing (what are you supposed to be doing? A grand reveal? Should you say ‘tada’?) and walk out fully into the room. 

He turns.

“So…yeah.” Not much better than ‘tada’. 

He doesn’t say anything, but comes over. The silence of the hotel room is deafening. You fidget because he doesn’t move quickly at all. You also look everywhere but at him. So when his hands take yours (and cease your fidgeting), you’re staring at his socked feet before allowing yourself to look up. 

You regret taking no photos of him because his face is art. 

“It’s okay?” you ask as he still hasn’t spoken. His eyes travel, feet to the top of your head, down each arm to your fingertips and back up to your neck, then face. 

“‘Okay’ is not the word I’d use,” he says, voice in that lower octave that makes you shiver. 

“Above average?”

The corner of his lips lift in amusement. “A bit more than that.” He takes a step closer, his hands releasing yours and settling at your waist instead. He leans in, mouth at your ear. “You look extraordinary.” 

You blink at him as he draws back, the word reverberating in your mind. You choose to believe him, actor or not. You choose to accept his admiration and desire. 

And enjoy it. 

“Thank you,” you reply. His answering smile is proud (of you, you think, for not dismissing the compliment) before he kisses you, his fingers tightening against the satin. You lean into him, convinced that kissing him for decades wouldn’t be any sort of difficulty, would never get old even as you and he got old.

Oh. That thought does not need to be chased. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, mouth parted from yours. “Did you want to try anything new tonight?”

Do you? You’ve liked everything, and you know there’s a whole gamut of positions to be explored. Probably most beyond your imagination. 

But.

“I want–” You swallow as your throat is a bit dry. 

“Tell me.”

“I want everything we’ve done. Again.”

He half-laughs. “All of it?”

“Yes, please.”

He’s kissing you, laughing against your lips as he maneuvers you to the bed. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands sliding underneath the hem of your top, finding your skin. There’s a slight roughness to his fingers, grazing that makes you quiver. With hands in his hair, you kiss him as deeply as you can, tasting, tongues playing. He groans when you roll your hips, subconscious as your body works to quiet your mind. You do it again, feeling how hard he’s become in minutes, the friction almost too harsh for the thin and delicate fabric you wear. 

You want and crave, and break away to start on the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Baby,” he whispers, lips pressed to your shoulder and collarbone. “You first…”

“Can I…? Can you show me how to…suck you off?”

It’s his turn to blink, to take a moment to comprehend your question. “You wanna…fuck, yeah, of course. But in a minute, okay? I need to taste you first.” With hands spread on your back, he moves so you're lying down beneath him. His hands slip to your underwear like he’s going to take them off, but he pauses.

“What is it?”

He’s staring at you, specifically that underwear. “I’m always so grateful for lingerie. It’s the best thing.”

You try to hit his arm as he starts to giggle. He dodges you and drops down to press an open mouth kiss right to your clothed core. Your hips buck and he pushes them down. 

“You know I’m gonna drag this out, yeonin.”

It’s such a tease, to get his mouth, but have something in the way. To feel the heat and the wet, but not fully. 

“Christopher…” There’s nothing but whine and need in your voice. 

He hums, sending pleasant vibrations against your sensitive skin. 

“Please…take it off.” He may still be holding you down with his hand on your hip, but you can squirm, desperate to be closer, to have more. 

“I thought you wanted me to beg.”

“Chris…” It’s plaintive and without shame. 

He acquiesces and the sodden underwear is removed. But there’s not an immediate return.

“Fuck, you really are dragging it out.” You lift your head to see him watching you with all the arrogance someone as gifted with his mouth could be. 

“Maybe I like hearing you curse.” He leans back down, but kisses right below your navel, one hand finding purchase on your thigh. “Maybe we need a lesson in delayed gratification.”

You cover your face with your hand. “You seemed so nice till now. What if I write a complaint letter to the company?”

He moves up so he’s face to face with you, his expression stern. “That a threat?”

“Maybe.”

He drops his head to kiss under your jaw, near your ear. He bides his time, sucking the skin in just the right spot. You moan wantonly, unable to keep your hands twisted in the sheets, seeking his shoulders and arms to cling to. 

He’s still dressed.

You pull at his shirt when he finally withdraws from your jaw, undoubtedly leaving a mark (you know you’ll look at it in the coming days, remembering). He indulges you, removing his t-shirt so your greedy hands can caress the bared skin. But he doesn’t stay put, returning to where he’s left you so wanting.

You feel his breath at your entrance.

Your next ‘please’ is broken and without sound. 

When you feel his tongue glide up to your clit, you are gasping nonsense into the quiet of the room. He sucks and licks lazily, taking breaks whenever you feel the imminent high. You curse several more times, words catching when he adds his fingers to coax the build even more, curling inside you as his mouth reengages. 

And finally, finally, you break, pleasure throbbing and pulsating. 

He doesn’t stop when you come down from it.

“What–what are you–”

“You can give me another.”

And you can, to your surprise. It’s almost like an aftershock of the first one, remnants of bliss sweeping through. 

Only then does he lie next to you, wiping your essence from his mouth. Minutes go by as you come down. 

“So, do you still want to–” He doesn’t finish his question because you’ve rolled over, one leg over his hips so you’re straddling him. You go back to that button and zipper of his jeans, ignoring his hands trying to do it himself. You tug down his jeans, pulling them off before climbing back on top of him, palming his cock.

“Fuck..wow, okay.” He props himself onto his elbows as you discard his boxer-briefs as well. You wrap your hand around him, thumb at his tip, a little shaky. “You can use–” You cut him off again, this time when you bend down to lick. “Holy..fuck…yeah.” You look up at him, sucking the head before sliding down to take in more of him. You think what he says next is another curse, but you don’t recognize it. “You said to teach you…”

You slide off. “Wait, it’s good? It’s…well, it’s not much different than having a popsicle.”

He falls back, laughing bewilderedly. “I guess that’s not wrong…but–” 

It’s really quite fun to stop him talking with your mouth. 

He gives you sparse instructions (‘hands where your mouth can’t reach’, ‘suck harder’), but when his dick hits the back of your throat, he pulls you off.

“But…”

“No,” he states, reaching for a condom. “I won’t last much longer if you keep that up. Damn, you were good.” He slides the condom on in record time, then places a pillow under your lower back. He pauses when you cup his face in your hands, needing his mouth. He sighs at your kiss, his tongue entwining with yours, his hands gripping your thighs, moving them so they’re wrapped around his hips. Still kissing, he pushes in; it’s still a stretch, but it doesn’t jolt you. It feels:

“Decadent.” 

He retreats slightly. “What?”

“You feel decadent,” you say, uncaring that you’re breathy and needy. You trace along his shoulders and chest. “Hedonistic.”

He doesn't say anything, sheathed entirely in you, letting your body adjust to him. You’re smiling, eyes half-open; your ability to filter eradicated. 

“I always think of decadent…for like, sweets.”

You rub noses with him, delighted. “A very very excellent dessert, Christopher. Can’t stop from having another bite.” You punctuate this with a nip on his neck, causing him to shudder. He pulls out of you to thrust back in. You’re wrapped around him, hooking your ankles together at the small of his back. “So. Fucking. Good.” Staccato, nearly in time with his thrusts. You clench when he lifts your leg to his shoulder, the angle changing. “Oh god.”

“Almost there, baby?” he pants out, the drag of his cock along your walls making you to tense even more.

You nod frantically, seeking any skin to kiss, bite, taste, your hands scrambling for purchase on his back, nails digging. His works your clit, fingers practiced and you feel the drop in your stomach chased by the spread of elation through your limbs; you feel drunk and you force your eyes to stay open, watching as he thrusts faster. You smooth his hair as he stutters, spilling into the condom; his weight heavy on top of you. 

You draw your index finger up and down the middle of his back, relaxed and sated. 

Eventually, he lifts his head, setting his chin on his hands that rest above your breasts. You wonder if you both wear identical sleepy smiles and tired eyes. 

“Hi,” you whisper into the quiet of the evening. 

“Hi yourself.” He raises his head just enough to meet your lips before returning. “Am I too heavy?”

“No. Feels good.” You let your other hand drift down to the curve of his ass. He jumps at your grip. “Very good.”

He chuckles. “Not so timid now. Confident woman.” He takes a deep breath, words a little slower. “Wanna shower with me?”

You’re hesitant, but the looming deadline of this escapade is making you bolder, so you say yes. To have Chris wash your hair, his big hands massaging your scalp…shoulders and back with a loofah…

Still decadent. 

“So…since you seem like the expert.” You soap up his hair, returning the massage. He rests against you, his back to your front and you use the shower wall to hold you both up. 

“Hmm?”

“Shower sex? As sexy as it sounds in books or is it an accident waiting to happen?”

You wish you could record his gleeful laughter, uninhibited. 

“Um. You have to be really careful. Would recommend bathtub mats.” He turns to you, your hands still in his hair. “Is that a suggestion?”

You can’t help it, you glance down to see he’s already half-hard.

“Wow. You were half-asleep ten minutes ago.”

He leans close to you, kissing you softly. “You can’t beat the clean up when you fuck in a shower though.”

Now you’re laughing, then gasping because he’s slipped his fingers into you, mouth on yours. You don’t protest, you just hold onto his shoulders as your muscles tighten and tighten–

He swallows your moan, holding you up as you tremble. When you can stand on your own, he moves you both under the spray of water. He tilts his head to you, rinsing it, and you shakily run your hands through his hair to rid it of the shampoo. He flips it out of his eyes before reaching to turn off the water, but he freezes when you encircle his dick with your fingers.

“You don’t have to–”

“Easy clean up, right?” It’s empowering to feel how he stiffens at your touch, how stroking, gently squeezing works him into short breaths and his head thrown back. You keep playing with him as you eliminate the distance between you, mouth to his neck, sucking and licking.

“Fuck…I’m…”

It’s messy, but the shower washes it away. He slumps against the wall, energy depleted. He opens one eye to look at you. 

“Very confident.” 

The shower is turned off, and you both wrap up in towels. You rub his hair dry, smiling at its wildness. He tugs your towel off in retaliation, and makes a plea for you to sleep naked with him. 

“Or the lingerie?”

“I can’t imagine that’s comfortable to sleep in,” you retort, still naked, but pulling on your pajamas quickly. He’s pouting on the bed, your towel in his hand. You plop next to him, toying with his towel, wrapped around his waist. “But feel free to sleep naked.”

He makes a not-really-chagrined face at you before finding his own pajamas. Teeth are brushed, your hair is somewhat dried, and you both are in bed with the lights off. The dark and quiet take over. You look at the clock on the nightstand, time continuing to move toward his departure. It hits you again, in this moment, how much you like this man.

Chris drapes his arm over your middle, curling closer. “Good?”

“Yes, good…good night, then.” You work hard to not let any tell-tale emotion into your voice, and though you have been more open with him in these two days than anyone outside of your closest friends, you are adept at hiding how you feel. It’s a way of surviving and that’s what you need right now.

He nuzzles you. “No kiss?” The playful teasing lilt to his voice has you hesitating, but you turn your head and kiss him, languid. “You’re really good at that.”

“Kissing?”

“Mmmm,” he affirms. “I like kissing you.”

You swallow, shoving down the incessant ache of feelings. “I like kissing you too.” You can barely see in the lack of light, but you know he smiles at you. You can sense it, attuned to him. 

When his breathing seems to slow, you turn away carefully. You don’t move his arm from your stomach, but you don’t cover it either, lace your fingers with his. Half your brain is saying, ‘do it! Take this moment, this affection and enjoy it. You’ll never have it again!’. The other half, the stronger half that is built from the past, experiences and disappointments, doesn’t yell. Doesn’t need to. The voice is unrelenting and mocking; ‘don’t enjoy too much, because when he leaves tomorrow, you’re gonna hurt. You absolute idiot, you’ve gone and fallen for him. Keep as much distance as you can, because maybe then you won’t be devastated tomorrow in an empty hotel room, in your empty home.’

You hate that voice, the one that tells you the truth. You didn’t think there was danger of actually becoming attached to a man you hired for sex. Yes, sex produced oxytocin which gave anyone cuddly feelings, but this is no longer about the sex. You’re more devastated by the warm smile that wasn’t trying to seduce, the laugh, the hand-holding while walking in the park, the furrowed brow when you talked about books he hadn’t read. The compliments that had nothing to do with your looks, the compliments that did. 

You feel your eyes burn with impending tears, but you force them back and down. There will be time for that tomorrow. When you’re back home, in reality. 

–

It’s hazy, the sounds you hear. Rustling, movement. Something being zipped opened or closed. Then there’s a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m gonna go grab some coffee, okay?” whispers, soft and low. You mumble something before hearing the door. You blink open your eyes to see that it's very early, before seven.

Seven.

When he arrived.

You bolt up in bed (it’s not quite that as you’re still seventy-five percent asleep), nearly falling as you scramble to the bathroom. He isn’t exactly paid by the hour, but you bought two days, forty-eight hours.

That forty-eight is over in fifteen minutes. 

You wash your face, brush your teeth as quickly as you can, then stumble back out into the bedroom, wondering about changing. Do you want Chris to see you in just your pjs as his last image of you? You are really overthinking this. It’s not cold, but you slip on a soft sweatshirt for coziness. You open up your purse for chapstick, a regular morning routine, and as you do you see the small stack of business cards. Your business cards. 

You rarely use them. You aren’t much good at promoting yourself and your skills, even worse your workplace. But the employee handbook insists on having them, so there they are in your purse, metaphorically collecting dust.

You look at Chris’ bag, unzipped, open. 

Surnames are not shared from the company, for confidentiality purposes obviously. You do not know his. He does not know yours. You imagine that during an engagement, assignation, whatever one calls this, the escort or the client could share their last name, their actual place of work, their town or city, anything that grounded them in actual reality. 

But Chris never offered his. You aren’t about to cross that line and ask. 

He might not want to know. He might not feel anything close to what you’re feeling. It’s his job. He might be incredibly good at connecting with his client every time, and you’re only another client. 

But you’re bad at letting go. 

So you drop one business card into the open bag. It could never be found, crumpled after several re-packings for his many trips…his many jobs. 

But you’re no good at letting go.

You hear the sound of the key card scanning and the door opens with Chris, dressed in a black henley and dark jeans, his hair as fluffy as air-drying makes it. He smiles to find you sitting on the bed, hands clasped in your lap. He offers you one of the two to-go cups.

“Morning,” he says as you take it, dropping his head to kiss you softly. 

“Good morning.”

He tilts his head toward the large window and seating area. “Come.” Your hand finds his as you walk over to sit on the couch, looking out at the waking city. 

“What did you get?” you ask, gesturing to his cup. “Since you don’t like coffee.”

“Tea…I need something this morning,” he replies, shooting you a wink. The reference to last night’s activities and their endurance normally would embarrass you, heat your skin and cause you to drop your gaze from him, but you stare at his profile as he looks out the window, your mind full of saying goodbye. He takes the lid off his cup and blows on it. He glances at his watch. 

You wonder if he’s as hyper-aware of the dwindling minutes as you are. 

“Do you have a break before your next job? Or is it all work, no play?”

He half-grins, looking over at you. “Do you really want to know?”

He’s got you there. 

“Do you get enough time off?”

“I do. If I don’t, my friends make sure I do.”

“They sound lovely.”

“They can be.” He sets down his tea, leans toward you. “You good this morning?”

“Of course.” 

“I thought of waking you when I woke up, but I figured you needed your sleep?” He rests his hand on your knee, much like the first night, but so different from the first night. “I’m sorry we can’t–” He tilts his head to the side in apology, his silence filling in the rest of the sentence. 

“Having coffee…or tea with you in the morning for a few minutes is really nice.” You don’t know if you can explain to him how much of the non-sex parts of this weekend were as meaningful and special as the rest. Is that appropriate when so much of his job is sex?

His hand molds to your knee. “Yeah, it is.” You can feel his gaze as you sip your coffee, doctored like you like, which means he paid attention yesterday at the diner. 

Of course he did.

“Chris…” you begin, unsure of what to say. “Thank you.”

He waits until you meet his eyes before nodding. “You’re welcome.” He takes your cup from you, setting it on the table and cups your cheek in his hand. “You’re very welcome.” 

You try not to lean into his kiss too much. You try to memorize how he feels, tastes, smells; to tuck it away in your memory bank like an old photo album that you can look through from time to time. You savor for as long as it lasts. 

“So…is there a place that I go to, like Yelp, and leave a good review?” you murmur when he draws back.

You get his laughter, the bright sound of it, the image of shaking shoulders and eye-crinkles. Something else to add to that album.  

“I think the company does contact you with a survey.” His eyes sparkle when he looks at you, before he reaches for his tea. 

“It’ll be glowing.”

He shakes his head, amused and maybe a little embarrassed. That rosy hue highlights his cheeks and twists your heart in ways you don’t want to think about. He is the most devastating man. 

It’s quiet for a few, you sipping your coffee, him his tea. Then you hear him check his watch when something beeps. 

Seven am.

“You have to go,” you say before he can. He glances up from his watch, looking at you. You smile, probably tinged with sadness, but it’s a real smile at least. “Be safe.”

He doesn’t move as you do, to stand up. To walk him to the door and bid him goodbye. You walk to the bed, unmade and haphazard. You zip up his bag as you hear his footsteps follow. He’s very close when you hold out his bag. 

He takes it, but lets it drop to the floor before pulling you into his arms. He’d be a good hugger too, of course. You hug back, hands splayed against the breadth of his back, the ribbed henley scratching your fingers lightly. 

“You be good to yourself, okay?” he whispers in your ear. He draws back only a little. “Say a nice thing about yourself every once and awhile.”

You look up at him as he traces his finger along your eyebrows and nose, seeming to take you in. 

“You too.” 

He smiles at you, kissing your nose then your lips. You let go and he grabs his bag. He pauses at the door, looking back at you, then nods before opening the door and disappearing through it. 

You let yourself fall back on the bed the moment the door shuts. You don’t think you’ll be able to move for a while.

--

© yoongihan 2025. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans. 

[shoutsofmybones]

Do you have any recommendations on how to proceed or start to make a psychosis plan? Maybe especially for religious people?

I do! This post will be lengthy, but if you want to be prepared for the real possibility of psychosis, I think it's all important.

First of all, something that I believe ALL people should have, regardless of their risk factors, is a psychiatric advance directive (PAD). Think of it as a living will, but specifically for mental health treatment. In the USA, in many places it is legally binding, and protects you from coercive or forceful psychiatric treatment, particularly treatments that you might be pressured to consent to while you're vulnerable.

Second, talk to someone you trust (a family member, close friend, or life partner) about how you would like them to respond in the case of a psychiatric emergency. Designate at least one person to take point on helping you receive treatment in a psychiatric emergency. Psychosis not only makes it difficult to make decisions for yourself, but it also makes other people (including mental healthcare professionals) not trust or respect the decisions you do make. Find someone who you trust to treat you with respect.

Third, do research ahead of time about the psychosis programs in your area! If there's a First Episode program nearby, then make sure you know how to get in touch with them. These programs can really make a difference, and in about a third of cases they're able to help patients never have a psychotic episode again. However, a lot of primary care doctors and even therapists don't know about them, or don't think to refer you to them. If you have designated someone to help you in case of psychosis, ask them to fight like hell for you to get into the First Episode program. It's life changing.

For a religious person, I really recommend making a personal creed or list of beliefs you hold, and keeping it close and accessible. I have one on my phone. It helps to know what you believe, because psychosis, particularly religious psychosis, can really get that mixed up. An extremely common symptom of psychosis is confusion, and in religious psychosis that can make your religious beliefs get confused as well, and that can be really difficult. Also, it's just fun and comforting to have a creed, I actually just recommend that whether or not you're making a psychosis plan.

Another rec for religious people: identify prayers you find calming and comforting and write them down. I like finding prayers from the saints. Specifically avoid anything that invites mysticism. I know there are a lot of mystics on this site but I'm actually very serious, mysticism is very close to psychosis in the brain and it can be a trigger for increased symptoms. This definitely includes the Jesus prayer.

Above all, I think the best preparation for psychosis is working on the stigma you probably have absorbed regarding psychosis and its effects. Even in neurodiversity affirming spaces, there can be a lot of stigmatizing language used about people with psychosis! You should read personal accounts of psychosis and recovery. Talk to people who are in psychosis, or have been in psychosis, about their lives and experiences. In my country, there is currently a rise in psychotic episodes and conditions due to use of certain substances, and yet there remains a huge stigma against talking about it. Make sure you learn and internalize that psychosis is not life-ruining, it does not define a person, and it doesn't make someone "one of the bad ones." Psychosis is just another facet of the human condition, and it's not by definition the worst case scenario. If you do end up experience psychosis, you are still valuable, still worthy, and still loved! Always keep that in mind.

This post is kind of long, but I hope it's helpful. I feel very passionately about this topic because I have been in a treatment program for psychosis for several years, and through that I have met a lot of people who wish they had made a plan ahead of time. Best of luck to you!

[odoraful]

𝑰𝑰: 𝑳-𝑶-𝑽-𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑵𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀

xiao follows through with baizhu's advice and realises a lot more about his own feelings for you

⟡ part I: doctor, doctor!

