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drunkewok · 1 year ago

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Tiger Inside

Chapter Eighteen

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 3.6k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and does not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

When Seungmin last dressed my wound, I couldn't help but notice the equipment strewn across his desk. He was elbow deep in tests besides the few times he cut away to help me, brows furrowed at the puzzle of chemicals that sat before him. I couldn't even think of where to begin if I was in his position, instead staring beakers down in hopes of some epiphany ringing loud in my ears.

My fingers tapped my knee as he turned to grab new gauze, my eyes wandered across the table in the far room. Vials and jars galore, notes scribbled upon journal pages, and a light sitting in the corner of the desk reflecting off the different glass containers and illuminating their mysterious contents.

The familiar signs of sleepless nights were now manifesting under his eyes, the same ones that were prominent on both Chan and Felix's prior. I watched his face as his hands made slow work on my shoulder, his movements delayed from exhaustion invading his body. His eyes felt hollow, drooping as his lips sat slightly parted, almost as though the act of breathing even took too much of his energy.

“How long have you been at it?” Seungmin paused as his eyes steadied the floor, the gears in his mind slowly turning and jamming at my question. He shook it off before tearing the strip of gauze at the end, turning his back to me and placing it on the table beside him.

“I don’t know, since we got back?”

“Have you slept at all?”

“Here and there, lay down and shut my eyes for a moment when I feel the need.” He sat back into his chair, pulling himself towards the desk, tucking his legs underneath as he quickly began to type away at his computer.

“That surely can’t be doing you any good.” I stood from the bed and crossed over to him, scanning my eyes across the vials strewn about. “I can’t imagine going without sleep has been helping at all with your research.”

A particular pair of vials caught my attention, one filled with a clear liquid, so transparent it seemed to defy physics and looked as though the vial sat empty. The next looked to be a thicker liquid, the light reflected into it and amplified its translucent amber color and leaving a colored cast of light onto the surface below it.

"I'm getting work done, am I not?" He stayed focused on his screen as he clicked to different pages, split screens among two monitors displaying multiple articles. I couldn’t help but read from over his shoulder, a particular page documenting a chemical long outlawed among the countries. I bent down slightly, trying to get a closer look at the information plastering the screen.

“VX?” Seungmin slightly jumped and turned to my voice now carrying much closer to his ear before turning back to the screen, bringing up the chemical make up on the screen and pulling his chair to his microscope and peering into it.

“Potent nerve agent.” He mumbled as he flipped to the next slide, a moment of silence before he quickly popped up, fully alert. “Don’t touch anything.” Raising my singular free hand with wide eyes, responding with haste.

“Wasn’t planning on it” I watched as he hunched himself back down, squeezing an eye shut and peering through the eyepiece once more.

“Listen, not to be all ‘you need to get out of here so I can focus’, but uh, you need to get out of here so I can focus.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Stepping back from the desk, I made my way towards the door, pausing before I reached for the handle. “Let me know if I can bring you anything, okay? Coffee, food, anything.” He mumbled a slight I’m good thank you and I took it as my final sign to get out of there.

Pulling the door shut behind me, I hesitated in the hall, leaning my back against the wall and my head fell back and let my eyes relax.

We were very quickly nearing the 48 hour mark since our surprise gunfight, and tension was still running high in the house. Most of us were quiet, minimal words spoken between us. There was nothing I was craving more than the laughter, the bickering, the casual comfort that the group provided when we all had the luxury of relaxing together.

Adding to the painful tension, it was as if the switch had been flipped again, and Minho was avoiding my gaze at any given moment. Every sliver of progress that had been made between the two of us had felt like it had crumbled beneath us, slipping into oblivion as if it had never occurred. It felt as though he was everywhere in the house, all at once. Wherever I went, it seemed like he was always passing me, eyes pointed forward as he slipped by like I was a ghost.

By the third time I couldn't help but stop and watch as he left, slipping into Chan's office in silence, my feet gluing me