⟡ content — xiao x gn!reader ; first love/confession ; perhaps a tad bit sad at the start but it gets better i swear!! ; zhongli and hu tao appearance ; xiao was oblivious in the first part, but he definitely isn't in this one hehe ; both of you are yearners for each other ; 4.3k words

⟡ a/n — finally finished!! i posted doctor, doctor in february and it's now may... omg i'm so sorry my lovelies for the wait 💔 i was a little sleepy when editing but anyway i really hope it's a good continuation :')

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In the past, Xiao would have never thought being bad at talking to be a disadvantage. He was once taught that it was a slower way of resolving things compared to the pointy end of his spear. Now, he silently wished he could speak with ease. Like the honeyed tales Zhongli could weave, or the precise lectures of Cloud Retainer. Xiao’s words were always blunt and rather clunky. And it didn’t help his speech if you were in his presence too.

Speak to Y/N about how they’ve been feeling, Baizhu had recommended. He had agreed so quickly in the moment because it sounded easy. Of course he could ask you, he had spoken to you dozens of times before. This time was no different, in fact, this was right in his repertoire: making sure you were in good health. Yet, with you standing beside him by the balcony at Wangshu Inn, his tongue became all tied up. Maybe it was the way the breeze toyed with your hair, your eyes glittered, or skin glowed in the morning light. The sight of you made all his words fizzle out.  

Archons, what has come over me? he wondered.

You turned to face him. He quickly tore his gaze away.

“What did you want to talk about, Xiao?”

Your question was to be expected. He was the one who had mentioned he needed to speak to you about something (which was the exact reason the two of you were standing out here). Yet, it still left him somewhat flustered.  

He kept his gaze on the vast landscape of Liyue—a brilliant canvas of yellows and greens.  “I wanted to tell you that you needn’t hide secrets from me,” he said.

You cocked your head to the side. “Secrets?” he was met with the sound of your light chuckle. “Do you think I’m living a double life or something?”

Xiao glanced to his side at you. It was enough to see you wiggling your fingers at him as you continued to tease, “Maybe I’ve secretly been a Fatui agent this whole time.”

He shook his head. “What I mean to say is… you can speak to me about anything. I know well that emotions can be confusing, but I will always try to understand them.”

Though Xiao seldom followed along with your joking remarks, he always replied to them in his own dry manner that you enjoyed. However, this time there was a seriousness to his words that caught your attention. Emotions? Confusing? Your chest grew tight as you straightened your back.

“Xiao, I wouldn’t hide anything from you,” you answered, genuinely.

Sensing your own concern, he faced you fully. “I know, but something has been different recently.”

Shouldn’t such trust and closeness between people mean being able to talk to them about anything? Both the good and the bad? Xiao was prepared to shoulder any of that weight for you. He reached for your hand that wrapped the railing of the balcony, encasing your fingers beneath his.

“Tell me what has been troubling you, please.”

It came out as a plea. Small and anguished. You had never heard Xiao sound like this before. And it was because of you.

There was only one thing you had been keeping from him. Something (or someone) that had been on your mind for a longer time that you cared to admit.

“Nothing’s been wrong,” you still denied, ignoring the open warmth that radiated from his hand into yours. A silent invitation from him to you. 

“I won’t accept that,” he responded gruffly. “It is bad to keep your emotions… bottled up.”

Xiao echoed the metaphor Baizhu used when they met. The mortal expression had sounded unusual when he first heard it, but now he understood—corking up emotions for too long can lead to spoiling.

“When you’re with me, you appear tense. If I am the one causing your trouble—”

“No!” you exclaimed, leaning in towards him. “W-well, yes, maybe. I-it’s complicated.”

What am I doing!? you thought. His touch was too hot. You pulled your hand back, fidgeting with your fingers, not knowing what else to do in your embarrassment. If Xiao had been offended, there was no hint of it on his face, only worry as he let his empty hand fall to his side.  

“Complicated? If there is a reason why, I will listen.”

You tilted your head upwards, staring off into the endless blue above, as if calling upon the Heavenly Principles themselves to give you strength and confidence.

You exhaled a breath.

This was it. The time to confess and be done with it.

“Xiao, I like you.”

The words you spoke felt foreign on your tongue. To be fair, you never thought they would ever come to light.

Every miniscule sound became too loud in the silence between you two. Your thrumming heart in your ears. The chatter of people echoing from below. The wind rustling through the golden leaves above.

Anticipating a greater reaction, you were surprised to see Xiao’s face remained neutral. Only a slight frow in his brows.

“I like you as well...” he said, carefully though obviously confused.

“No, no,” you shook your head, sighing deeply, “for me, it’s in a different way. I like you as more than just friends.”  

At your clarification of the distinction, Xiao’s eyes widened.

He had spent enough time observing people to know of romantic affiliations. Though, he never realised it could be directed at himself. Strangely, something within him stirred hearing you. A tether. A want. However, it seemed locked away in an unfamiliar space of his heart, collecting dust. Whether he intentionally cast such desires aside himself long ago, he could not say. Reciprocate, whatever inside him seemed to call out. But his old habits stifled such new feelings, knowing the hardship of entwining yourself too closely with others. His own karmic debt tainting all those who came near.

You saw the change in his reaction—knowing that he understood what you meant now—and hurried before he could say anything else.

“I can’t pinpoint when it started, but I know I’ve liked you for a long time, and that’s the reason I’ve been so jittery lately.”

You recalled his strong grip when he caught you from falling and his words of concern in your home accompanied by his gentle touch. You decided not to divulge too much of the private thoughts you had in those moments.

For all your previous hesitations, the words now seemed to uncork and flow freely out of you. “And I know people may see you as abrasive or unfriendly, but you have shown me just how caring you are so, so many times and every time I can’t help but like you more and more.”

Xiao remained motionless, processing everything. He was locked with parted lips and wide eyes staring into your avoidant gaze. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to reply to you. He just didn’t know how. The tether in his heart begged him to speak, but his lips might as well have been glued together.

“Please don’t answer me yet,” you spluttered. “I know what you’re going to respond with…”

There was a sad finality in your tone that struck him. You knew Xiao did not like you in the same way. He had expressed before his affections towards you as only friends. All the little gestures he did, no matter how fluttering, could not be interpreted as anything else, you believed.

You looked at him properly for the first time since your confession. “I want some time to prepare myself before I hear from you. Is that okay?”

Xiao nodded, finding the strength to move his body when his mouth failed him. “I-I would like some time to think, as well,” was all he could reply, his voice ragged.

He also needed to sort through his own tangled mess of thoughts. Figure out whatever in Celestia he was feeling inside. Emotions truly were confusing.

You gave a small smile. Meant to be a sign of reassurance for him that you were not so troubled anymore, but the wobbled corners of your lips perhaps betrayed that. “Alright, we’ll speak soon.”

You turned away from the balcony’s edge. Xiao watched as your figure disappeared down the steps and out of his sight.

One question had been answered, but it had left many, many more for him to understand.

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The consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour had experienced much of life (and had an eclectic set of memories to show for it). He did not shy away from unknowns as they would eventually become facts to him through reading a scroll passed down through a family’s generations, listening to the slightly drunken tales of a wizened sailor, or any other method of storytelling that he had the honour of encountering. And because of his wealth of knowledge, Xiao decided to meet with him.

Zhongli was inside Funeral Parlour. Not at the front desk, which the Ferrylady was currently standing behind, sorting through a ledger, but to the side in a waiting area. There were shelves filled with all manner of books and oddities, and comfortable seats for clients who generally needed to seek relief. Zhongli was drawing a finger against the spines of each book, wondering whether the collection needed updating, when the door to the Parlour creaked opened.

“Xiao! It’s lovely to see you,” Zhongli welcomed, surprise filling his face.

Xiao closed the door behind him gently, his eyes landing on Zhongli by the shelves. Recognising who the adeptus was, the Ferrylady simply nodded in acknowledgement, leaving the pair to catch up.

“Had I expected you, I would have provided more fitting refreshments,” Zhongli commented. “Here. Have some tea, if you wish.”

Xiao nodded in thanks as he was poured a cup of jasmine tea. He waited for Zhongli to be seated down first before he followed.

It had never been difficult for Zhongli to read Xiao. The distracted gaze, shoulders somewhat bowed, hands clasped in his lap. It was like Xiao was just another book on the Funeral Parlour’s shelves. Zhongli raised the cup of tea to his mouth, peering at the young adeptus from the rim before taking a sip.

“You seem... troubled. Is something the matter?”

Xiao watched the steam rise lazily from his teacup. Of course, Zhongli could easily pinpoint what was happening with him. Lingering emotions from the conversation Xiao had with you three days before bubbled up. It still felt surreal to him that it all happened.

“Yes, there has been something troublesome,” he admitted. “Y/N... told me that they liked me.”

Zhongli stilled his movements. You were no stranger to him. Naturally, he knew of many residents in Liyue, and he had also assisted you with his expertise in the past for commissions with the Guild. Now, he would never go so far as to say spying, but he also wouldn’t deny that he kept a special eye on you. Your close relationship with the young adeptus was something he was pleased to see blossom. Which was why it was confusing to see Xiao so unsettled in telling him the news of your confession.

Zhongli gave a comforting smile, placing his cup back on the table. “Y/N has confessed to you? I scarcely believe that that would be troublesome, but rather exciting.”

Xiao could only give a grunt in response.

Detecting this internal conflict, Zhongli lowered his voice, “Well, how do you feel about them?”

“I-I don’t know, which is the root of my problem.” A frustrated sigh escaped the yaksha. His mind was in all manner of disarray. “How do you know if your feelings for someone are different?”

Your words echoed in his head—as more than just friends.

“By different, are you perhaps referring to love?”

Zhongli’s pointed emphasis on the final word made Xiao redden. Again, he was not unfamiliar with the idea of romance. He had seen it in the streets of Liyue Harbour, from the young, sheepish sweethearts to the old, contented couples. Xiao had believed himself unworthy of it. But now, hearing the word spoken aloud, that wanting tether within him pulled again.

At Xiao’s sudden shyness at love being brought up, Zhongli had to stifle a chuckle. Still so new to the world, he thought.

“You know I cannot speak for your feelings, Xiao, but judging from how you came to me, it does seem there is more to your affections than what you first believed,” he observed.

Xiao ruffled his hair with his gloved hand. Zhongli was right. There was something more with you. There always had been.

“At rest, I have always sensed my karmic debt,” Xiao said. “But, since meeting them, the pain has lessened. I feel peaceful.”

The endurer of eons knowing peace. It felt foolish for Xiao to say, but it was the truth. He had never known safety and warmth to be with another person until you. His past had locked away these comforts from him, but the dust collected from forgotten emotions now seemed to blow away.

“Is this truly...” the word choked up in his throat. Zhongli had said it so easily before (even with the tiniest hint of amusement), but the word had not yet found its rightful place in his vocabulary yet.

“Why must this be so difficult...” Xiao instead groaned.

Zhongli gazed fondly at the young adeptus. “It is your first time. Do not be so harsh on yourself.”

He began to muse aloud. Xiao watched on, letting the sentences Zhongli weaved take hold. “Love enters each of our lives in many ways. Someone’s presence can come swinging like a sledgehammer, unexpectedly knocking us off our feet.”

With a knowing smile, Zhongli continued, “Or... it can be more subtle, like a pebble dropped into a still pool of water, rippling the surface from the centre outward.”

Xiao looked down at his filled cup of tea. Ripples. That was exactly it. Unassuming how you entered his life, and how impactful your stay had been. Finally, he took a sip of his tea, finding it less bitter than he would usually taste.

“Thank you for your guidance, as always.”

Zhongli laughed, “You needn’t be so formal, Xiao. I’m pleased you sought me out. Though, I do hope you come visit me again with some good news.”

Xiao nodded, albeit bashfully.

The old companions continued with the conversation. Largely, Zhongli tried to get Xiao to speak more about you. He knew full well that chance to be young and hopeless in love had been robbed from Xiao for centuries. So, with each short response Xiao gave about you between stutters, the redness never leaving his face, Zhongli was left more than satisfied.

After a short while, Xiao said goodbye, going back out to fulfil his duties with a newfound lightness. As he closed the door behind him, a shrill voice exclaimed from the stairs leading to the second floor of the Funeral Parlor.

“Was that the Conqueror of Demons?!”

Hu Tao had her hands on her hips, looking expectantly at her consultant.

“It was. You’ve just missed him, unfortunately,” Zhongli replied, leaning back in his chair.

The funeral director hurried down the steps, standing directly in front of his seat. “Oh, come on, you could have totally interrupted my meeting to have me say a quick hello!”

Zhongli gave a disagreeing hum. “We both know that you don’t enjoy funeral business being interrupted.”

Hu Tao puckered her lips and blew air out, creating a trill sound. Of course, Mr Zhongli was correct in saying that, but she was just making a joke! She slipped in the chair Xiao was just in, crossing her legs.

“So, why did Xiao swing by anyway?” she then gasped, “Is there new clientele?”

Zhongli shook his head, a smile playing at his lips.

“I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you.”

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You had always left the invitation open for Xiao to visit your home if he wished for a change of scenery. Though Wangshu Inn was gorgeous (and you would do anything to wake up to a view like that every day) there was still some charm to the quaint housing on the outskirts of the Harbour that you knew he would enjoy. All you asked for is that he did not teleport directly into your house unless you were in some peril, which he would know when his named was called. For every other time, however, he would have to knock before he could come in.

There was no peril here, but you did need to see him. Desperately. It had been three days, and your insides had stopped roiling since confessing. You were only left with preparedness now at hearing his answer. No matter how hard you tried to suppress it, there was a small part of you that hoped. Hoped Xiao might have a sudden change in his affections and realise he saw you as more than his friend.

You closed your eyes and steadied yourself.

You opened your mouth, beginning to say his name—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sudden noise pulled your focus away.

You weren’t expecting anyone at this time. Perhaps it was your elderly neighbour passing over some food she made, or a salesman looking to find customers for his wares. Frowning in the direction of your front door, you walked over and opened it ajar, just enough so you could see who was standing there.

You hadn’t even said his name, yet he knew he needed to come.

Familiar dark-greenish hair framing the amber eyes of a once harsh gaze, now softened since the day he met you. His chest puffed up and down, as if he had just run from somewhere. He looked at you like your parting had been years and not just a handful of days.

Your hand slipped from the handle, letting the door swing open fully.

“Xiao?” his name fell from your lips.

This was a very rare occasion where Xiao hadn’t thought things out fully before executing a plan. All he knew was that he needed to see you as soon as his meeting with Zhongli concluded.

“Hello,” he swallowed, composing himself. “I would have come sooner, but you instructed that I do not use my powers—”

“I know, unless I’m in grave danger,” you finished. “Thank you for knocking.”  

His politeness despite everything brought a small laugh from you as you spoke. It was a moment of your liveliness that Xiao took to like a moth to a flame, fluttering with desire.

You stood aside, allowing him to enter. The last time he was here he was convinced that you were ill and, quite innocently, wanted to nurse you to good health. Now, he knew the true reason for those symptoms and had come to an understanding of his own.

His boots tapped against the wooden floorboards of your home, and he came to a stop in front of you. Neither of you wanted to sit down, too filled with mirrored jumble of anxiety and hope.

“I have my answer,” he said.

He had never known his nerves to be this weak until now. His palms were sweaty beneath the fabric of his gloves, and his breath constricted. He can’t have imagined the amount of courage it took for you to have done the same thing.  

“Alright,” you folded your arms across your chest to bury your sinking heart. Even in matters like this, Xiao still got straight to the point. “I’m ready to hear it.”

Xiao flexed his hands at his side, trying to ground himself.

Although he could never paint flowery words with his speech, there was one thing he could always rely on—his bluntness.

“I-I love you.”

...

Oh.

This certainly had to be a dream.

A dream where the man you like just said that he loves you.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice raw and gravelly.

Did he say it in a strange way? Xiao silently cursed himself looking at how motionless you were, hands falling to your side. He knew he should have practiced it aloud beforehand.

“Was that... wrong of me to say?”

Your head spun. Delirious laughter almost spilled from you.

What he had just said was the furthest from wrong. Any small hope that remained in you unfurled and bloomed brilliantly.

"This... isn’t a dream, right?” you whispered.

Xiao moved closer.

“No, it isn’t.”

This had to be real, otherwise, why did his hand feel so warm as it brushed against yours? His fingers gently took your hand. It was the only proof he could offer that this wasn’t a dream. That he was here, and his words were true.

“You love me? Really?” you had to confirm again.

“I do.” He did not waver in his answer, “I do love you. I should have realised it sooner.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The urge to cry became more tempting each time Xiao repeated that he was in love with you.

“I-I was sure you weren’t going to feel the same way,” you sniffed.

His chest seized up hearing your voice shake.

He recalled a fleeting memory. Resting beneath a shaded tree, dappled light cast across his face as conversation drifted through the air. The commotion from four others whose voices he could never forget for as long as he lived. They were speaking about falling in love once the war was over, how it would feel like when love found them. Peace in these lands must be achieved first, one had said. To which one commented what a buzzkill that was, which was followed by laughter from the others. Perhaps Xiao should have listened more closely to learn something then, rather than closing his eyes, letting the sound lull him.

“I... have little experience or knowledge of these things. These distinctions are quite new to me.” Xiao held your hand tighter. His pale cheeks dusted with pink. “Speaking with someone else helped me understand what my feelings for you meant.”

He was so close once again. Yet, you didn’t freeze up like before, afraid of revealing your hidden affections. Instead, you melted into his touch, adjusting your grip to feel more of him. There was nothing to hide between the two of you anymore.

“I’m sorry for making you uneasy for so long,” he quietly added.

“You don’t have to apologise, I’m not angry at all.”

Relief washed over him. There was even a smile on your face. Bright and warm and enveloping him like the morning sun. Playfully, you swung his arms back and forth.

“In fact, I’m really, really happy right now,” a chuckle accompanied your words.

Xiao’s lips curved into a smile too seeing you in higher spirits. “I am glad. To be honest, I feel much... lighter.”

Weightless, even. The taut desire he felt three days ago when you confessed had eased. He had gotten the courage to tug and pull on that tether until he was standing here with you in his arms.

“I think I have loved you for a long time but never believed myself to be worthy of it. You are too good natured and kind, and if something happened to you because of me,” he closed his eyes, unable to even stand the very idea, “I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

You had never once thought Xiao could hurt you. Even in the beginning when you met, though he was coarse as gravel, he always remained attentive. There was much of his past that left painful memories and only fed him sorrow and doubt. Despite it all, however, he still had a soft heart.

You reached out a hand, grazing your fingertips against his cheek.

“Xiao…”

His eyes fluttered open hearing his name being called so sweetly under your hushed breath.

“Can I hug you?” you asked. “Usually this is the part where people would hug each other.”

He nodded, burning to hold you as well. You encircled your arms around his chest, entwining your fingers behind his back. He wrapped his own hands at your waist and pulled you in, your body flush with his, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Your breath tickled Xiao’s ear as you tucked your chin by his shoulder. Both of your heartbeats drummed with ineffable tenderness. It almost dazed him how much content swelled inside. He knew now why so many couples liked to hug.

Xiao was the first to lean back to look at you again. You were struck by this intensity of his eyes, seemingly lost with desire. Before you could think of anything else, your chin was tilted upwards.

Then, his lips were on yours.

You didn’t think Xiao could surprise you twice in such a short time.

The kiss was soft, like a falling petal brushing against skin. How much time had passed? Seconds, minutes, hours? You couldn’t tell. All you could focus on was the warmth from his lips and the shiver that it caused up your spine. This time, you were the first to pull away. Your cheeks were hotter than probably any of the springs in Natlan.

“How did you—” you stuttered.

Xiao cleared his throat. The spell he was just under seeming to disappear as he blinked away from your gaze, his blush intensifying. “I’ve seen many couples in the city do it. I-It just felt right to do.”

Shyly, he added, “Was that alright?”

He had a habit of second guessing himself when it came to his affections. Luckily, you were someone who was more than happy to give reassurance.

“It was more than okay,” you beamed. “It was perfect.”

You both stayed like this a moment longer, your hands around his back and his on your waist. Xiao spoke of meeting with Baizhu and Zhongli, which displayed a commitment to you that was far too endearing for your heart to handle.

There would be good news indeed when the time came to tell your companions what happened.

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⟡ taglist (hello lovelies!! thank you again for your patience 🥹🫶 i've never tagged people before so i hope this works) — @sizzles-z-4002 @redninjakitty14rp @butterescapism @fuyustuffs @unstablemiss @evilenbypotato

[lorddeathofmurdermountain]

I feel like I'm missing something... Isn't stuff like "takes pictures of her latter" an issue for these guys predominantly because of the stereotype of what kind of person you'd have to be to take pictures of your latte? Like bear with me, as a bi person, I'd never date a dude who regularly posts about cars not because I think this is bad in and of itself but because it presents a different issue - most car dudes are gonna ask you something about car specs and have this smug look of superiority when they realize you have no damn clue about what the shit they're saying, be you a man or woman. And I don't want that. I don't wanna risk encountering that. It'd be annoying.

Like, girls with cat ear headphones? They tend to love cutesy things, in that very specific way, and IN MY EXPERIENCE (could be very wrong) tend to have an infantilizing view of their own gender ("girl math", "I'm such a stupid girl", "girls can't know [Man Thing]" etc). In America, brightly colored hair has become (probably unfairly) associated with strong activism and niche views like being an anarchist or socialist.

What I'm saying is, sure, these CAN be dumb, but that's not necessarily always the case - it COULD be about preference or some other incompatibility that's being accounted for ahead of time. And I'd assume equivalents of your "egotistical manchild" and other mentioned criteria is, you know, kind of a given? At the end of the day the simpler reasons to not date someone are always more interesting and descriptive of your preferences bc no shit you're not gonna date some woman who always demands to check your phone or some guy who can't stop bragging about his generational wealth. Those are very normal and typical boundaries and thus not really worth the effort to list seriously, so it's more efficient to immediately move onto the small stuff.

At least, that's how I've always thought of it. Idk I don't have a lot of guys I hang out with and we never talk about dating.

The longer I exist as a loudly proudly gay man the more I think that cishet men aren't actually attracted to women.

[hellspawnmotel]

haha okay okay, I'll share my thoughts (this got long whoops. lots to cover)

first of all, just to clear I'm not saying that I think toby is trying to make the fanbase assume wholesomeness in EVERY relationship he writes, or even every lesbian relationship. I don't think he did that for alphyne, I think that is just a genuinely wholesome relationship for the most part. they have some stuff to work out (mostly based around alphys' lying and insecurities) but what couple doesnt? I did theorize that toby might have kept that in mind while writing suselle specifically though, given the surface-level similarities to alphyne (which essentially just boil down to 'tough girl x shy girl'). considering that toby's been developing noelle and susie since at least 2015 I doubt that's where he started out with the two of them, but I think it's plausible it influenced how he chose to frame their scenes in the final product.

I haven't seen whatever post you're talking about discussing alphyne vs RG01/RG02, and to be frank I don't remember seeing a lot of art of the knights that was overly sexual as opposed to just cute. I do believe that there's some level of it that I just haven't encountered but I don't know if it was the best example to illustrate this point. it IS true though that when it comes to shipping, there's a trend of viewing relationships between two men as inherently more sexual than relationships between two women, because misogyny and I can't get into why that happens in more specificity without going on a massive tangent and I trust you guys already know all that.

so let's just assume that we all understand these basic societal ideals, and the fact they get subconsciously drilled into our heads whether we like it or not: the default way to be a woman is to be a domestic caretaker. gentle, kind, pure, level-headed, someone who does all she can to avoid emotional conflict. or any conflict for that matter- a well-adjusted woman hates conflict, to avoid it she'll become submissive or run away or try to mediate or just faint into the arms of a man about it. men are the ones who initiate or confront conflict, who "make things happen".

then what happens when there are no men around? if a relationship is just two women in love, and the relationship is healthy, then there must be no conflict. all you're left with is sweet and pure domestic bliss. that's when it's "wholesome". therefore, if a relationship between two women DOES involve conflict, it must be unhealthy because it means something is "wrong" with one or both of them. so to that end I think it's much easier to conclude that a ship between two women is "toxic" than a ship between two men. or a ship between a man and a woman, for that matter. picture your average romcom centered around a heterosexual relationship, and ask yourself, if everything was exactly the same but it was two women instead, would it get called "toxic yuri"?

FTR, I understand that the phrase "toxic yuri" rose in popularity and prominence as backlash against this exact kind of thinking- we want lesbian relationships that involve conflict, and calling it "toxic" affectionately is in direct response to those who argue that any relationship between two women that isnt all sunshine and daisies is unhealthy and abusive. and there are PLENTY of girl/girl pairings that I would actually describe as "toxic" in sincerity and that's the appeal and what makes them interesting. but I think the (over)use of the word has gotten to a point where you gotta look at yourself and ask if that's what your ship really is, or if you just want to use a popular phrase- and more importantly, if mislabeling these relationships as "toxic" when conflict gets involved is just looping around and perpetuating the problem in a different way.

(remembering this was supposed to be about suselle) UMM. in conclusion I think if more people start to acknowledge the conflict or potential for conflict in susie and noelle's romantic storyline then we're gonna see it called "toxic yuri" even though nothing about it has changed. and I think that on the other side of that, those who exclusively want cute and lovey-dovey suselle are prone to ignoring any conflict or even denying it's there. not all the time! but it happens.

[zenmiren]

sypnosis: when you receive no gifts during valentines day, your friends, satoru gojo, and suguru geto decide they need to cheer you up.

pairing: satosugu x gn!reader

content: fluff, no angst, but reader sulks a lot, gojo's kinda a bully... , takes place in 2006

this is really short and honestly feels kind of rushed. 💔💔

i also posted the draft by accident so i had to make it private for like 30 minutes while i finished it whooppsiieee

likes and reblogs are appreciated!!!

valentines day was a day that was heavily anticipated by loving couples all around the world, but for people who didn't have a special someone, it was a day to dread.

you were.. especially.. painfully single.

it was a known fact that your friend group was full of attractive people, you could also say that you were definitely attractive.. so you didn't understand why no one was ballsy enough to give you a gift.

shoko got around 15 chocolates from different admirers, not really a shocker, she was incredibly fine. haibara got around 3.. even NANAMI got one..

you dreaded to see how many gojo and geto had received, considering that both of them were popular with ladies, especially geto.

you, shoko, haibara, and nanami waited for the duo to show up at the usual meeting spot.

you four heard the familiar voices and turned to the direction they were coming from... gojo and geto both held WAGONS full of chocolates that they received throughout the day. it must have been heavy because they were both REALLY late to the assigned time to hang out.

"hey guys!!" gojo excitedly waved over as geto gave you a pitiful smile at seeing your empty hands.

"sorry we're late." geto apologised as gojo grins "yeah! these take waaayy too long to haul around everywhere!" gojo chimed in, talking about the mountain of gifts he received.

haibara had a bright smile on his face "woaaahh!! you guys got so much!!" haibara exclaimed as nanami sweatdropped.

"weeell.. you know, it's kinda expected, since we're so-" gojo flaunted around his chocolates before he stopped to raise a brow at you as he sees you averting your gaze to anywhere but their full wagons. "where's your chocolate, [name]?" he raised a brow, the corners of his lips rise up, curling into a nasty smirk.

geto hit him on the side of the arm and shoko shot him a warning glare. "i don't wanna talk about it." you huffed as he giggled under his breath.

"your really pouting cause you didn't get anything?"

".. 'm not pouting."

"d'awwwwhh, you're totally pouting! seriously! how'd you get fewer chocolates than NANAMI? " nanami glared at gojo's words as gojo laughed.. he was the only one laughing.

geto cleared his throat "thats enough, satoru." he spoke, his usually calm deep voice could be heard as he diffused gojo's teasing, before he smiled down at you.

𝜗𝜚

a whole day, and the only chocolates you received were ONE from a teacher, and that was just because she was handing them out to everyone during class.

you sat with both gojo and geto in the cafeteria after the school day was over. shoko, nanami, and haibara already went back to the student dorms, but you three stayed back cause you wanted to keep hanging out.

gojo and geto watched as you consistently checked your appearance with your compact mirror. gojo was amused, geto felt bad for you.

"do you think it's the way i styled my hair today..? but this is how it always is, i didn't do anything special... do people not like my hair?" you had a comical aura of dread around you as you buried your face in your arms, effectively using them as pillows.

"that might not be it.." geto placed a large hand on your shoulder. "i'm sure people are just too blind to see how pretty you are"

"unngghhh.." you groaned in frustration as gojo bust out laughing.

"seriously, why do you care so much about valentines day, it's just a stupid holiday where people give each other cheesy gifts to show their love." satoru spoke with a shit eating smirk on his face.

"no one loves me.. i'll be alone forever..."

geto sighed while gojo laughed again "c'mon [name] it's not the end of the world, stop being so melodramatic!" gojo wrapped a lanky arm around your shoulder while geto patted your other one since you sat sandwiched between them.

"that's easy for you to say.. you have like 10 million girls giving you gifts.." you mumbled as geto smiles a bit

"10 million is a bit excessive.." geto starts "if it makes you feel any better, none of those girls really gave us those gifts because they really like us. i'm not interested in any of them and neither is satoru, all those girls are shallow and only care about appearance."

gojo nods along "thats totally true, but i honestly appreciate the chocolates, i never read the letters i get." he shrugs

"atleast people think you guys are attractive..."

gojo snickers when he sees your pout and geto only sighed in response.

"c'mon" geto stands up, gojo following right after "we'll drop you off to your dorm."

𝜗𝜚

the walk back to your dorm was uneventful, it was just the two boys talking while you listened.

when you unlocked the door to your dorm, you weren't shocked to find it empty, your room mate was probably out with their partner.

you stepped in and so did gojo and geto. "geee i always love being in your dorm [name], it always smells so frickin good" gojo belly flopped on the couch, leaving his wagon in the middle of the living area while geto hummed in agreement, sitting politely down on the smaller couch.

"oh? yeah, i just use a bunch of yankee candles" you shrugged as geto perked up "i have a bunch of yankee candles" he spoke up as gojo raised a brow "yankee? weird name.."

you three hung out in the living area for a while longer before gojo and geto glanced at eachother, and geto simply nodded.

"hey, [name]." gojo stood up, rolling his wagon over to you, and geto did the same. "we have a little gift for you."

you stared up at both of them in confusion "...?" they both had to stop themselves from cooing at the cute face you made.

"you complained all day about not getting anything, so... look at aaaall these girls, giving you gifts!" satoru proudly grinned, urging to both of the wagons.

"... those are YOUR gifts." you deadpanned.

"not anymore." geto picked up one of the heart-shaped boxes and tapped at the label.

"dear geto [last name], happy valentines!"

was what it said on the label.

"wh-wha... that was there the whole time??!!" you exclaimed in shock as they both chuckled at your reaction.

"i'm surprised you didn't notice it sooner.." geto crossed his arms. "... with how intently you kept staring at our gifts, me and satoru were sure our plan would be foiled"

you urgently looked through the wagons.. all the labels, all the love letters, they had all been replaced with YOUR name! even the love letters that had specific details about gojo or geto's appearance had been changed to match your appearance instead. just.. how much effort had they put into all of this...?

"you guys.. really did all of this just for me?"

"no, we did it for mei mei. of COURSE we did it for you." gojo rolled his eyes, recieving a slap to the back of the head by his best friend.

"do you like the gift?" suguru softly smiled at you, and you nodded intently, a small smile of your own, accompanied by a light pink blush on your face

"yeah.. thanks."

gojo did a victory dance, proud of him and geto for making you happy, geto side eyed him before he chose to just ignore it and focus on you instead.

you had a long night that night.. (they slept with you sandwiched between them on your bed, and you could barely breathe... pervert.)

BONUS:

13th february, 2006

suguru sighs as his hands were stuffed in his pockets, meanwhile satoru looked proud. the two walked around campus.

"is that all the guys?" suguru mumbled and satoru nodded.

"mhm! we talked to all the people that have crushes on [name], they won't approach them tomorrow, i made sure of it."

"don't you think what were doing is a bit insane?"

"insane.. controlling.. manipulative, c'mon, it's all worth it if it's for [name].. besides your the one that agreed to this. you don't get to back out now."

"... whatever."

[ For context, they basically threatened all the people that have crushes on you so they can be sure that their valentines gift is extra romantic...]

author note: i know it's not valentines day anymore. I DONT GIVE A SHEETTT

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

How about a request for Ena? The reader is a cat-terpillar, which is to say, they're a big long fluffy entity, with a lot of limbs, essentially a caterpillar cat. They're big and soft and sweet, and very chill, meandering through life at a nice slow tempo. The personality of a nice warm mug of chamomile tea, or hot cocoa with mini marshmallows.

It would be nice to have a fic with them comforting Webseries!Ena after a rough day. Whatever format works best for you!

"Nyah...what a lovely day this is." With a small hum, you rested your chin on top of your two uppermost paws, curling up underneath the warm sun.

The weather was particularly nice today, with not a single rain rock floating in the sky, nor was there a storm cloud hanging around to dampen the atmosphere. But even if it did rain and thunder, it still wouldn't bother you in the slightest, as it's simply part of life.

Having wet fur and general feelings of discomfort weren't ideal, although you didn't worry, knowing that the sun will eventually shine down on you with its warmth once again. So what would be the use in stressing about things outside your control?

Unfortunately, the blue and yellow polygonal lady who was tracing shapes in the dirt beside you begged to differ, as she kept looking up at the clouds every now and then. It's like she was afraid it'll suddenly crack into pieces and fall onto her head.

"You think so? I disagwee." Her blue half mumbled, attracting your attention as you saw her bringing her knees to her chest. "My day's been awful from stawrt to finish..."

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that, Ena." You look down at her.

Even though you had only met her a little while ago, she's comfortable enough to stay in your presence and even keep you company, which was always nice. Being a large cat-terpillar, many people were often scared of you until they discovered your personality greatly contrasts all appearances. You're sweet, kind, and mellow towards everyone you meet.

Ena was no different despite knowing about her species and the reputation they hold. She seemed lost, and so you invited her to sit and relax with you. Just to help her calm down before she got panic-striken.

Yet despite your best efforts, she still looked deeply saddened by something else. So much so that even her cheerful yellow half was frowning as she gazed up at you. "Tell me, kind stranger..perhaps you have a remedy for this predicament I'm in?" She leaned against your body, knowing you didn't mind your personal space being invaded.

Her way of speaking was most unique. A bit complex, but you understood that what she wanted was simple. "Meow..of course. Did you wanna talk, or-?"

"I don't know what I want anymowre!!" She instantly flipped into her sadder state, putting her head in her hands. "I just....feel like disappearwing!! Don't waste your bweath on someone as worthless as me! I'm mowre useful as a scwatching post! So go ahead and tear me apawrt!! Come on!! DO IT!!!"

You didn't do anything, instead letting a few moments pass before speaking. "Maybe...you'd like a hug instead?"

"....actually...yes." She sniffled, quieting down a little. "That sounds like a better idea...."

But when she tried to fully embrace you, she hit a roadblock: she had no idea where to put her arms.

No matter how far away they moved from her body, nowhere felt quite right. And while you were able to wrap a few pairs of your own arms around her torso, she couldn't do the same and felt the crushing weight of despair and stupidity washing over her.

Then the static waterworks began.

"Ohh, what's wrong with me??! I can't even hug you wright!! I really am useless!!" Burying her face into your neck, she just hiccupped and sobbed, her fingers clutching at your fur like a lifeline.

Normally, she'd be glitching and spinning out of control. But somehow you managed to help her physical form remain stable. A simple hug is all it took, and it's all that she needed in order to finally let that sadness out. So you just hushed her softly, not alarmed by her sudden and violent mood shifts in the slightest.

It's something she couldn't control, just like how you couldn't control your size or "scary" feline features. Why should you judge her for that when she never judged you?

"You aren't useless, my dear. There's no "right" way to hug someone. You have the intention, and that's enough. I don't get many of these, so....I appreciate this." A purr rumbled in your throat.

"Huh? Y-You...You bawely get hugs??!" Ena looked up at you, her white half displaying an utterly distraught expression. "But you're...you're so nice! What's wrong with other people??? Do they think you're too big to love or something?!!!! WHAT KIND OF CRUEL WORLD IS THIS??!!" Her more masculine voice screamed in outrage.

"That's a first..maybe I am "too big to love". But it's alright. I'm not worried about those other people. Just you right neow." You held her closely again, letting her cry some more. "Thank you for being so caring and considerate, Ena. You're a wonderful friend."

"Friend...? But...we've only met five minutes ago..."

"Have we really? Because it seems like we've known each other for longer." Patting her head, you smiled as her colors turned back to their normal tones. But you weren't going to let her go unless she did so first....and the poor girl was still clinging to you like you're the world's softest pillow.

Whatever she must've went through before meeting you had to have been terrible, but she did blubber something about a rude entity and tripping over a pebble.

You didn't interrupt once, allowing her to talk.

At that point, she suddenly remembered that she was on her way to an auction when she got lost and winded up on a serious of unfortunate misadventures leading to your location.

But maybe she was destined to find you and get these sad feelings off her chest.

Even so, you didn't like seeing her so troubled over missing the event. And that's when you came up with an idea after she dried her tears. "I think I know where that is. I was gonna go..but changed my mind. I don't like crowds too much. But now I have a reason to change it again."

"Wha...What do you mean?"

"I can provide you with transportation there so you don't lose your way again. Don't worry. For friends, it's free of charge." You wink, seeing her cheering up right away. "Only thing is that...we might get there a little late. I never like rushing to things."

"Oh I'm not worried about that! Auction Day is an all-day event!! How could I refuse such a generous service?" Her yellow side laughed, immediately climbing onto your back. But as soon as she got settled, she suddenly looked apprehensive, tilting her head. "Is this alright? I'm not too heavy?"

"Nope. You're as light as a polygonal feather." You chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll be safe up there, Ena."

"This is much appreciated, friend. But erm...you mind going slow? I tend to get motion sickness."

"That's fine by me. Now let's be on our way."

[plotholesaregreatactually]

Honestly we don’t see much about Duke in these crossovers.

So here’s a really long post! Though it isn’t exactly Duke.

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2 I hope you approve!

(Oh it’s really late for me rn)

I mean, pretty sure duke could use his powers to turn invisible and he usually does the day shift by himself I think so it’s a bit easier to get some of his DNA without being noticed and as the meta of the group it makes sense he’d be targeted.

I can even imagine how they meet.

The sole somewhat stable surviving clone of the vigilante Signal manages to escape from the facility he’s held in.

Similarly to Superboy he gets some knowledge downloaded into him but not on the same level as I imagine this to be a smaller and more lowkey organization. That’s also why he isn’t so stable.

He gets some of Duke’s memories to as *waves hands* somehow his meta ability allowed him to just have some of his memories, for flavor ig.

So escaped clone learned pretty early on how to turn invisible and does a few light shows every now and then when fighting against his previous captors and to better understand his powers.

Someone noticed some weird light shows and a new ghost story is born!

In comes the Fentons with the ectoplasm powered steel chair!

And Phantom swoops in to the rescue! The gh- wait this isn’t a ghost!

And flys away after saving Mr. To-be-named who has stars in his eyes after being rescued for the first time ever. Though he still has a bit of bat paranoia ingrained in his being.

Next comes a hilarious series of cutscenes of them hanging out and getting closer to each other!

Danny introduces Cloney to Nasty Burger!

Beam Supreme (the clone) has a powers mishap! And gets an array of lightbulb and light related punny nicknames from Danny.

Danny shows Disco Strikes Back! His astronomy knowledge by bringing to a special event at a planetarium, for some reason though Sam and Tucker couldn’t make it?

Our Clone boy remembers that his template tried out for track and soccer before and decided to see if it’s something he would like. The track reminds him of the few endurance tests he was put through though with soccer he loved the camaraderie the sport had, and the fact he got to join a team while his template got kicked out.

Rainbow Jumpscare earns that nickname by scaring off a group of ghost that tried to jump Danny as a civilian! …He really liked the feeling of saving someone… though he didn’t like the way his chest felt when he saw Danny in danger.

And many more happen though you can think those up!

[Next part is in sections so you don’t have to read one huge chunk of text]

(Pt.1) Danny accidentally shows off his weapons prowess when a ghost uses Paulina as a hostage, he even gets invited a party she’s hosting tomorrow! He’s so excited! Or. He should be. He’s not sure why he feels so, uninterested, it’s Paulina! The school’s idol! And where’s Sparkles?

(Pt.2) It’s the day of the party and our dear clone boy really doesn’t want to be around, he’s realizing something about himself and if he sticks around longer it won’t be just the G.I.W after Danny. Showing off his powers like that must have alerted someone to where he is, and… if Danny, if someone who’s been so head over heels for some girl since they met finds out about his feelings then! No. He won’t ever find out. (Not even Clone Duke can do emotions, well he was made from a guy born in Gotham)

(Pt.3) Danny, after talking to, surprisingly enough, his parents, comes to a realization that Paulina doesn’t really matter to him anymore! I mean she’s popular and he’ll still save her and all but his relationship with Glowbug means a lot more to him!

(Pt.4) They play a game of cat and mouse, Clone Duke manages to find and start methodically disassembling the G.I.W by destroying credibility and funding. Danny on the other hand somehow manages to follow his trail due to a unique ectoplasmic signature on a gift he gave Gleam Beam early on during their friendship. Danny thinks the G.I.W did something to his… His friend of course! Ha ha yup just friends no weird feeling at thinking that at all ha ha.

(Pt.5) The G.I.W is a few steps away from being irrecoverably broken and Clone Duke feels… totally not alone he can compartmentalize like any other hero clone! Danny really misses his Glow Bro really really misses him. But in a totally bro way of course!

(Pt.6) Danny nearly dies, Clone Duke nearly dies, they both get captured. Sam, Tucker and Valerie though begrudgingly manage to break in and cause enough of a commotion our duo escape! They then face down an insane man decked out in stolen and remodeled tech, who was the one to capture the duo, and defeat him.

(Pt.7) Clone Duke decides to ‘finally tell them his name’ aka. He just decided on one and is definitely not telling anyone he’s a clone.

He tells them his name is Asier.

Danny suddenly remembers Asier is also a pickle.

Pickle puns.

Many pickle puns. And jokes. And plushies. And keychains. And- you get it now right?

Though of course they aren’t telling each other about the weird feelings they have! Nope not that!

Despite their weird pretty much flirting during the entire fight.

And oh. Oh dear the rescue trio is not amused. And through *insert method here* the rescue trio call out the glowstick duo on their feelings!

And now they have to deal with PDA™️. Just kill them now but don’t because if they become ghosts they’ll deal with this for an eternity.

Btw Asier managed to destroy the group that cloned him and has several plans for the Fentons to make his beloved !Boyfriend! Happy!

Later he comes out with the whole clone thing after meeting Ellie after nearly dying from being a little too unstable and they decide to prank the Waynes for their anniversary.

(Hi! If anyone wants to add or write out any of this please do!)

(Also I’m not adding Cores or Obsessions or Ghost Instincts because this is meant to be lighthearted and I don’t want to delve in deep)

(Also if you give me content it fuels me and lets me make more so please type anything and I will consume it with the grace of a untrained dog given bacon that somehow manages to idk write bootleg Shakespeare)

Danny held back his laughter as he sprinted away. The note he left in the batmobile is going to rile up Gothams furries if what his boyfriend said was right.

All he wrote was, "I'm dating your clone, and there's nothing you can do about it." No signature, no fingerprints, heck, he didn't even reveal who's clone it was. Now he and his boyfriend are going to follow along with invisibility and popcorn to watch their heads explode.

[natalicss]

g-dragon x american popstar!reader headcanons: met gala edition

nat’s notes: i wanted to actually write this but for some reason i cannot get myself to write ANYTHING rn other than my tvd fic on wattpad SOOOO we’re getting this heading version of what i imagine went down when american popstar!reader attended the met gala, you’re welcome

• jiyong seems to not have any real interest in the met gala, having been invited over the years. he doesn’t stop you from going, though!! he knows it’s a big deal, he knows you have plenty of friends and peers going, and he’s excited to see your look.

• you’re stunning, ofc. the outfit designed specifically to your body, tailored to every curve and every movement you could make. you didn’t let jiyong see it ahead of time, though, wanting him to see it in its glory on the carpet.

• it’s not often jiyong gets feral in the way his gen z girlfriend does, but THIS IS ONE OF THISE TIMES. the worst part? he can’t even TELL YOU because you’re too busy waltzing around in the most beautiful outfit you’ve ever worn. he thinks he’s gonna die.

• the media matches his energy. your look instantly going viral, critics and stan’s alike raving over how extravagant you look. you’re easily one of the best dressed of the night.

• he’s scrolling on ig, liking just about every post he sees about you. BIGBANG fans are mocking him and his simp behavior, shippers are in aw of how much he clearly loves you. your fans are also mocking him. like get a grip (but they get it)

• you’re posing with SO many stars. rihanna, colman domingo, zendaya, sabrina carpenter, you’re having the time of your life!! you’re reuniting with friends in the industry who you don’t get to see all that often. while this event IS for work, you don’t mind taking the chance and using it as your social hour.

• and then photos of you and SEVENTEEN’s leader s.coups are suddenly uploaded, and it seems like the entire internet explodes.

• you were excited to meet him, going out of your way to introduce yourself. s.coups recognized you, as well, and heard nice things about you from booseoksoon. he’s relieved to have someone else there that is familiar with him and speaks korean (although you’re still very new at it and struggle, so you two speak a lot of broken korean & english to each other). you go out of your way to make sure he feels welcomed, comfortable, and overall has a good night.

•the photos. THE PHOTOS!!!!

• two of the best dressed of the night. the well-known fact you’re a fan of SEVENTEEN. the photos of you two talking, smiling, laughing, then posing in the sexiest duo photo that may ever exist. carats are screaming, crying, throwing up, cheering. your fans are freaking out, celebrating, it’s a damn party on twitter timelines.

•jiyong is highly amused watching the entire thing.

• there are obviously some people crossing lines. some “fans” of s.coups trying to attack you for simply existing near him. some “fans” of yours saying cruel things about him. even some “fans” of jiyongs hating both of you for interacting.

• jiyong is unbothered. probably more entertained than anything. he knows how you are. once you’ve started drinking (which you almost always have a glass of something before a carpet), you are a social butterfly through and through. he expects nothing less from you.

• and when you get back to the hotel, you call him immediately to rave about how you met another member of seventeen. your fan girl energy that was rarely seen fully on display. jiyong can’t help but adore it, even if it was for another kpop idol.

• he’s suddenly thinking about taking you to future award shows with him to see how you’d react in that scene.

[kkochigomi]

the ultimate guide to f***ing nomin

part one | part two

PAIRING: reader x jeno + jaemin

GENRE: smut, angst

SERIES WC: 35k

PART ONE WC: 15k

SYNOPSIS: DJ Juliette is over just being a DJ. She misses being a producer and working with artists but no one is biting anymore. She's living from paycheck to paycheck, so when MC receives a pink business card from that company, she should take it. But her fellow SHAWOLs are screaming at her and she knows better. So they send in the heavy arsenal wrapped in head-to-toe Chanel. This woman, named Lindsay Liu, knows she can talk her into it.

WARNINGS: dom!Jeno, switch!Jaemin & mc, PIV, DVP, cunnilingus, thigh humping, pussyjob, lots of sloppy kissing, deepthroating, rough sex, large... sizes, bisex, very strong language, threesomes, one reference to slight racism/xenophobia (very small inclusion, that character sucks, doesn't go into detail), CONVOLUTED AND CONFUSING AS SHIT, slight language barriers, hella campy/maybe even bad, mc is described as American and having a midsized body, explicit language and descriptions of sex, working at SM Entertainment, mc has a "stage name", Juliette isn't her actual name, let me know what I missed! (had to split this into two parts or Tumblr wouldn't let me post it)

+ dialogue and text messages italicized in their entirety means MC is translating them from Korean!

PROLOGUEˋ°•*⁀➷

Since you discovered your first iPhone had garageband on it, you’ve been drawn to production. Combining your passion with your– at the time– niche interest of k-pop, you garnered a little following on Tumblr making demos for your favorite groups. But as you got older and grew out of k-pop, you associated producing with that childlike naivety. So you switched to what your parents wanted.

Thankfully, you decided to ditch computer science in 2019 and do what you truly wanted, sending you deep into the underground. You weren’t the best or the most well known producer, but you could produce and you weren’t super expensive. As you worked your way through your bachelor’s degree, you got better and better. You became a little more sought after. Unfortunately, the underground was highly competitive. And you were sick of feeling like you slapped someone’s mother for asking artists to sign a contract. But luckily for you, you were being classically trained unlike most of the other producers you’ve met who are self taught. Some of them play instruments and know a bit of music theory, but your degree gives you a slight leg up outside of the underground music industry. 

So you ditched the underground in 2022. With your knowledge, jumping into the overside of the music industry wasn’t impossible. But it wasn’t easy. At all. You barely got any bites. Unfortunately, in this day and age people have stopped chasing after being pop stars and realized how lucrative the production scene was. Most labels weren’t desperate for producers. In the states, that is. 

DJing is fun. It’s cool… but you’ve always thought of it as a side gig. Good to break up any sameness. But lately it’s been your only source of income. And there’s nothing fun about living paycheck to paycheck. Or admitting your parents were right. 

You default to an easy crowd pleaser as your mind drifts. A rapper you used to work with often hits you up every once and a while. His latest text being:

if you’re worried about Drex threatening to slash your tires, don’t even sweat it! you’re always welcome back

You couldn’t afford slashed tires then and you definitely can’t now. Plus, you’re hungry enough without competition. You just want to make art.

“Excuse me, Juliette?”

Right as you step off stage, someone calls out your alias. You’re thinking it’s management, so you turn around excitedly and await payment. Before you is a middle aged Asian man with thick-rimmed glasses. You don’t recognize him, but the smirk on his face reeks of upper management. A smile that can only come from someone about to pitch you something they’re confident you won’t refuse. More like cocky. 

“...Yes?”

The man immediately launches into his spiel.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you worked with Flowra for a song on his new album, right? I’m Lee Sung-Soo, by the way. You can call me Chris.” He presents his hand to you. You did work with them, but they scrapped the songs you did together. Oh god, is this guy here on behalf of someone else?

“I’m not underground anymore.” You explain curtly, walking away. Chris awkwardly retracts his hand before jogging after you.

“Good! I’m actually an A&R director for a music label in South Korea.”

You freeze involuntarily. You hate to admit your younger self is squealing deep inside you. The you at the forefront, however, knows better.

“Which company?” You pose with severity. There is a wrong answer.

He does that annoying smirk again, feeling like he struck something. He speaks in Korean, but it’s simple enough for you to understand. When you started college, you were still heavy into K-pop and thought learning Korean would make engaging in Korean media much easier. So you took Korean 101, 102, and 103 before you realized how useless these skills were and slowly faded from the fandom. You still kick yourself for not studying Spanish instead. 

“Are you familiar with Korean music?” He says, his eyes brightening upon noticing your lack of confusion. However, you note how he doesn’t say the company name.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Take this!” He presents you with a card that he must’ve had ready since he approached you. You notice the card is pink. You look up, plastering a big smile on your face as rage boils in your gut. 

“Absolutely not.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

The week following your meeting with Chris, SM is all you could think about. You were having a battle with your inner naive fangirl and your reasonability. 

Think about how many times they’ve been sued for mistreatment! I mean come on! This is SM we’re talking about!

You could meet Key.

You slam your pillow over your face and scream. It is simply preposterous how much weight that one possibility has. It’s not even certain! You turn to what you always do when you need to shut your brain off and let it rot, social media. You opt for Instagram. Though you rarely post, you need to keep track of your DMs in case artists reach out. It’s also your favorite place to keep up with celebrities. You opt to check your DMs first. Immediately you’re stumped by a name. Not because you don’t recognize it, but because it sounds so damn familiar.

Lindsey Liu.

Your knee-jerk reaction is to assume you’re thinking of Lucy Liu, but when you look at her profile picture, she even looks familiar. 

lindsayliu Hey doll~ I’m looking for someone to produce a project I’m working on. I have my own professional studio, so you can just come to my place to work on it. I know it’s sudden, but how does tomorrow sound?

‘Hey doll?’ you think, scam detectors blaring. You click on her account, her number of followers dumbfounding you. Twenty-one MILLION? You don’t personally know of bot accounts that are that ballsy with their follower counts but you know exactly what to do to fact check. You scroll throughout her posts, checking all of them for their engagement. By the looks of it, her followers aren’t fake. You even spot celebrities like Jackson Wang and Bae Suzy in her comments. On that same train of thought you check which celebrities you follow are following her. You’re shocked to see you have to click on them to see them all. You check each of their accounts, too. Just in case. And also because you’re in disbelief. You realize then where you recognized her from. Pictures with East Asian celebrities you follow.

You don’t even want to get excited and share the news to your friends and family because they’ll just ask you who Jackson Wang is. You haven’t been in touch with a real life k-media fan since high school. No one in your contacts understands how cool this is.

You clasp your hand over your mouth, unsure what to do with this information. From your research, she’s the only daughter of a Chinese billionaire. As for what she does? You’re not entirely sure. Just a vague rich influencer. Half of her pictures are her dressed to the nines in some sort of low lit venue. She’s either accompanied by her girlfriends or a drink or both. This backs up what you googled about her being a party girl. A controversial aspect as it seems. As if most of the people criticizing her wouldn’t do the same with that amount of money. Scrolling through her pictures, you could tell you would be susceptible to a parasocial relationship. You find yourself trusting her, but you know better than to be a victim to another Anna Delvey.

Hey! I don’t mean any disrespect when I say this, but I want to be upfront about a few safety measures. A friend of mine will know my location at all times and who I’m meeting with. I also have a producer’s agreement for you to sign to protect both of us. If you need to arrange for a lawyer to look over the contract, we can push the session back. Or you can have the contract signing and studio session on different days.

As you typed out the message, your excitement dwindled. The possibility of this being a scam and her being scared away now seems more plausible after letting everything simmer. Of course you’re happy you’re not going to get scammed, but you’re also pondering the possibility she’s legit and is offended by the message. Still, you don’t leave the message thread.

She doesn’t respond for several minutes and you need to relieve a little of your stress. You turn the tv on and put on anything. You throw on a show people have been begging for you to watch but you’re positive won’t be your style. Twenty-three minutes pass, no response. You’re not exactly sure what you’re expecting, her being legit means she’s definitely not glued to her phone all day. She has the money to actually experience things you only view through social media.

Three episodes pass and you’re apologetic to everyone online and in your life you ignored about watching this show. You’re completely, utterly engrossed. So engrossed that you forget the name Lindsay Liu. 

An entire season later, you sniffle and set your box of tissues back on the nightstand beside you. You’ve ignored your growling stomach in favor of being glued to the tv for long enough. You reach for your phone to order what you’ve been craving this entire time when you see the message thread. Lindsey had sent a message three hours ago.

“Holy shit,” You laugh, nose still clogged with snot.

lindseyliu Sounds good! I have a few more ideas to make you feel safer. We can do a video call beforehand and I can even show you my surroundings in case you think this is some weird new version of pig butchering lol. I’m sure you’ve already looked me up, but I can show you my ID to confirm my identity. I think signing the contract beforehand is great! In fact, you can pick a cafe or something where we can meet up. I usually arrange for my driver to pick up the people I’m meeting with, but I understand the implications of someone from my camp transporting you. Instead, I can send you some money and you can order your own uber.

lindseyliu Pleeease let me know if there’s anything else I can do~

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Lindsey is quite the character. When you’re texting her and in real life.

“I knew a lawyer wasn’t necessary, this is a standard producer’s agreement.” Lindsay lowers the packet from in front of her face and smooths it onto the table. She glances up with a small smile as she slips a rectangular clamshell case from her purse. She cracks it open to retrieve what you assume is an exorbitantly expensive pen. She taps it to the first dotted line, freezing with her brows knit together. She takes a quick inhale before asking a question.

“How much do you make?” She twirls her pen as her posture shifts completely into focusing on you. Your mouth snaps shut, puzzled as to what she could be asking. You look around as if the bustling cafe will serve you any clues.

“Are you asking what my rates are?” You slowly move your finger to one of the many paragraphs on the contract. “$100 for every six hours. It’s outlined in the agreement.” You laugh nervously. She did read it, didn’t she? She laughs as well, but hers is incredulous.

“And that is criminally low, but that’s not what I’m asking. Is there a reason you charge that low? Do you get so many clients that how low this rate is doesn’t matter?” She’s starting to look worried… or maybe that’s judgement. You shift in your seat, hand rubbing your upper arm.

“N-no… it’s actually the opposite. I can’t afford to charge any higher. Then I wouldn’t get any bites.” You sink a little, unable to look at her after admitting something so pitiful. Lindsay looks to be fighting a fierce inner battle. She looks over the mezzanine the two of you are sitting atop of, stroking her chin. Why your nervousness manifests into a dry laugh, you’ll never know. One slips before you can get the words out.

“Is there something wrong? I mean, you can pay more if you’d like.” You offer half-jokingly. Lindsey’s eyes return to you after that, looking austere. You clench your mouth shut.

“You know, Juliette, I didn’t reach out to you because I heard you were cheap. I reached out to you because I heard you were good– no, great. After hearing it for myself, I was flabbergasted that I didn’t recognize your name. Forget about money, talent like this deserves fame!” She gathers both your hands with pure elation in her eyes. You’ll admit, it’s rubbing off on you. For a split second, the most vivid image of you with a Grammy in your hands flashes in your mind. But then you came to your senses. You carefully ease your hands away and she looks at you curiously. 

“I um… I’m sorry again if I sound rude but, I’m not entirely sure why you care so much?”

Her face softens in understanding.

“Right, and I’ll be totally honest with you. I’m very familiar with the music industry, but not exactly the western side.” She peeks to see if you’re following and you nod. She was born and raised in China, so it makes sense. 

“I’m a little close with some of the music executives in the East and I often pick up on tidbits of information. I’m sure you’re familiar with Chris Lee?”

Your expression hardens.

Oh. 

Oh.

You push yourself up from the table and take a deep breath. Of course. It’s so obvious now. You don’t know how you ever thought SM would take no for an answer.

“What’s the matter–”

“I am not working for SM. D– Are you a k-pop fan? Hell, you have to be aware of how bad SM’s relationship is with China, for good reason.” The anger squeezes the words out of you until there’s barely air left to supply them. You were worried about getting Anna Delvey’d and got Lee Sooman’d instead.

“Hey listen, I don’t work for SM. Like I said, I only heard about this through the grapevine.” Lindsay is cool as a cucumber as she attempts to talk you down. She gives you a look as if to say ‘I know you know you’re being unreasonable’. It only angers you further, but when she gestures for you to sit back down, you do so. Not only because you were causing a bit of a scene, but because you do have some things to say. 

“So, what, I was never getting paid? Was there no song?” You grill her but she stays calm, relaxing back into her chair even. 

“I never said that. I heard them lamenting over losing you and I had to check you out. I’m sure you know that I’m a no good party girl if you did your research. I’ve been dabbling in music. You wanna hear it?”

“No thanks. I believe you.” You reply sarcastically and roll your eyes. You’re more angry at yourself. How many times are you going to be almost coerced into literally selling your soul to satan. She starts speaking again but you don't even look at her in favor of mourning.

“You asked why I care so much?”

That catches your attention and you side eye her. 

“You’re absolutely right about SM. I hate them too. It’s the talent I’m focused on. You deserve to be paid better and the idols deserve better in general. Are you familiar with dearALICE?*” She takes a sip from her latte as she waits for your answer.

“... No?”

“Exactly. One of the members is a friend of mine. K-pop audiences don’t know they have a pre-release single out. People who don’t listen to K-pop don’t care. Focus groups are reacting negatively to every song DJ Rouge produces. They ended up rejecting Rouge altogether. James is worried sick about how the higher ups are talking about them. If they don’t find a producer who can give them a fresh sound that impresses the focus groups… James and his members might be put in the dungeon. They’re too talented for that.”

With that, Lindsay finishes her latte and stands from the table. You find yourself looking down at the lower floor now, immersed in thought. Lindsay tells you to think about it and message her before she leaves the cafe. SM putting an artist in the dungeon? Now that’s opening up old wounds. 

You felt so helpless when it happened back then.

( *Nothing stated about dearALICE or any real life artist or company reflects my opinions of them or what state they're in in real life. It is just made up for the narrative. )

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

“I dunno… she seems strange. You can be an heiress and be sketchy.” Bloops and beeps sound as your best friend plays on her switch, laying like a corpse on your bed. What she says just blends in with her gaming commentary for you. You’re just thinking out loud. 

“The song is bad though*…” You mumble through nibbling your thumb nail. It commits the grave sin of having an instrumental be the chorus and a bad instrumental at that. You’ve never heard of a DJ Rouge, but he oughta be ashamed of himself. The poor souls are even drowned out by the backtrack and compressed all to hell.

“I can do better…” You say a little quieter, unsure of where it came from or if it made you sound arrogant. You really, really could though. You got a feel for them as much as you could. Listening to any snippet you could find of them singing or performing. Getting a feel for their natural aura and the vibe SM had in mind. You were waist deep into research when the question hit you.

Why you?

Why is Chris Lee in your DMs, checking if you changed your mind? Furthermore, are you the only producer they approached? That’s impossible. A company of their size probably has so many producers at their disposal. This feeling reminds you of being in the underground again. You hate this feeling, but you glance over at your document, feeling pricks of excitement.

( *Nothing stated about any real life artist or entity reflects my actual opinions, and is done solely for narrative purposes. )

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

You blindly reach for your drink and brush against something. Multiple of something. Cans of soda and energy drinks topple off your desk. You look guiltily at your ipad propped up next to your monitor. The 3D man staring back at you smiles, oblivious to your chaos.

“Caleb, what am I doing?”

Just then, your ‘quality time’ session expires, the app prompting you to add more time or quit. There’s no need for more time. You glance at your finished project hesitantly. 

Lindsay messaged you five days ago and you told her you were still considering it. Truthfully your inner fangirl broke free from her chains and took the reins. Any breaks you had from producing the demo you spent rewatching your favorite SHINee moments from when you were younger. It was like the emotions never left. Taemin, the love of your life after Caleb, isn’t under SM anymore unfortunately (more like fortunately). But your bias and favorite person in the world still is. There’s a chance you’ll never meet him, but the odds are increased compared to before.

You close ProTools and Love and Deepspace before rolling away from your desk, thinking about how to celebrate finally completing this project. Your heart thumps against your ribcage at the thought of busting open tumblr and reading some Caleb smut. It takes you a moment, but you soon realize how sad that sounds. Your reward is imagining yourself having sex. You sigh, planning to text Lindsay after you commiserate with your bestie. 

I NEED to get laid

like… yesterday

You laugh to yourself, thinking of how she’ll respond. Either by agreeing or getting angry at you for reminding her of little play she gets.

Hey, sorry for the delay, how does Tuesday sound?

Lindsay’s phone buzzes and her acrylics clack against the screen as she opens the notification. She gasps lightly before the corner of her mouth curls into a smirk. She snorts, shoulder bouncing as they are kneaded into by her masseuse. Lindsay relaxes, sweeping her legs onto the living chair. If you’re having trouble with that, Lindsay has an offer that’s going to be hard to refuse.

She dials Chris’ number and he answers quickly. 

“They’re busting my balls over here.” He rushes out, already prepared to scold her. 

“Relax! I told you I would handle it.” She laughs softly into the receiver. 

“You better, because if you screw this up for us, Mr. Jang won’t want to see your face anywhere near here. Your gambling? It’s a bad look.”

She tongues her cheek as she thinks about your message again. 

“Hmmm, I’m feeling like raising my bet for dearALICE to 300k.” His silence on the other end makes her cover her mouth and laugh harder. “Oh, and tell James we’re best friends now, I’ll explain when I get there.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

TUESDAY

“It’s fine. I already told you! A girl’s gotta get laid.” Lindsay shrugs, struggling to suppress her smile.

This only makes you crumble further with a wail of despair. 

“No, no, no!” It’s not being slutshamed that you’re worried about. It’s the soul crushing, utterly debilitating cringe. Your brain is distorting the message to be way more aggressive and debauched than it was and you wish you could turn it off. The moment your friend asked what you both had planned for Tuesday, your stomach dropped. You were hoping– praying to anyone that the message didn’t send. You weren’t so lucky.

“But girl! You live in Los Angeles! You can’t find a man?” Lindsay throws her leg over the other from the other side of her dining table.

“I don’t want a boyfriend, I just– NOPE!” This is the opposite of turning your brain off. This was the satisfying conversation you were supposed to be having with your friend when you sent that text. Not this embarrassing, confusing mess. You haven’t even told her about your demo yet.

“Look, do you want ice cream?” You don’t get to answer before Lindsay smiles at the woman… accompanying (?) you both by the table. She comes back with two tubs of ice cream with labels that can only be described as a graphic designer’s wet dream. You don’t even try to pronounce the name of the brand. You hesitantly grab the spoon like a child parsing if they’re doing something naughty. You glance at Lindsay who is already bringing a spoonful to her mouth. She rolls her eyes back with a moan of pure ecstacy. She points at the ice cream approvingly, nodding at you.

Well, if the ice cream is poisoned, at least you won’t have to feel the cringe any more. You peel the lid away and dip your spoon. Plain vanilla can only be so good. At least, that’s what you thought before the succulent ice cream smoothed over your tongue. In seconds you become an ice cream snob, because the cheap ice “cream” you bought at the store isn’t cream at all. This is what cream is truly like. You suddenly feel like falling to your knees and apologizing for the ice cream you made in middle school from shaking a bag.

After giving you some time to mingle with euphoria, Lindsay speaks again. 

“I get you, though, about not wanting a man. I hate men.” She digs up a heaping spoonful as she speaks and you forgive her for lingering on this topic. It’s the least you could do. 

“Love dick, though.” She says casually before popping the spoonful into her mouth. You blame the loud laugh that bursts through your lips on how loose and joyous the ice cream was making you. 

“Huh?”

“Dick?” Lindsay cocks her head to the side, a much too innocent gesture for the body part she just repeated. “Love it! Can’t live without it. I just wish it wasn’t attached to a man. Or if it was, it was attached to Qi Yu and he became real for some reason.”

Lindsay looks like a goddess even now while pigging out on ice cream, so it stuns you that she has fictional crushes too. With how she looks, she could easily bag a guy that looks like the fictional characters you fawn over.

“Is that an anime character or…” Your curiosity takes over. You’ll eventually get to the demo. 

“Oh! I mean… Rafayel. If it was attached to Rafayel.” She corrects before licking the back of her spoon. Your ears perk up but you don’t accept it at first. You jokingly say hot girls play Love and Deepspace, but is this hot girl actually playing Love and Deepspace?

“Rafayel?? Like, fishy?!”

Lindsay just grins at you, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh my– what level are you?” You don’t usually ask your fellow Love and Deepspace girlies this, but you need to parse how deep she is into the game before you get delusional.

“I’ve been playing since the game was released, so I’m at level 80. I’ve nearly gotten all the boys to level 100. I need to work on the two newbies, I’m a little behind.” She laughs and you almost bow to her when you remember she’s filthy rich. Of course her affinity is that high. Still, you can’t slow the fondness growing in your heart. This has to be a ruse, right?

“It’s so unfortunate most men pale in comparison. Everyone talks about k-pop idols who look like them but it’s usually not even close.” She sets down her spoon and covers her mouth with her hand, looking at you like she’s deliberating whether she should say something.

“K-pop guys aren’t really my type, but I met these two? I kid you not. It’s like being with real life Rafayel and Caleb. My two favs!” She squeals giddily and you involuntarily squeal with her. The thought of you with Rafayel and Caleb flanked by your side? Rafayel isn’t even your second favorite but you have a soft spot for him. The thought is enough to melt you into a puddle on her white, porcelain marble floors. You don’t know how she brought the whore out of you so easily.

You want to ask who so very bad, but she’s back to eating her ice cream. Dancing to indicate she’s just as blissed out as you are.

As the meeting progresses, you’re less eager to reveal your hand. Lindsay suggests you at least try it out, a trial period. You want to at least show dearALICE the demo and a vacation to Korea doesn’t sound horrible. But you know better, and she already lied and blindsided you once. What, one tub of ice cream and conversation about your favorite game and you’re just going to bend over and take it? They call it selling your soul for a reason. You didn’t ditch the underground to become chained to a soulless company. 

One you know the troubled history of.

“I would miss my bestie too much. I’m sorry…”

“I’m not fluent in Korean.”

“I don’t have the money to uproot my life right now!”

These are the excuses you offer up in favor of cursing SM’s name for however long she’ll allow it. For some reason, you’re getting the vibe that she sees right through your excuses. She crosses her arms and sighs. The two of you had moved to her chic office, and you think that’s partially responsible for why this all feels so real now. 

“I don’t believe those are why you don't want to move.” Her stare is intense, like she’s waiting to see you cave. You were right, she did see right through you. “Do you want to know why they’re so enthusiastic about you?” 

Not exactly what you were hiding, but now that she mentions it…

“Yeah. It’s a little confusing.”

“They’ve been following you for longer than you think. I have, too. It was only after I heard SM wanted to hire you that I knew you were kibumberry.”

You recoil at the mention of your old Tumblr blog. She saw those horrible demos? Her and… people at SM?

“Yeah, I was a huge fan. Now that I look back on it, a lot of those demos weren’t great, but there was one from 2018. Your most popular one before you disappeared. Key saw this one and loved it.” Your vision of Lindsay smiling before you gets a little hazy. You don’t know if you’re getting light-headed or what, but that information just refuses to settle in your brain. Key? Kim Kibum?

“No…” You try to stay calm, stay reasonable, but your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“The fact that you were only eighteen when you made it threw everyone for a loop. Unfortunately, and you know how execs are, they thought you were too inexperienced and it was too risky. But it’s been seven years. I think it’s time you realize that potential.”

You look up at Lindsay with a twinkle in your eyes. Just then you see something in her’s, something that constricts your heart with fear. She smirks, a knowing look on her face. She sighs peacefully before driving the nail in further.

“Well, when I spoke to Kibum about this recently, he was a little worried about SHINee’s next comeback. Don’t get me wrong, he’s excited to finally work with you and maybe even release that song. He just doesn’t want to get your hopes up about anything soon.”

“Are you sure you have that right? He heard my work? From back then? And liked it? I-I don’t know, this is all too much!” You look to the ground, trying to make sense of any of this. Lindsay smirks again, obscuring her face with her hand as she lets out a small laugh.

“Oh, doll. You haven’t even asked about the pay yet.”

CHAPTER ONEˋ°•*⁀➷

“I never thought I’d have a salary, but it’s just too much money to pass up on, mom.” You have your phone pinched between your shoulder and ear as you fold clothes and set them into your suitcase.

“Oh I’m not worried about you having a salary. In fact, that’s ideal. I’m worried about you going to a different country. I told you this when you were younger. Baby, those men don’t care about you. All that fake shit they do to the camera is to get money out of you–”

“Mom, do you really think I’m uprooting my life to date boys?” She didn’t need to know that in that moment, you thought back to the two idols Lindsay was talking about. But who cares? You can’t even explain to her that the one plastered all over your walls? The one you stole her lipstick to litter kiss marks all over his posters? He’s not even where you’re going. “I’m going to fulfill my dreams. Focus on the money and salary part if you have to.”

“Oh I am! I just hope you’re not living in a fantasy, babe. Why did I hear from one of my colleagues that you named yourself after one of Shine’s songs?”

“Okay, bye mom!” You hang up, throwing your phone on the bed as embarrassment and anger fight for dominance in your chest. 

It didn’t matter that everyone in your life was telling you not to do this. The tickets were already paid for by SM and you already have your apartment set up for you. It would be disrespectful. But also…  and this is the part you left out when sharing the news… violating the contract you signed without a lawyer present.

You hurriedly defend your actions as dread starts to set in. Yes, as outlined in your contract, you’re officially starting a 9-5. And you’ll probably have no free time. And all of this is going to be hard to adjust to, but Lindsay is going to be in Korea a week after you get there. She’ll have your back.

Lindsay, who is on a private jet as you speak, is popping a bottle of champagne as everyone around her cheers. They're celebrating finally meeting the quota.

You’re flying economy eight days later, stuck in between a bickering couple who insisted you were okay sitting between them. You don’t know what you expected. You’re not Marshmallow, they’re not forking up anything higher than maybe premium economy for the likes of you. You’re not proud to admit that you’re already slightly regretting at least some of this. You pinch your nose bridge, cursing yourself for not having a lawyer look over that contract.

Your apartment is smaller than the one from home, and you barely take your shoes off before your phone buzzes. It’s your work schedule. You start in two days. 

What have you done?

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

A week in, you’re sending a hysterical, long message to Lindsay. They have you waking up at five a.m. almost every day. Even on days where you just have to sit in a meeting that is only translated by one of the execs when he feels like it. You’re not allowed to be seen on your phone if you’re not on break. Not even to check your email or a text. If they catch you, they scold you like a child.

And worst of all? Your creative freedom is a forgotten dream. Your moodboards are laughed out of the room. Your bulleted lists are shot down. No, they have their own bulleted lists. You garnered the courage from your pure annoyance with all this crap to suggest that hey, maybe we shouldn’t drown out dearALICE’s vocals. You know, the core part of the song? What happened? You guessed it.

You were fucking scolded.

The money isn’t worth this. This is something you knew already. You told yourself this as soon as you decided to pursue your dreams. No price is worth forfeiting your vision. 

You listen to your dearALICE demo again and again, mourning the loss of all your hard work. Your mind wanders to your last saving grace in all this turmoil. You switch to your seven-year-old SHINee demo. Would Key fight for your creative freedom? Or is that wishful thinking too.

Lindsey and who the hell are you?

You gawk at the message before groaning and throwing your phone away. She needs to figure out she texted the wrong number quickly so you can talk about this with someone who won’t say ‘I told you so’. Your phone buzzes again and you forlornly retrieve it.

Lindsey oooh em geee girl. lol i totally sent this to the wrong person. noooo don’t be discouraged.

I’m sorry, I’m genuinely wondering if I should cut my losses and just lawyer up to break my contract early.

Lindsey texts back at the speed of light this time.

Lindsey What?? OMG! If you need anything, let me know and I’ll help you out. Because you know how little of the lawsuits against SM were won! It’s scary…

I know… 

This is just everything I stand against and I let my excitement cloud my better judgement. 

Lindsey Yeah :((( you do what’s best for you!

Lindsey I almost forgot, I was just talking with Yizhuo (she’s a member of a newer SM girl group) and she’s a Love and Deepspace girlie just like us! I’ll send you her number

Ah, Love and Deepspace. You lost your streak for the first time since you downloaded. Every time you’ve opened it, you get scolded by Caleb for being gone for multiple days so you dread visiting him. Maybe playing it for a little will fix you. 

Lindsay sends you her number, but you’re hesitant. You hate meeting new people. It would be nice to have someone to talk about the game with since your friend doesn’t play it, but it’s going to be so awkward.

You’re immediately sucked into the game as soon as you open it. Lucky for you, Sylus’ birthday event just started. You have a lot of grinding to do. You have to find the willpower to open the app when you get home and not just rot in your bed watching tv. Your dinky Korean phone sends a notification and you check it quickly, traumatized from the last time you missed a text from Chris.

+010 XXXX XXXX Heeeey! PLEASE tell me your favorite LaDS guy, I need to know.

This must be Yizhuo. Did Lindsay give her your number as well?

Hey, this must be Yizhuo? And my favorite is Caleb… haha

Maybe: Yizhuo AAAAAH WHAT?! Girl he’s mine! Lol, just kidding. But I think I can’t live without him :*) We even have similar names lololol

LMAO really? Me too tbh… can’t get through paperwork without him

Yizhuo Yes!! I prop him up when I’m practicing so we can exercise together

Halfway through the conversation, you call each other so you can talk while playing the game. You suppose it is easy to get along when there’s a strong common interest. You’ll admit she was a welcome distraction. You even successfully started playing the game regularly again. She says you helped her with her streak as well. 

It’s not long before you guys start saying what’s really on your mind.

“If Yizhou would give me a chance I would wear him out good.” NingNing (as she told you to call her) hums like she just ate something delicious. You sigh loudly. Your vagina agrees. You’re a little scared to have a one night stand after the talk your boss gave at a meeting one day. He warned against inappropriate behavior and making SM look bad. It felt a little pointed at you, as you were one of two Americans, and the other one had been living in Korea since they were ten. You’ll admit you let an innuendo slip in the break room. Never had you experienced embarrassment than when the two other people there looked at you like you had two heads.

What if the person you sleep with finds out you work at SM? You have pictures from work on your Instagram, and you were told to follow the official SM accounts on all socials. If it got back to your boss, he would probably slut shame you. Or worse, you’d get fired and your mom would rip you a new one.

“Do you know where a girl can get a good dildo?” You grunt, selecting the ‘palm’ interaction with Caleb for the eightieth time today.

“The SM halloween party.” NingNing practically honks at her own joke before snorting into oblivion. You just sit there with your mouth agape. You never really pry into her idol life or what other idols are like. After producing for not only dearALICE but RIIZE and Mytro too, you get the sense their day to day is just as mundane as yours. They’re just as terrified of the higher ups as you are. Every time one of you gets scolded, you all just look at each other. You’re not going to lie to yourself and say you’re not intrigued about other things. Especially since you can’t get what Lindsay said out of your mind.

“I’m just kidding… or am I? Sungchan, where you at?”

You and NingNing immediately start screaming and laughing like you’re both up later than you should be at a sleepover. 

“NingNing!”

“I’m just kidding! I’m just kidding…”

You anticipate what she’s going to say and say it at the same time. 

“Or am I.”

You’re sent back into hysterics like school girls. 

“You should come this year! The staff aren’t not allowed to do much, but it’s still fun!”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her since she seems so excited to have someone to talk about LaDS with, but you probably won’t be here that long. The longer you stay, the more your only passion becomes a chore. You didn’t used to hate the mundane parts of production, but they’re like a slog now.

I looked it up, and maybe I can get a settlement with them and maybe have my contract altered?

You’ve been working with Lindsay on what to do. You feel like she’s the only person you can be truly honest with. However, you notice her texts are getting shorter.

Lindsay hmm yeah that sounds rght

Sorry if I’m asking for too much, but could you ask your lawyer if that’s even possible? I’m grasping at straws here haha.

Lindsay yeah my lawyer is here with me, we happened to be meeting each other when you txtd. he says he’s surprised you’re trying to leave. he said so many people would kill to have this job, and that you should consider yourself lucky to have an easy job.

Lindsay i persnkly dont agree, but he’s saying waking up at 5am isn’t tht ba,d

You can’t help how your chest gets hot at that insinuation. Did he seriously think that’s all you were complaining about? It was a large factor, but that’s minimizing your complaints. You don’t even know what to say. You’re not going to argue with him through Lindsay.

His words linger long after you read them. Every time a group’s manager makes a rude remark or scolds you, you wonder if your frustration is unwarranted. If you should just be taking it because the pay is good.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stomach it. So when the overpaid babysitter tries to tell you how to do your job, you snap a little bit.

He shouted at you for over ten minutes while the group watched in horror. You balled your fists and avoided his eyes at all costs, lest he see the fury in your eyes. You get home and slam your door shut, chucking your phone at the wall with a frustrated grunt. Are you a child? And what does he know about production? If it were up to him, the finished product would be filled with dispassionate performances. And you’re sick of the little jabs at your instrumentals.

You furiously type up a text to Lindsay.

Lindsay, I’m sorry. I want to help James and everyone else, and I’d hate to let Key down—

You stop as you type that. Would future you hate you or love you for this decision? Probably both. The unknown is scary, but what you might do to one of these group’s managers scares you even more. You don’t need to be in jail and all over the news.

— but I can’t do this anymore. I’m going through with terminating my contract early

It was only there for a split second, but you swore you saw a message from Lindsay only for it to disappear.

Lindsay Come see me on your next off day.

The true power of a billionaire’s daughter is having mansions in multiple countries. This one is nicer than the one in America, though. It’s clear she stays in Korea a lot more.

“Please, sit. I’ll have Misook bring in some tea.” Lindsay gestures at the woman standing by the wall patiently as you sit opposite her on the other couch.

“Misook, can you please bring some chamomile tea for me and my friend? Add a teaspoon of honey and ensure it isn’t too hot when you bring it over.”

Misook agrees with a warm smile and bows before doing just that. Then Lindsay turns to you and you get this feeling in your gut. A similar feeling to how you felt on the plane ride here. Something about her patient smile unsettles you.

“SM sucks, huh?” She squints and wrinkles her nose at you. You clench your teeth and smile, hesitantly agreeing.

“It’s just not for me.”

“Every time I get home from a meeting I feel like a ball of stress. Work stress is worse than regular stress, it’s harder to get rid of.” She lets out a lighthearted chuckle and you’re starting to understand your unsettled feeling. This casual air to the way she speaks to you doesn’t feel natural. And you hate that the thought comes to mind, but what does she know about work?

“Yeah, the tea is very thoughtful actually.” You both laugh insincerely. The laughter prolongs awkwardly, like one person is waiting for the other to stop.

“Tea won’t do it, girl! I'm telling you, I’ve tried so many things. The only thing that truly gets rid of the stiffness is good dick.” 

Misook is back and you’re glad you’re both speaking English. She sets the delicate china in front of each of you.

“How have the men here been treating you? Same shit, huh?” She lifts the small saucer and teacup, nodding at you before taking a sip. You follow suit, delaying your response. You actually don’t like tea, but you’re hoping the calming effect everyone talks about is real.

“Actually, I haven’t had sex since I got here. Well, longer than that but you know what I mean.”

Lindsay slams her saucer to the table and gawks at you. “You what?!”

Before you could deescalate her energy, she is standing up and making her way to you. She sits next to you and gathers your hands in her lap. With a passionate look, she says,

“No wonder you’re so stressed out! Doll, you have to let it out! You literally work around hot men all the time!” She shakes your hands for emphasis and you slowly slip them away to lessen the sudden overstimulation.

“Ahem, no. None of them are my type, and—”

“And nothing! If you’re about to tell me you’re too scared to have sex with an idol because you could get in trouble, then you’re crazy! If anyone knows how to not get caught doing something they aren’t supposed to, it’s k-pop idols.” She stands in front of you like a hero who just rescued a civilian.

“And not only that, they are itching for it. When you have to sneaky link for sex every time, you start to have less of it. It’s exhausting! But it only makes you crave it more. Who is your type.”

“Well Taemin is my ultimate—”

“No. Someone still in the company.”

“Um… I don’t know. I—”

“Someone like Caleb? Strong, nice smile, dog-like energy? Unfortunately who I'm thinking of is a bit of a… package deal.” The look in Lindsay’s eyes when she glances up at you makes you wonder if she knows exactly what you’re thinking. Your mind goes straight to what’s been plaguing your mind since you got here.

‘... but I met these two? I kid you not. It’s like being with real life Rafayel and Caleb. My two favs!’

“Those two you said remind you of Raf and Caleb…” You start and she perks up. “They’re under SM?” 

They very well could be. Before you slipped out of the fandom, so many groups had debuted. You just weren’t interested in anyone other than the groups who got you into k-pop in the first place. Still… wouldn’t you have at least heard it from the LaDS fandom? You hear about that one twenty-year old from that survival show group who looks like a baby Sylus, never a duo that resembles Caleb and Rafayel.

“Yeah. D’you want their numbers?” Lindsay’s phone seems to teleport into her hand as she points it to you. 

“N-no! Do you know how weird that is?”

How weird this all is. Is she telling you to use the musicians you work with? If someone did this to you, you’d slap them across the face. 

“Weird? They’re practically begging for it. I bet you’ve noticed how feral Yizhuo is.”

“No, Lindsay. That’s not why I’m here. I don’t use my access to celebrities to sleep with them, it sounds predatory.”

Lindsay's face pinches then, plainly expressing her disfavor. She straightens it out shortly after, tapping on her phone. You have no clue what she’s up to until your phone buzzes. You slip it out to see a link to download an app. SCR is the name of it, and it looks sketchy as all get out. You look at her questioningly. 

“Don’t believe me,” she gestures at your phone, encouraging you to download it, “see for yourself.”

CHAPTER TWOˋ°•*⁀➷

To be clear, any group of people when using an app where evidence of what they say can’t be traced would say pretty racy things. Regardless of fame level or profession. These idols just have more resources with more restrictions to boot. Still, you’re not going to pretend these messages didn’t catch you off guard. Once you finally downloaded it, you were faced with UI that can only hint to some sort of malware on your phone. You couldn’t look at the app for long at first because it gave you a headache. The first message to you was from Lindsay. You couldn’t help but notice you never signed up, yet your full name is your display name. Lindsay’s being the same makes you feel at least a little more at ease. 

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Once you see this message, lmk.

You text her back, awaiting this evidence she seemed so confident about. Instead you get… instructions?

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Welcome to SCR! Wondering what that stands for? It’s pretty cut and dry! It stands for Secret Chat Room! It was created by someone just like you who was constantly surveilled and needed an escape. We apologize in advance for what the background of the app might do to your eyes, but you have to understand it’s needed! You see, this specific pattern causes a glitch in most phone cameras that warps any pictures taken of it. As for screenshots, if you have ever used snapchat you know you get notified if anyone takes a screenshot. The same goes for SCR. They are also strictly prohibited. Any screenshots taken will notify not only the users in that chat, but me, Kim Heechul, as well. We will work together to ensure the photos no longer exist. That will be a hassle for both of us, so let’s not take it there ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Anyway, enjoy your time with SCR!

You drop your phone onto your bed and rub away your chill bumps. Why is this message so… threatening? He’ll ensure the photo no longer exists? You shudder as you lift your phone again. This is the closest you’ve ever felt to the deep or dark web or whatever it’s called. This feeling only intensifies when you see one of the groups Lindsay invites you to. 

Cheesily named “Gossip Girls”, this is the only chat you’re in with zero idols in it. It’s full of all of the non-idols that managed to get an invite. This is a very deliberate decision, because all they do is gossip about idols. This is how you find out Yuri is currently… We'll say deciding between a few men. None of them have any clue according to this stylist. You learned about an orgy, some 4th gen idol getting herpes and then taking a sick leave, fights that broke out, and groups/members that have beef. Your heart races as you look over these career ruining pictures sent to the group chat. Drugs, sex, and just all around delinquent behavior. In just thirty minutes of being glued to your phone, you had so many public images ruined for you. 

What they say is true, these idols are not who you think they are. You knew this, but seeing so much being confirmed in such a short amount of time winded you. You had to take a break. How do these girls do this all day? Then you felt it… that hint of exhilaration. You are (slightly) ashamed of yourself for opening that group chat back up to feel that rush of utter shock. It was then that you saw a picture of a once princely L from Infinite being very unprincely that you decided it was enough for the day. Your bingo card for the next one million years would have never included L snorting crack from someone’s asshole and you seeing it with your own two eyes.

“Wow…” You exhale shakily. Just like post-nut clarity, you feel extremely disgusted the longer you sit on what you saw. Not in them, in yourself and everyone spreading these photos and rumors. Isn’t the whole point of the app to escape prying eyes? That gossip girl group chat feels like reading gross tabloids or rubbing elbows with sasaengs. 

You let days pass by without opening that god forsaken app. Thankfully there are no notifications for the app, so it was a peaceful separation. 

This weekend is the first in a while where you and NingNing are both free. You flip a coin and decide the two of you are playing Animal Crossing today. You go from having a cute date to being stuck in a loop of whacking each other on the head with your nets. 

“Ooooh if there was a fart option so help me!” NingNing growls. You cease your whacking as the most visceral image is triggered into your mind of L snorting that crack from a crack and since NingNing unfortunately mention farting–

You shout loudly in an attempt to force the image from your brain, tossing your switch like a frisbee to the other side of your bed. “Oh my GOD!” You screech like you just witnessed an unimaginable eldritch horror. 

“What?! What?!” She sounds worried, but you can still hear the cartoonish swish and womp of her net upside your poor villager’s head. 

“Why L??! Why?!” You wail in agony before falling forward onto the bed. 

“Oh, right. Lindsay told me she invited you to SCR. I feel like it’s a… what’s it called… canon event for everyone to fall out of love with their favorite idol after downloading it.” She laughs crassly before stuffing her mouth with chips. She knows? She knows about this and she’s this casual? Your mind is permanently altered!

“You–! Did you see the picture too? Doing crack is one thing. Snorting it out of someone else’s ass is–”

“He did what?!” Only then does the whacking finally cease. You sit there, feeling like the physical manifestation of a question mark. 

“You didn’t know?”

“How did you know that?”

Upon learning about gossip girls, NingNing demanded to be added. There was no way in hell you were making that decision so you redirected her to Lindsay. She immediately hangs up on you, only to call you back about five minutes later. 

“So?”

“Check the group chat! Everyone is freaking out!” She laughs mischievously. You take a deep breath as you eye the group chat moving quickly. You shut your eyes as you press the group. When you crack your eye open, you see all hell breaking loose. The group chat is not happy about an idol being there, panicking about the messages they sent and the lack of an option to delete them. 

“Is this what they’re saying about me?” NingNing laughs, presumably doing the same thing that you and everyone else is doing and searching her name to see how heinous the rumors about her are. 

Ning Yizhuo`⎚⩊⎚´ -✧ oh… is that all you guys said about me? I’ll have you know, Sungchan and I did not date. We did fuck though ;))

The group chat explodes again, seemingly accepting another degenerate into their little club. Speaking of degeneracy…

You hadn’t checked the other group chats you were invited to. The first one you check is named “Scheduling”. A little vague and scary, but it turned out to be one of the guesses you had. An idol sends a message of when they’re free and, well, looking to score. They ask anyone interested and that meets the criteria they outline to message them privately, so the chat is full of requests and no responses. You see requests from lots of idols, but what you’re starting to gather from this and the next group chat is that some idols aren’t on this app, for obvious reasons. More importantly, SHINee is nowhere to be found. You can’t believe the disappointment that nips at you. 

The next one seems like a general group chat with what must be everyone on the app in it. It’s pretty similar to gossip girls, with the exception that you see the degeneracy of the idols from the source. You catch yourself laughing at some of the messages. 

“Oh! I almost forgot. If you’re on the app, you should join this one.” Says NingNing with her mouth full as another group chat pops up on your screen. “00-04z”.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Lindsey Liu꒰੭ believe me yet?

You suppose you don’t have a frame of reference, but this is a bit what you expected all celebrities to be like. But you haven’t seen, say, Emma Watson taking a selfie mid-coitus. But if you said you didn’t feel like you were introduced to an entirely new world, you would be lying. You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t look up interviews with every idol you find something out about to compare. That kept you up far past your bedtime.

It was 3am when you decided to open the chat NingNing invited you to. You felt like you were stranded in unfamiliar territory. It was filled with idols you didn’t recognize. You’re positioned back to when you were first added. The conversation continues without anyone mentioning you. Only for a bit.

Han Jisung⓪⓪ hey

Baek Jiheon⓪③ rock paper scissors?

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ are you in preschool? lol no. 

Han Jisung⓪⓪ kids.

Baek Jiheon⓪③ come ooonnnn!!! T__T

Kim Chaehyun⓪② There’s only one spot left. We have to decide.

Han Jisung⓪⓪ fresh meat

Yoon Keeho⓪① ?

Park Sohyun⓪② huh?

Zhong Chenle⓪① where?

Yang Jungwon⓪④ Why would you say it like that…

Kim Suyeon⓪③ new member? Where?

Han Jisung⓪⓪ … the only member with their name in english

Your head is already spinning from the amount of unfamiliar names, reading these messages about you only makes things worse. You find yourself holding your breath despite knowing this conversation happened hours ago.

Choi Jongho⓪⓪ Can they even understand us? haha

Yoon Keeho⓪① AYE. You there?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Guys omg lol. That’s my girl friend. She’s ‘00.

Park Sohyun⓪② A girl????

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ yessss. another point for zero-zeros.

Jang Eunseong⓪⓪ Another point for GIRL zero-zeros. We were drowning :*)

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ maybe she could come lolololololol

Baek Jiheon⓪③ WHAT?! 

Yu Jimin⓪⓪ She hasn’t even spoken yet lol. NingNing?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② She’ll come eventually. She’s a little shy.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② awwwwww

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Shy? ;3

Oh god, what was NingNing doing? She could have lied and said you were asleep. She’s not lying, but there’s something about being introduced as shy. Some people see it as a challenge. Those are the vibes you’re getting from this Jaemin character. Just from one text.

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Someone spell out the pronunciation of her name in Hangul

That ‘Keeho’ person does it, and you watch in horror as they speculate about your attributes. If you’re tall or short, what your ethnicity is, and as Jaemin put it,

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Ha Ha. Yeaaahh, stay away from her you junkie.

As you scroll down, you notice that he seems to be very curious about you. Everyone is, as you’re the first non-idol to be added to the chat. You can’t help feeling like a carcass with several vultures circling overhead. 

Your blinks get heavier and heavier until you drift into a different room. You’re tangled in red, satin sheets like the last tv show you watched. It feels nice, far nicer and more vivid than it should. You want to sink deeper when you feel a pair of hands on you. The hands sizzle against your cool skin, wasting no time getting under your flimsy slip and fondling you. You would be shocked if it didn’t feel so good. With two hands on your breasts, you feel another cup your heat. A strangled moan breaks free from your lips as you close your thighs around the hand. The first pair pries them back open. The omniscient sense that only exists in your dreams tells you that you know these two men. You can hear a dog tag jingling as the second one slips your panties to the side. If that’s Caleb, and this is your dream, the second has to be Sylus. But no, there is purple hair in your peripheral. Rafayel and Caleb… you feel lust skitter up your legs to your lower stomach. You bite your lip as a finger slips into your heat. You peer over at Rafayel as his finger slips into your mouth. 

“Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?” He turns to someone in the doorway. As soon as you follow his eyeline, Lindsay slams the door shut. You jolt from the noise back into consciousness. You peer at your front door as if Lindsay would be there, your skin still feeling seared where those hands were.

Your lustful bliss wasn’t able to ease you through your work day unfortunately. As your bosses and the group’s managers pried any tranquility from you, you focus more on the strange part of the dream. Lindsay’s eyes become more haunting. Your last visit to her house is all you can think about. Then you start to pick apart all the other times you spoke with her–

“Are you listening? Hey! This is fucking garbage. What the hell were you thinking?!” One of the A&R managers, Mr. Myeong snaps in front of your face before banging his fist into the keyboard. You can’t stop your hands before they lurch toward the keyboard to stop him. He screws something up with your project, so you just apologize, dodge his eyes, and reach for your mouse. He smacks it away, cursing at you. You grasp your hand, looking up at him in disbelief. Bad idea. He chuts and almost shoves you straight out of the chair. You stumble away, barely catching yourself.

He mutters under his breath, clacking at the keyboard and clicking the mouse like it personally affronted him. 

“How many times do we have to correct you before you get it right?”

You hazard a glance toward the monitor. You gasp, covering your mouth as you watch him delete the entire project. He moves to your other pro tools files, highlighting all of them. You lunge toward him, grabbing his hand on the mouse before shouting for him to stop.

 He rips his hand away, standing from the chair and giving you the most disgusted look you’ve ever been given. He swiftly raises his hand and you flinch, guarding yourself. 

“Piece of trash…” He says under his breath before storming out of the room. Your heart thunders against your chest with each of his footsteps away from the media room. You don’t realize that you’re still guarding your face and lower your arms. You stand there, staring at your feet but really at nothing at all. You raise your shaky hands before balling them into fists.

The next two weeks feel like torture. You don’t dread work like normal people do. You prepare yourself for the emptying of your will and passion every time you clock in. Your bosses keep criticizing your messily tucked in shirt or mismatched socks but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. 

You can feel yourself starting to hate producing.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’re going to quit.

Lindsay keeps texting you, but even deciding whether or not to answer is another layer of stress you can’t afford. You catch a glimpse of her celebrating her card pulls and you feel guilt tug at you. It’s just too much. Admitting your mom was right isn’t half as bad as suffering through this job.

I’m going to miss you, NingNing :((((

NingNing Ughhhh, I guess we can still talk about LaDS but that’s already what I was doing before! I want to talk about LaDS with someone I already know IN REAL LIFE!!

You pout for her, sitting on the edge of your bed with the horrendous posture you’ve adopted. As you type your response, something hits you and you backspace it all.

Why don’t you talk about it with Lindsay?

NingNing Oh PLEASE. She would just tell me to shut up.

Why would she do that, you think. But you suppose those two do have a sibling-esque dynamic. You exhale deeply before lying back on your bed. Your legs draw together like they do every time you get home nowadays. Especially after that dream, you can’t help touching yourself as soon as you get home. You bite your lip as you slip your work pants off and your underwear. Lately everything has been arousing you. You can’t watch any movie or show with a sex scene or else you’ll end up rewinding over and over until you get off and feel disgusted with yourself. Men at work with tight pants, women at work with tight blouses. Everything sets you off. It’s excruciating since masturbating or humping your bed like you’re doing now isn’t cutting it.

Forget someone finding out you work at SM, you don’t even have time for sex. That, and there was something so sweet about rotting your mind to porn. Love and Deepspace smut was great, but you had to use too much brain power. With porn, you could just turn it off. 

By month four of working at SM, you were a husk. The only thing that made something break through were the worried looks on the idol’s faces when they worked with you and the hurt texts from Lindsay. 

“I appreciate that you’re finally listening to instruction, but can you please speak louder?” dearALICE’s manager pats you on the back before humming encouragingly. He was less upfront about his disrespect, and you can’t decide if that was better or worse. He didn’t understand personal space and his only mode of speaking was sarcasm and backhanded compliments.

Despite feeling like the puppet they always wanted you to be, you still received “notes” at the next meeting. The next A&R staff assembly included a portion about enthusiasm and the cons of having a resting bitch face. Basically they want you to be a puppet and be happy about it. That’s a step too far for you. They’re getting what they want anyway. They keep bringing it up until you’re being pulled to the side by Chris himself about your strange behavior. It’s not that you’re being a smartass, you just don’t have it in you to emote while speaking to him. 

“Can you at least try to smile? D’you know how disrespectful it is to reply like an annoyed teen to your higher ups? Cut it out!” He shouts, through with trying to hide the fact that he’s scolding you on the side of the hall. Your coworkers walk past, looking confused and scared by the outburst.

You can’t catch a break from your coworkers either. To them, you’re an unenthusiastic trouble maker. Pretty much everyone in the building hates you. It doesn’t matter, you won’t be bothering them for much longer. 

Lindsay seems more erratic this particular day, blowing up your phone to the point you have to put it on do not disturb.

You get home and the cycle repeats. You strip down, hump your hand until you cum, turn on porn to do it again, turn on one of the more salacious sex scenes you can’t stop thinking about to do it again. And right as sleep is cradling you, the dream is vivid in your mind. You think of the soft satin against your legs, the fingers in your mouth and in your cunt and you jut into your hand one last time. Then you drift to sleep, the exhaustion at its peak. 

CHAPTER THREEˋ°•*⁀➷

No matter how many times your alarm goes off at five a.m., you always find yourself in a battle with your nineteen year old self. Because it still doesn’t seem real that you have a real job. With a schedule. And a fucking evaluation each quarter.

NingNing are you not seeing the gc? Lindsay just sent something CRAZY

You choose to ignore her text for one simple reason. It’s much too early to translate. You’re already grouchy from the impending evaluation, you’d rather just hurry and get ready for your first scheduled session. 

And throughout all three hours of said session, your phone is buzzing into oblivion. You have to wonder if a cartoonish vein is popping out of your forehead when one of the members stops singing in the booth. You look up to see not only him, but everyone else in the studio staring at you. 

“Juliette, if you need to excuse yourself for a moment to answer your phone, please do so.” Says the boys’ manager, looking unimpressed with your attitude. Embarrassed, you immediately stand up, bowing at everyone in the room and softly apologizing in Korean. 

You rush out in the hall, half of you just excited to be relieved of the tension you caused and the other half is eager to mute NingNing and Lindsay. Both of them are urging you to check the gossip girls group chat. You search for the app, forgetting what it’s called since you rarely use it. The less familiar logo is grouped with the other messaging apps. SCR… right, you think, and what does that mean again?

You’re tempted to delete it since it’s collecting dust, but deep down you know exactly why you won’t. You pretty much pass out as soon as you get home, so you haven’t checked it. But you haven’t forgotten the new world that has opened up to you.

The group chat has over 999+ unread messages. You’re not sure just how much that plus is hinting at since you rarely open it, but you remember there being significantly less the last time you glanced at the home page. And that wasn’t that long ago. That’s when you see the previews of the messages flying by. 

their shoulders are so broad, it gets me… this is so strange Lindsay, do you know their type? I wa… kinda horny now lololol I bet they only like really skinny girls… So what’s their size? Don’t leave us… i’d pay just to see it lol god they would KILL on onlyfans

… What in the world is going on? You tap the group chat at the speed of light. Frustratingly you’re positioned where you left off two months ago. When you finally get to what you assume NingNing is freaking out about, you see that it’s already translated for you.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Hello dolls, As some of you may know, I am moving back to Shanghai for the time being :*(. I know, I’m so sad! I’ll miss seeing your gorgeous, gorgeous faces in real life. Anyway, I’ve decided to leave you guys with a parting gift. Me being the only person to experience this feels like a waste. One of you has got to have sex with Nomin.

You gasp, hugging your phone against your chest. Your thighs clench on their own, feeling that lust creep through your bloodstream. God, not right now. The door creaks open and you feel your soul threatening to leave your body. 

“Are you okay?” The manager peeks his head out, looking just as annoyed as he always is.

“I-I’m sorry, there’s an emergency!” Your face is sizzling hot as you lock your phone. His face gradually softens. 

“You don’t look too good, you can take a short break–”

“Okay, thanks!” You rush toward a bathroom, any bathroom. Only when you’re locked in a stall do you feel yourself calm down. Your face is still hot to the touch as you unlock your phone. You have to admit, Lindsay really caught you off guard. God… if someone had glanced over your shoulder, you would’ve had your ass handed to you. Despite what their artists sing about and how they dance, SM is a very sexless place. Any innuendos or allusions to sex are strictly prohibited. A part of you felt like that was only targeted at you because you were American (not that you would blame them). But after being here for four months, you’ve gotten very used to the sterile environment. 

You’re already so sensitive to anything suggestive. Is she joking? If she is, it is a little funny. You think to message her that before you continue. 

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Don’t worry, I won’t be jealous or anything. If you know me, then you know I refuse to be attached to any man lol. But you should know that they don’t just fuck anybody. From what they’ve told me, they don’t look at most girls. They’re very particular about the girls they seek out. If you ask me, that’s exactly why they barely have threesomes lol.

The first of many thoughts to surface is that Lindsay is clearly not joking. The next is a glaring question.

Who is Nomin?

You know better than to assume the k-pop industry debuted a nonbinary idol, so you’re not surprised when your google search returns two men. You’re also not surprised that you don’t recognize them since they debuted around the time you stopped caring about new groups. You recognize one of the names, you figure it must be from one of the group chats. They’re handsome, though. Very much so. They’re both charming in their own way, and you can see why they’re paired up. The vibes are reminiscent of the classic cat/dog dynamic you’ve seen. You tap your index finger against your lips as you sift through the images. They have nice physiques. They’re okay, I’ll always be a Taemin girl, though. You spin your ring mindlessly, unable to tear your eyes away from Jeno’s bare torso.

Right, the message.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Here, I’ve compiled for you the steps to attempt to get Nomin’s attention. Just to get it out of the way because it's obvious, you have to be up for a threesome. Even I couldn’t get one of them alone. Also, no idols. Upsetting one fandom is already horrifying, upsetting two is just reckless. Anyway, Tip One: - Don’t try so hard. If you look as good as they do, you get suitors constantly. And having to constantly deal with loud and unsubtle people is annoying. Besides, no one likes desperation. Tip Two: - If you’re going to change up your style and approach, don’t lay it on thick in either direction. Don’t become a BDSM dungeon master with your breasts practically falling out of your shirt. I bet you would look great, but you’d be ignoring tip one. But don’t put on that weird demure act either. If you’re covered head to toe and pretend to be sex averse, how are they supposed to know you want to fuck them? - (extra hint: dress casually, but give them something to… you know. A shirt just tight enough or a skirt just short enough they think their dirty thoughts were their own fault. Just off the top of my head, something like a graphic tee that’s slightly cropped with high waisted jeans that cover your midriff. Make sure the shirt hugs you just right 😉)

You laugh to yourself. Graphic tee she says. She could’ve just said t-shirt, but she’s making it very obvious. Perhaps on purpose. You pinch your jacket closed as if someone can see you right now. You’re wearing the same shirt you had on when you met her, now that you think about it. 

Tip Three: - A quick Do & Don’t for you: DON’T pretend to be their biggest fan. Name a single idol who has dated a fan. Exactly. DO become the best fan fiction character you can be. And I mean best. Don’t go to their concert and read a book, that’s ignoring tip one again. Don’t say you hate their music or hate boy groups. Subtler. Say you love boy groups. Hell, say you love SM groups… but you’re not very familiar with new ones. Throw an older group out there like I don’t know… SHINee. I think that’s why they reached out to me, being a 2PM fan and all. I wouldn’t have even looked their way on my own and I think that excited them.

That tip is the final straw for you. That one message was correct, this is strange. If she wanted to recommend you… have sex with those two, why wouldn’t she just message you? And are they even aware of all this? It all rubs you the wrong way and you start to text her exactly that. Lindsay beats you to it, though.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Have you read the group chat at all?

Yes, what the hell.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ What did you think of the tips ;)

Lindsay. Don’t you think this is a little inappropriate?

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Hey, I said they don’t like the innocent act.

I’m not participating in this! It feels icky. Am I crazy?

You exit out of her chat to message NingNing the same thing. You can’t be going crazy. This is weird. You fan yourself and exhale.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ A little!! :D 

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ They’re already texting me that they’re going to be so lonely and horny when I leave… they may even have to play with each other to cope…

My GOD Lindsay.

You swipe the messenger away entirely, only noticing then how hard your heart is beating. You close your eyes and your mind immediately betrays you and paints the images you saw of Jeno and Jaemin together vividly. You ease onto the toilet, hands pressing against the stall on either side of you. The images refuse to cease and you let your thighs squeeze just a little. 

Your phone buzzes and you send a ball of saliva back to roll down your parched throat before opening the app again. 

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Last time I checked on you, you told me you haven’t been getting any play recently. They’re going to be in the same boat soon.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭ Remember what I told you? Idols have to be picky about who they sleep with and how often they do it. I know you’re thinking about quitting because this job isn’t what you saw yourself doing, but you aren’t utilizing the perks, doll </3 !

The perks? Your perks are a discount at the SM cafe, 15 days of paid time off per year, a free bus pass, and making your passion your job. Getting closer to celebrities so you can fuck them sounds like something scumbag villains in Kdramas do.

No, this is wrong. There’s something about Lindsay that just feels off. You think back to that picture she sent you. You scroll through all her unanswered texts to you until you see it. She sent two pics, one of the five star card she pulled and the other of all ten cards. Why does NingNing feel she has no one to talk about Love and Deepspace with?

You reverse image search her pictures and it pulls up a reddit post. It’s the exact same freeze frame from the video that plays when you pull that card. And the ten pulls are identical.

NingNing Oh it’s absoLUTELY weird. But I wouldn’t put it past those two to be that freaked out.

NingNing Whatever you do, don’t tell 00-04z about this. It’ll be our little secret.

NingNing It’s going to be funny to see everyone try and fail to seduce them lol

Each of NingNing’s messages slide down at the top of your screen, replacing the previous. You completely forgot about that group chat. Jaemin…

Is she as cute as you’re making her seem, NingNing?

You hurry back to the recording room, apologizing and bowing 90 degrees to everyone in the room.

“Get over there already. How long are you going to make everyone wait?”

“I’m so sorry.” You say as you skitter over to the mixing desk. As soon as your thighs press against the seat and push against your vulva, you clench your thigh tighter, unable to stop yourself.

The minute you get home, you fumble with your keys trying to get in as fast as you can. You burst through the door and throw your purse off before practically ripping your clothes off. You don’t have to wait until you’re close to sleeping for that dream to appear behind your eyelids today. It’s all you could think about once you put a face to those words you’ve been replaying in your brain. You have another face now, too. You whimper as you stroke your aching clit. You replace Rafayel and Caleb with these new faces. It’s so wrong, but you can’t help yourself. It feels like the dream finally progressed. You have something to put in you other than fingers. Two things you want to shove anywhere they’ll fit.

You shove your face into the covers as a despaired moan is pulled from your body. Cum oozes over your fingers as you continue to hammer them into your throbbing hole. You cum five times until you have nothing else left and your poor nub starts to hurt. Only then does the guilt truly set in. Are these two meant to be the Caleb and Rafayel duo? They look nothing like them. And which is which? You laugh to yourself, mental and physical exhaustion dragging you to hysterics.

She got you.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Every time NingNing tries to talk to you, you get distracted by the people with huge, hulking cameras following you.

“The guys are– ignore them. They follow me everywhere.” NingNing seems completely unbothered when she mentions that, but it sure bothers you. Even with her bodyguard following close behind. It takes her a few more tries to get your attention.

“Hey!! Everyone in the 00-04 group chat is confused. I invited someone and they don’t even speak in the group chat. You’re making both of us look weird!” She nudges you, her Americano jostling in her hand. You don’t know how to tell her that you’re terrified to open it after you came to the thought of Jaemin and Jeno on three separate occasions now. You don’t even know them from a can of paint but you’ve imagined them in every possible position. 

“I dunno, it feels awkward.” You speak low and lean a little closer, unnerved by the amount of people looking at the two of you. 

“They’ll love you! They’re already excited to meet you! Especially Jaemin, idiot won’t stop bringing you up.” She mutters the last part, clearly not the biggest fan. You hurriedly sip your latte to hide any suspicious facial expressions. 

“J-Jaemin?” You sputter after swallowing your drink haphazardly. Great going, genius.

“Yeah, ugh. Anyway, if you were in the group chat, you’d know we were planning to go to Switzerland in December. We have a huge chalet booked because we intended for twenty people to come, and we even got twenty multi-day passes for skiing. Long story short, too many people dropped out for comfort so we’re kinda scrambling. Are you interested?” NingNing looks over just in time to catch the twinkle in your eyes. She laughs mischievously as you try to fix your face. You’re not the biggest fan of going somewhere colder for vacation, but any vacation sounds good right now.

“How long are we gonna be there? Did you already buy plane tickets? What day in December should we–”

“My GOD girl! I’m guessing that’s a yes. Since we’re leaving the country we’re thinking two weeks. Is that good?”

You peer over at NingNing, a smile slowly fading in for both of you.

“Tell me more.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Michelle link

Michelle Happy to see you’re doing well. Would’ve loved to hear this directly from you but you barely speak to me anymore.

Of all the consequences of you going all in on work, losing your best friend was the hardest one. You didn’t realize you favored texting or calling NingNing about one of your many shared interests over reaching out to your friend until she sent you that. You cautiously click on the chat, knowing that your read receipts are on and you’ll have to answer as a consequence of wanting to know what that link is.

Underground Producer Juliette spotted with aespa’s NingNing Coming From a Coffee Shop. Fans Speculate Over a Possible Solo Project For The Idol

Will that always be your title? How long has it been since you left the underground?

Those were your initial thoughts until this article kept coming back to haunt you. It was shared in three out of four of the group chats you were in. You’re getting more DMs from artists than you ever have (long after you needed them). You, of course, were scolded at work. And you have your first direct message on SCR that isn’t from NingNing or Lindsay.

Na Jaemin Is that you with NingNing in that picture 👀

You immediately ignore the message. Your excitement is simply too great to handle right now. You can’t have him sensing your sins. 

Instead, you finally hazard a glance of the 00-04z group chat.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Ooouuuu she’s cute :3

Jung Sungchan⓪① how do we even know that’s her

Jung Sungchan⓪① the article says juliette

Choi Beomgyu⓪① tha’ts her stge name dumbass

Huh Yunjin⓪① Learn how to spell b4 calling someone else a dumbass lmaooo

Bae Jinsol⓪④ idk if this is inappropriate to say, y’all will let me know anyway lol but her clothes fit her just right

Park Sohyun⓪② JUST right

Park Sunghoon⓪② oh here cum the lesbians

Park Sohyun⓪② Sunghoon’s just mad Xinyu rejected him for me lolololol

Yoon Sangah⓪② lolololol

Oh Haewon⓪③ lolololol

Shen Quanrui⓪④ lolololol

Kim Sunoo⓪�� lolololol

Park Sunghoon⓪② Sunoo whose side are you on??

Kim Sunoo⓪③ … the gays? tf

Jake Sim⓪② Just saw the pic y’all are talking about… that’s my type haha

Baek Jiheon⓪③ And what is that (,,◕.◕,,)

Jake Sim⓪② Not stick thin😏 I like some meat on the bone

Baek Jiheon⓪③ (ಠ⌣ಠ)

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Now y’all are speaking my language lol who are we talking about

Zhong Chenle⓪① you never come in here and when you do you refuse to scroll up smh

Everyone reacts in shock to his message, including you. This is your first time seeing his name outside of a search bar. Every time you tell yourself to stop picturing these poor men in indecent situations you feel it more vividly. Jeno’s sweaty chest as he ruts into from behind and Jaemin’s sweaty shoulders under your palms while you take it. I mean… both of them seem somewhat interested… so you can't be that bad, right.

Kim Dayeon⓪③ talking about how you like girls with meat on their bones as if it’s OUR FAULT WE’RE SKINNY. JELLYFISH STRIPPED ME OF MY MEAT.

Jake Sim⓪② Calm down pls T__T I promise I wasn’t dissing skinny girls, I love all women. You’re all beautiful

Jay Park⓪② Damn straight

Kim Dayeon⓪③ Alright then >:(

Baek Jiheon⓪③ I forgive you (♡°▽°♡)

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Wait, so who’s Juliette 

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Is she here?

Lee Donghyuck⓪⓪ scroll up farther for god sake

He could scroll up… or you could just…

Hello. Um, you guys are right, my name isn’t Juliette.

… get things started. You properly introduce yourself for the first time in this group chat. Everyone properly introduces themselves, and you find Sohyun, Xinyu, Jinsol, and Jake in your DMs. It’s far too much attention to handle. You feel a little dizzy from all the emotions demanding your attention.

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Look at my messages;3

“Oh right.” You panic and switch to his DMs, not expecting new messages. 

Na Jaemin So you are as cute

You chew on your lip, feeling as though releasing it would release a whine as well. The heat brewing in your core is intense. You can feel the base of your thighs dampening. It’s like he knows just what to say to drive you crazy.

Na Jaemin I wanna see you

Your breath catches, rereading the word as if it would help you decode it. He couldn’t be asking to meet up so he must mean– Oh…

He’s asking for it.

Na Jaemin Nonononoo lololol I’m sorry, I’m just used to being forward on this app. That was disrespectful. Idk why this app brings it out of me.

No, you’re okay. 

If I’m honest… It does that to me too.

Right about now you would be throwing your phone away, too scared to see his response, but you’re glued to the screen. The typing indicator appears before disappearing. It never comes back. You decide to check the group chat while you wait when you see it.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Ah…

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ I know that name. Are you friends with Lindsay?

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Whatever weird shit she said to you, don't spread it here

Shit. Shit. You were right. God, you should have immediately warned them about the messages she sent to gossip girls. Instead you’re sitting here drooling and implicating yourself. The chat goes from fawning over you to wondering what you and Lindsay did to piss Jeno off. 

You knew it. You knew this was weird and you knew you shouldn’t have gone into that stupid group chat. You already took off those two weeks in December, and you were really looking forward to a getaway where you didn’t have to pay for plane tickets or a place to stay. Did you just blow it? 

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Noooo she’s not close to Lindsay, Lindsay just helped her get this job and helps her out from time to time.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Oh yeah, I forgot you were friends with Lindsay too. Keep your mouth shut, too.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Why are you acting like you don’t know how Lindsay is? She’s eccentric and out of touch. What else do you expect from a billionaire’s daughter?

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Can she be eccentric to herself?

Ning Yizhuo⓪② You KNOW she can’t do that.

Han Chowon⓪② This is the most I’ve ever seen Jeno active in this gc lol

You want to say something or apologize, but truthfully you don’t know what he’s actually referring to. What if you just implicate yourself further.

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Ugh fuck off Jeno you scared the new girl off

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And Lindsay scares ME.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Not enough to stay out of her pants lololol

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Hey

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ How did you know that?

Nakamura Kazuha⓪③ Omg? So it’s true?

Kim Jiwon⓪④ Oh my god…

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ You see what I mean? Lindsay can’t keep her mouth shut, and neither can her little friends

Oh Haewon⓪③ can you chill tf out

Watanabe Haruto⓪④ …

Watanabe Haruto⓪④ so was she good

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ I was wondering the same lolol she’s so hot

Na Jaemin⓪⓪ Tooootally dude

You think to yourself if the threesome stuff was actually real but you catch yourself and toss that idea. You think of a way to clear your name without hinting at anything more. 

She does say a lot of weird things but I usually tune her out lol

Or just tell her she’s being weird.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② Yeah Lindsay said something totally weird recently and she messaged me privately to see if I thought it was weird too lol

And we’re not really cool like that, promise

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Oh don’t worry about Jeno, he’s just being a diva

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Am I though, because they both just said she says weird things too

Oh Haewon⓪③ SHE’S AN ECCENTRIC BILLLIONAIRE!!!

Zhou Xinyu⓪② Eccentric 👏🏻 Billionaire 👏🏻

Yeah, but still. She does give weird vibes, ngl.

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And she’s a fucking pathological liar

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ Maybe I should start spilling secrets about her, see how she likes it

Huh Yunjin⓪① YES PLEASE GAWD SOME DRAMA

Yoon Keeho⓪① LMAOOOO

Ning Yizhuo⓪② jiFWLBFIEB

You thought maybe Lindsay was just a nuisance to him in a similar way she is to you. But this hints at something maybe a little deeper. 

Maybe for you as well.

The group chat goes dormant after realizing Jeno was bluffing. He tells everyone in the chat they have a gossip problem and disappears. You refresh the homepage mindlessly, frustration prodding at you. You switch over to your DMs. You notice Jaemin finally texted back. 

Na Jaemin Wait so you know Lindsay?

Na Jaemin Oh you guys aren’t close. Well let me know when she’s coming back if she told you. Or if she’s ever coming back. 

Na Jaemin Idk.

Nothing about his texts indicate that he harbors the same feelings for Lindsay. Maybe he and Jeno aren’t as much of a unit as Lindsay made you believe. You stay with these messages, rereading them and feeling a tinge of pity. 

Well, I definitely know she’s coming back because she has a mansion here.

Na Jaemin What?!

Na Jaemin Well I guess she is rich, but I didn’t know that.

Na Jaemin Are you sure you guys aren’t friends?

One thing you know for absolute certain in these trying times is that you don’t want to be confused to be on Lindsay’s side.

Absolutely not, I haven’t spoken to her in around two months or something lol.

Na Jaemin I seeeee

Na Jaemin Anyway, make sure to text me again sooner than that ;3

The only way you can quell the fluttering in your chest is through a girlish squeal paired with you kicking your feet. Should you be guilty about all this if they reached out to you first?

CHAPTER FOURˋ°•*⁀➷

You cross your foot in front of the other to see the outfit in a different pose. You are unfortunately not allowed to wear a costume to SM’s Halloween party, but you can come. And you can dress up a little bit. Not too flashy, they said. You opted for a blouse with a high neckline with short butterfly sleeves that just cut it off from being a tank top. You thought that was too much already, so you paired it with black slacks. A high bun with two pieces to frame your face shouldn’t be flashy.

Whatever, if you get scolded, you’ll drink. If you get scolded for getting drunk, hopefully they’ll fire you. You smooth your hands over the pants slowly, letting that thought simmer.

Yeah, you haven’t considered that. If they fire you, there won’t need to be a lawsuit. You definitely wouldn’t fight it. But is it too soon to go home? You think about your mother and how she’ll nag you. You think about how you have no friends at home anymore. How NingNing would miss you. 

Are you seriously considering this? You can’t. Not after they killed your passion.

No, you need to go forward with this plan. You made a new friend here, you can do it again back home. And your mom will be alright.

Your uber notifies you that it’s outside and you snatch your purse with renewed vigor. 

You’re going to get fired from SM Entertainment.

The dimly lit venue is enough to get you in the partying spirit. Luckily there are enough people here that you shouldn’t be scolded the entire night. You want to be seen on your worst behavior but you don’t want your buzz killed.

You find NingNing who is dressed as Jobu Tupaki. Specifically her goth outfit. You compliment her and give her a hug. You greet Winter who is dressed in Barbie’s cowgirl outfit, Giselle who is Lola Bunny from Space Jam, and lastly Karina who is Disgust.

“Did you guys do a movie theme?” You ask, a little sad looking at their costumes. The FOMO just set in.

“Nah, we’re just that in sync.” Giselle says with a smirk, wrapping her arms around Winter and Karina. Karina brushes her arms away.

“Yes. We did a movie theme.” Karina explains, shaking her head at Giselle and making an expression that fits her character.

There wasn’t much to do but walk around, talk, eat, and drink alcohol. You made sure to get your grief’s worth in alcohol. You drank for all your forgotten projects, for your crushed dreams, and as a fuck you to your manager who threatened to hit you. That memory had the jello shots flying. NingNing found it amusing but her members were a bit worried. Especially after NingNing starts joining “for the bit”.

‘Can you guys stop’ turns into ‘are you guys gonna stop’ before the other three decide to leave before it gets embarrassing. Thankfully you and NingNing were both giggly drunks so you mostly stood by the wall and laughed at everything and nothing. 

“Look. Omg, look, LOOK!” NingNing shouts as she points across the room very overtly. Thankfully who she’s pointing at doesn’t see her do it. There are two men in similar military-esque costumes. Who they’re specifically dressed as, you can’t tell from this distance, but there’s a girl with her back arched and her ass poked out speaking to them. You would say she looks hot but she’s in a slutty schoolgirl outfit. 

“That outfit?” You nudge NingNing before pointing at your mouth and pretending to gag.

“Yeah, and that violates rule number one AND two.”

In your defense, you were drunk, so your brain was a bit laggy. “Rules? Rules to what?” You slur out, slightly stumbling and bumping into her. 

“My bad. Tips, I mean tips. Tip number one and two. Don’t try too hard and don’t dress extra slutty to get their attention.”

Then it clicks. You didn’t even realize who the two men were. Jaemin takes off his sunglasses, revealing the annoyance in his eyes as he folds them into the collar of his jumpsuit. Jeno has his mask pushed up so his bangs are peeking out, looking everywhere but at the nuisance.

Whoever they're supposed to be, they look damn good. Jeno has a vest on and a black shirt rolled up to his elbows. You can see his forearms flex every time he clenches his fist. Jaemin has his jumpsuit rolled up, too. All you can think about is them putting you in a headlock. You roll your eyes back as you giggle blissfully to yourself. 

“Ooh? Was that reaction for them? Are you gonna throw your hat in the ring?” NingNing gets far too excited, leaning forward to get a better glimpse of your face. You push her back against the wall by her head, shaking yours.

“I’m not playing Lindsay’s little game.” The smile slowly fades from your lips, a bitter taste left in its wake. Suddenly, the girl in the schoolgirl costume is getting escorted out of the building. She doesn’t go out without a fight, shouting back at Jeno and Jaemin for ‘a little help’ just to add more embarrassment. 

Just as the situation escalates and she starts screaming like a banshee, something red obscures your vision. You try to maneuver around it but it keeps moving into your vision. You look up in annoyance to see Mr. Myeong. You feel the warmth drain from your body as your annoyance turns to fear. 

“Who said you can look in my eyes, hm?” He says and you immediately look downward. He cuts his eyes at NingNing and tells her to beat it. She does, but not before looking at you like a sad puppy. He starts to scold you about how much you’ve drank and how you’re two seconds from getting kicked out but you can’t focus on that. The rule was a lie, he’s a staff member and he’s wearing a costume. And not just any costume. In perfect comedic fashion, he’s wearing a devil costume.

Maybe it’s because you really wanted to wear a costume and now you’re re-pissed, but you laugh openly at the situation. You sold your soul to the devil, this evil manager is like the devil, and now he’s standing here scolding you in a devil costume. You laugh even harder. 

“Are you– Are you laughing? Have you lost your mind?” He snaps at you before prodding at your forehead with his finger. You immediately stop laughing. He does it a few more times, asking who you think you are and where you learned your manner from. He asks why Americans are so incompetent and why they even hire ‘the likes of you’. 

At that, you grab his finger before he could make a permanent mark on your forehead. 

“You crazy bitch! Let go of me.” He tries to rip it free but you tighten your grip. By now, a few people are watching. This is it. Your chance. You chuckle a little before leaning closer.

“Forgive me for laughing, it’s just…” You lean next to his ear, digging your fingernails into his finger. “How the fuck am I supposed to take you seriously with that ridiculous costume on?”

He finally breaks free, immediately cocking his hand back. That same hand. But this time you just smile and close your eyes. Everyone is looking now. You’ll be free after this. You take the moment to consider your next move. Maybe you’ll stay here and produce freelance. Whatever you do, you’ll surely be kicked out of SM because the minute he slaps you? He’s getting all the pent up frustration from these four months.

“Hey, hey!” You expected someone to notice, but this unfamiliar voice sounded light, conversational. Like he just found his buddy after looking for him at a party. You snap your eyes open after noticing you haven’t been hit.

Jeno is smiling at the manager, his wrist firmly in Jeno’s grip.

“Let me go– What is wrong with you?!”

“Oh my!” Jeno lets go of the man’s hand to cover his mouth and the manager loses his balance. He falls flat on his ass. “I saw the red and thought you were Xiaojun. I’m so sorry, sir!”

“I– You–! Help me up this instant!” His voice booms, but only you flinch. You look up at Jeno who is approaching you. Realize now that he’s Ghost from Call of Duty. And that this is your first time seeing him up close in real life. His friendly smile flickers away to reveal a grimace. For a second you think it’s aimed at you until he speaks. He leans in to speak next to your ear. 

“Are you okay, that asshole didn’t hit you, did he?” His breath hits your ear and gives you goosebumps. All you can do is shake your head. He doesn’t get to lean back before he’s ripped away from you. 

“Hey! You piece of shit! Mind your own business.” 

Jeno doesn’t hide his glare this time, and Jaemin steps in between. 

“I’ll apologize for him, sir.” Jaemin bows ninety degrees, apologizing heartily to the shorter male. As his torso lowers, you catch a glimpse of Jeno grasping his hand tightly. Mr. Myeong bristles at all three of you now. 

“You sons of bitches! I’ll ruin you all!” He turns to you, wagging his finger. The parts of his skin that aren’t covered by the splotchy red paint are rivaling makeup in color. “I’ll ruin you!”

His words curdle the minute they’re introduced to your system. Ruin? 

Will you have a choice in working in Korea?

“Mr. Myeong, that is unnecessary. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.” Jaemin outstretches his arms in an attempt to placate but it’s no use. Mr. Myeong just keeps feverishly pointing at you and screaming. 

“You don’t know what she said to me! You weren’t raised to value respect,” Mr. Myeong rolls up his sleeves and a few onlookers gasp, “but I’ll teach you.” He charges forward and swings his hand with more force than last time, closing his fists. You snarl, ready to end all of this. If getting punched by a middle aged man is what it takes to continue producing in Korea, it’s not worth it. You see red, readying your foot and eyeing his crotch.

Unfortunately for him, Jaemin is more focused on blocking the path toward you than stopping Jeno. Jeno presses his two hands to Mr. Myeong’s chest before using all the force his muscular frame can muster to shove the small man to the ground. His body bounces, head knocking against the floor as he slides back far. He's momentarily stunned. Only then does Jaemin switch to stopping Jeno before he pummels Mr. Myeong. His shaking fists are clenched tightly as he tries to shake Jaemin off of him. Jaemin keeps firm on his shoulders and tries to get Jeno to focus on him. It isn’t working.

“Are you going to keep doing this shit? Huh? How long are you gonna keep this shit up?!” Jeno lunges especially hard and nearly slips from Jaemin’s grasp. His words strike you, but you cut your introspection short. This is a mistake you’re only willing to let yourself make. Then suddenly you’re walking over to help Jaemin restrain him.

The security finally intervenes when Mr. Myeong tries to stand back up and stupidly confront Jeno once more. The two of you are having a hard time restraining him right now, if Mr. Myeong had run up? You probably would’ve relented just to get out of the way in time. 

Jeno finally calms as a roaring Mr. Myeong is escorted off the premises, and you finally breathe. You step back from the two men only to be ambushed by four women. 

NingNing stays flanked to your side as everyone recovers from the debacle. Her and her members continually ask if you’re okay, but all you can notice is everyone staring at you. You’re not certain, but you swear you overhear someone’s whisper.

“He said she said something to set him off. I wouldn’t put it past her. She keeps causing trouble.”

There’s a chance you misheard or mistranslated, but your mind already convinced you it made too much sense.

Soon NingNing and her members are carted off by their manager. You watch them make their way to the exit, NingNing saying something to Jeno and pointing at you before Karina urges her to hurry up. You haven’t moved from the wall. Your eyes sink to your legs, knowing whatever is paralyzing you is all in your head.

“Someone made a call or something because there are cameras everywhere out front.”

You hear a male voice closing in followed by another one. 

“That’s okay, we can go out through the back.”

“Do you really think they haven’t thought of that?”

“No one should be leaving through there, they cut it off as a security measure. They might be waiting there now but if we give it a little bit…”

The second voice trailing off made you realize how close they were. You look up to see Jaemin and Jeno for the first time since that mishap. This is when you finally recognize Jaemin’s costume. It’s some bootleg version of a Top Gun jumpsuit. However… you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how he resembles Caleb if you squint. Was this what Lindsey was seeing when decided on that ploy? Was he even meant to be Caleb? You breathe a quick laugh, unable to help yourself.

They’re giving each other a look before Jaemin peers over at you. He gives you a wolfish smile. 

“There’s the smile I remember from the photo.” Jaemin steps to the side, shifting his attention to you. “You had me worried.” He steps forward and leans in and for a second you expect him to ruffle your hair like they do in Love and Deepspace. Man, you’re drunk. You shrug, pursing your lips as you peek over at Jeno. His face is a little more somber, eyeing you intensely like he’s trying to read you. Your smile drops when you meet eyes. 

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ And she’s a fucking pathological liar

Just what else has Lindsay lied about?

“We’re going to head out in maybe,” Jaemin draws out the word as he checks his watch, “thirty minutes? You shouldn’t ride the bus while you’re drunk. We have room since we’re driving ourselves.” Jaemin tilts his head at you. 

“Call?” He asks.

You nod sheepishly, knowing this must have been what NingNing had requested before she left. Jaemin smiles before dropping his head and exhaling through his nose. As he picks his head up you hear him whisper something. 

“Cute.”

You take a quick breath, unable to stop your thighs from clenching together. You widen your eyes as you stiffen up, checking to see if he noticed. You peer over at Jeno as well, your face feeling like it was lit on fire when you catch him staring at your legs.

“I need water.” You say, maneuvering around Jaemin and rushing past Jeno. You walk around looking for something that will stop your head from spinning every time you make a turn. There are no water bottles at the refreshment table and no water fountains in sight. As you go to turn down a dark, empty hallway, something firm and cool taps your shoulder.

You turn to see Jeno holding out a water bottle to you. 

“Where are you going?” He asks you in that same annoyed tone idol managers do. You would get upset if your vision wasn't spinning at the moment. You miss the bottle the first time but manage to grab it the second. All of your brain power goes into getting as much water in your system as possible. The giggly drunkenness is gone. The alcohol is just amplifying what you drank to forget.

When you finish, Jeno reveals the second water bottle, asking wordlessly. You accept it.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Your sobriety is creeping on too fast to justify the question plaguing your mind. Jeno is driving while Jaemin is in the passenger seat reading Jeno’s texts for him.

“It’s from Dugwan hyung. He wants to see you,” Jaemin looks over, fretful, “like, now.”

Jeno tightens his jaw. 

“‘m not goin’.”

Jaemin sighs. “If you aren’t going, I’m not either.”

Silence drapes uncomfortably over the car and Jaemin throws some music on. Unlike where you work, this venue is pretty far from your home. Thankfully, the car ride carefully takes the knotted thoughts in your head and unweaves them. You stare serenely out the window as soothing R&B plays through the speakers.

“Is this it?” Jeno’s voice jolts you from the edge of sleep. You hum before squinting at the building you’re parked outside of.

“Mm, yeah.” You say, unbuckling your seatbelt. You take a moment to rub your face before thanking the two of them. 

“I’ll walk you up.” Jaemin says, already halfway out the door when Jeno protests. “Stay here then!” Jaemin clicks his tongue before looking Jeno up and down with faux incredulity. He slams the door then, leaving Jeno to groan and glare at you through the rearview mirror. You slowly slip out of your seat, carefully eyeing the annoyed Jeno.

“Which floor?” Jaemin asks after you join him in your building’s elevator. You’re not sure which 'three' applies to this scenario so you guess. Judging by Jaemin’s snort as he presses the button, it was wrong. Today marks the first day anyone has outright laughed at your Korean. You scoff, trying sino this time. He nods approvingly, giving you a thumbs up.

Before the doors can close, a hand slams against one of them and they ease back open. Jeno’s heaving frame is slowly revealed.

He steps on, showing Jaemin his phone. They exchange panicked looks.

“We’re passed that. They told us in 2021–” Jaemin halts when Jeno flicks his hand against his chest and looks toward you. You panic and look away, realizing you’d been staring this whole time.

That suffocating silence is back as the elevator takes three centuries to get to floor three. The walk to your unit is when they can’t seem to hold it in anymore and start whispering to each other. They’re close enough behind that you happen to hear.

“Are they really bringing curfew back?” Jaemin asks.

“No, this is clearly a warning, not a reminder.” 

“And you’re still not going?”

Jeno doesn’t answer. The tone of the unanswered question takes the tension to new heights.

“Then where are we gonna go? Most hotels will either report us to SM or Dispatch.” Despite the frantic nature of Jaemin’s voice, Jeno doesn’t answer yet again. You get to your door and thank the both of them.

“I’ll text you later.” Jaemin tries to channel his wolfish smile again, but it’s strained. It sounds like they can’t even escape being scolded by their boss at their own home.

That’s no home.

“Wait.” The word feels like it’s pulled from you. This is a bad idea. When they turn around, you know it’s too late. At the cost of revealing you were eavesdropping, you give them the option.

“If you guys have nowhere to go, I have a futon. That is, if you guys are willing to squeeze together.”

Jaemin looks touched but ready to decline, while Jeno just outright says it.

“No thanks.” His verbiage is polite, but his tone is derisive. It sounds like they don’t have many options and it’s pretty late. You would kick yourself if you saw something in the tabloids tomorrow.

“If you’re worried I have ulterior motives, I do.” You breathe a sardonic laugh at your own expense. The state of your future at SM is shaky at the moment, so your chances of being uprooted yet again are large. Especially if Mr. Myeong has anything to do with it. You need so many things from so many people, but there’s only one thing you can get from these two.

“Let’s make an exchange. I give you a less stressful place to sleep… and you tell me what Lindsay wants from me.”

Their energies switch at that moment. Jeno’s face softens and though he looks at the floor to hide it, Jaemin’s hardens.

CHAPTER FIVEˋ°•*⁀➷

You sigh wistfully as you retrieve the last two butter waffles from the box. Opening your lunchbox to one of these is the only thing you look forward to at work, but you just had to ask if they wanted a snack.

You don’t invite NingNing to yours for a reason. Your studio is a feng shui nightmare. Now you have your first guests ever sleeping parallel to you because it’s the only way the futon would fit. You’re conflicted as you deliver the snacks, it seemed like a good idea when the futon was folded up. Seeing it now, you know not to ever call yourself an interior designer.

You squeeze between the futon and the wall to sit them on your Pororo side table you got on sale.

“It's not you.” Jeno says, sipping the water you also asked if they wanted. You initially think he’s telling you not to blame yourself. Jaemin pats the space next to him with a small smile. You sigh as you sit down, preemptively taking Jeno’s advice.

“It’s not any of us. I don’t think there’s a single person on the face of the planet Lindsay cares about other than herself.” He reaches over Jaemin and sets his glass on the table. “Every little thing she does serves a bigger goal that serves an ever bigger goal.”

“What the hell is it, then? What does me working with SM have to do with her goals?” You ask incredulously.

“The question you should be asking is why they were so adamant to hire you.”

Yeah, you know that. That’s one of the questions you want answered but know they can’t—

Or can they?

“They were adamant to hire me?”

“… I’m not sure why you’re asking me like you don’t know.” Jeno creates friction again when you're simply trying to get answers. Jaemin gently takes over.

“We all know, if that’s what you’re wondering. All the idols under SM, I mean.” Jaemin laughs after explaining this, but you know that it’s at this insane situation. “I don’t know when they made the decision, but I know Lindsay and her gambling had something to do with it. You guys are one of us now.”

Jeno chuts at the situation. “How is that slave contract treating you?”

“D-did Rouge… Was he the problem? Lindsay said he couldn’t get dearALICE a song that audiences liked.”

“DJ Rouge…?” Jeno asks in disbelief. “DJ Rouge is one of the best producers in the country.”

The corner of Jaemin’s mouth twitches, his look of concern growing stronger. 

“He composed and produced Juliette.” Jeno continues.

The silence overtaking the room strengthens the fuzziness in your brain. You jump to rationalize something, anything.

“Then why was he kicked off dearALICE’s mini album? They scrapped everything he worked on.”

“I don’t know anything about dearALICE, but SM would never kick Rouge out. Not in a million years.”

You grit your teeth, failing to find any other conclusions than the one so painfully obvious.

“He left on his own…” You whisper pitifully.

“I overheard that he wanted more money and demanded they respect his worth. SM denied and now we’re here.” Jeno explains.

“Okay, so I took his place? I don’t understand why they didn’t say that. Is it because they were embarrassed?”

“You have to understand. You didn’t replace Rouge because no one could replace Rouge. You guys have schedules and salaries and staff meetings. Rouge showed up when he wanted and got a percentage of the song’s royalties on top of the up front payment.” Jeno just keeps showering you in painful discoveries with little to no sugarcoating. Jaemin steps in again.

“Don't take this the wrong way but… I was honestly surprised you didn’t live in a dorm. Well, at least starting out like we did.”

You exhale deeply and place your face into your hands.

“I get paid pretty well. It’s not like I’m getting shafted. And yeah, I don’t live in a dorm. So, what? Why are we talking about this when I asked about Lindsay.”

The somber looks on their faces tell you you're about to get exactly what you're asking for.

“When we first met Lindsay, she was super curious about idol life. It wasn’t weird because everyone was. But then she started asking questions like if we were penalized less and had more freedom, would we work as hard. I was honest because I was still in denial. I said no.” Jeno adds, sounding careful for the first time that evening.

Your mouth moves as soon as the information shocks your system.

“Okay? So they lit a fire under our asses—”

“Lindsay doesn’t really see people as people.” Jeno explains slowly as his mouth contorts into a forced smile. “You’re either a tool or a plaything.”

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

The glasses of water wobble dangerously as you and Jaemin jostle around on the bed. Your laughing crescendos until the sound runs out and you’re both curling over with your jaws dropped open. Jaemin’s laugh taps back in as he rockets backwards, his beer sloshing and spilling a little on Jeno. 

“Hey!” Jeno shouts, not as aggressively drunk, but turning pinkish on his cheeks and the tips of his ears anyway. Inebriation tugs at your eyelids as fatigue rolls through you. You whine in protest, but your blood alcohol content persists.

“How can she–” You curl your chin in as you hiccup before continuing. “She knew you guys since you were all teens and she still did that shit?” You present the beer to them in a vain quest to make sense of all this. 

“You weren’t listening.” The slurring of Jeno’s words is strengthening as he pushes against the bed to sit up straight. He just ends up curving back over, stretching his spine like his head is too heavy. The two men speak at the same time, probably expecting they were thinking the same thing. 

“She doesn’t view us as human.”

“She has a gambling addiction.”

They both look at each other in betrayal. Jaemin upset at Jeno’s perceived lack of context and Jeno at Jaemin’s leniency with Lindsay. Jeno musters up all the coherence he can to drive home this point. 

“Lindsay didn’t care about us long before the gambling.”

“Yeah, but before the gambling we had fun with each other.”

“She spread rumors about you before she even met you.”

“Yeah, exactly. She didn’t know me, so she had the wrong idea.”

“Did she have the wrong idea about Seulgi, too? The first person to introduce her to all the idols she used?”

Jaemin lets out a loud, fake laugh, avoiding Jeno’s questions. 

“O-or what about Victoria? Sejeong? And what’s your excuse for her posting–”

“Okay! I get it!” Jaemin’s voice booms louder than it seems he intended. He giggles to himself as you and Jeno both gawk at him, drunkenness outshined by confusion. Jaemin shakes his head before waving his free hand. 

“Put something on the TV.”

You scramble to do exactly that, eager to escape this tension. You throw on a random movie you had in your watch list. You turn off the light, full of remorse as you watch them strain their necks to the left to watch it. Jeno peers at you and you smile lazily. Your current state disables the humiliation that should come after Jeno’s confused look. 

“You forgot the subtitles.”

You gasp quietly, a drawn out ‘oh’ seeping from your lips as you hurriedly grab the remote and put on the Korean subtitles. Jaemin pats the bed again, but this time he’s patting the space that suddenly appeared between him and Jeno. That’s when you notice Jaemin is pressed firmly against the arm rest, distancing himself as much as he can.

You shake your head, ceasing the expecting looks from the both of them. Jaemin puts on exaggerated puppy eyes instead, poking out his lip as he pats the space.

“I don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable.” You peer at Jeno, the only one you actually presume will be uncomfortable. “We’re still strangers, after all.” You say as your eyes return to Jaemin. Under the minimal shifting light of the TV, Jaemin’s impish smile has a stronger effect. You hurry to your previous position, sitting at the edge of the bed closest to the wall. You make a mental note to somehow turn the futon toward the TV after they leave in the morning.

You feel someone on the bed shifting until Jaemin’s knees swing off the bed so he’s seated right next to you. You initially think this is his compromise until he hooks one arm under your knees and the other around your waist. You ground yourself, half expecting him to carry you bridal style. Instead, he pulls your legs up onto the bed. His hand sears against your leg just like in your dream. You look up at him, your drunken stupor convincing you that he can read your mind. He stares back intensely, making heat bubble behind your cheeks and in your crotch. Your eyes drop down to his costume, the collar dipping just low enough that it turns your mouth dry. His teeth nip at his bottom lip as he hoists you against the back of the futon. His eyes linger on you, expression solemn besides the intensity in his eyes. As he slips his hands from under and behind you, he takes his time, grazing your skin. His middle digit slips under your t-shirt, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Once he is fully retracted from you, his face softens, that recognizable smile warming his features. 

“See? Totally comfortable.” And just like that, Jaemin eases the (admittedly delicious) tension with random English. Your attempt to hide your laugh fails as it bursts through your tightly closed lips. Jaemin laughs as well, shoulder bumping against yours as you both keel over. You slip your legs under the blanket and that’s when reality hits you again. You’re unsure why you flinch, but in doing so, you brush against Jeno’s leg under the blanket. Your head whips to look at him, a little fear in your soul when you see he’s looking back. 

Your heart is distracting, thumping against your ribcage with reckless abandon. With sudden ruckus from the TV, you’re momentarily spared. Everything is still and quiet, Jeno and Jaemin stiff on either side of you. It would almost be peaceful if it weren’t for the loud moans and bed squeaking coming from the TV.

A few weeks ago with one hand in your pants, you looked up movies on Netflix with good sex scenes. You flooded your already bloated watch list with them and well? One of them was playing on your TV while you’re sandwiched in between two men. Two men who you habitually fantasize about. And that listicle was right. This is a damn good sex scene.

Your problem is still a problem. Nothing’s changed and you still haven’t been laid. You swallow the saliva building in your mouth as pleasure churns prominently in your abdomen. It churns and churns until it spills into your core. You bite your lip, trying to discreetly lessen the ache. As your thighs push together, you feel eyes burning into the back of your head. Your stomach drops. 

You slowly peek at Jeno who is looking straight at your crotch, just like earlier this evening. He looks at you through his lashes with something akin to disappointment in his eyes. You swear you see him slightly shake his head, but you chalk it up to the bad lighting. 

“Did you see that?” Jaemin’s hand landing on your thigh nearly sends you to the moon. He forces your eyes away from Jeno to stare at him like you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. But when you look at him, he’s watching the TV as he rewinds the movie, extending this torture. He presses play and keeps his hand pointed to it as he waits for the portion in question. You’re watching now as the actors simulate the increase in pace, the man gaining a steady rhythm. That’s when he reaches back, gliding his hand up her thigh to her knee before licking his tongue into her open mouth. You gasp in tandem with the actress, feeling like you can feel it all. You fist the blanket over your thighs.

“I saw an interview with the actress and she said that wasn’t what they practiced. Her reaction was authentic.” Jaemin sets the remote down on the table before looking at you. “They’re dating now.”

“No way.” You reply breathlessly. You were partially shocked by the information, but you’re still distracted by the seemingly never ending sex scene. “B-because of that? He just grabbed her leg.”

“You don’t think that could do it?”

“I mean, it worked for the scene, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s good–”

Jaemin tosses the blanket aside to straddle you. You try to squeeze your legs together to keep them from touching his, but it’s an impossible task. You hear Jeno groan dramatically beside you. Jaemin leans forward and rests his hands on each side of your head. In doing so, a dog tag swings out from under his jumpsuit and sways over your face. Your eyes cross as they follow it like you’re about to get hypnotized.

“Wanna see?”

You uncross your eyes and look up at him, mouth hung open dumbly. Your hips answer for you, buck up against his. He hums approvingly before lifting one knee to nudge your leg over before doing the same on the other side. His hand is already as your hip, gripping roughly before moving it up your leg. His hand snags on your pajama shorts before they snap away and his hand burns into your skin. Your mouth parts open with a silent inhale and he takes the opportunity.

“He didn’t just grab her leg.” He whispers as he dips his head until your noses are touching. His hand completes its journey, cupping your knee.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” Jeno grits to your right. You’re too entranced to react, but Jaemin peers over at him. He looks back at you before licking into your mouth. Your hips lurch forward as you taste him. Beer with a hint of mint. You want so desperately to get drunk off it. You shove forward, messily closing the distance to initiate what can barely be called a kiss. Your tongues wrestle and swirl around each other only to result in a lip-smacking smooch sometimes that makes you buck every time. He starts bucking back, too. His bulge becoming more prominent. He whimpers into your mouth, lips parting with only a thick string of saliva connecting you two. He hand moves back down to cup your ass before squeezing it like he never plans to let go. He peers over at Jeno whose jaw is clenched.

You moan pitifully, only barely getting your request in between sloppy kisses. 

“F-fuck me!” You beg emphatically, your body igniting at the possibility. He squeezes your ass again, pulling away to bite his lip and look down at you.

“Fuck yeah.” He grinds his hips down into you, his bulge pressing deliciously against your mound. Your loud moan is shameful but you are completely shameless. This is it. It’s finally happening, in the most dangerous way possible. Now this is a scandal that would turn the company upside down. It’s exciting.

“You two are fucking embarrassing.” Jeno grunts as pushes up and off the bed, climbing over the two of you to do it. He stomps into the bathroom before slamming the door. Jaemin’s attention is ripped from you as he stares toward the bathroom door. You bite his bottom lip, drawing it back in a vain attempt to get him to continue. The second you let go, he’s also pushing off the bed and going into the bathroom. 

There is muffled arguing behind the door, but all you can think about is the uncomfortable puddle in your underwear. You collapse back onto the bed, giving up on waiting for Jaemin to come back and continue. Lindsay lied about a lot, but you’re ashamed of the observation you’re making that proves her right. 

Jeno and Jaemin might just be a package deal.

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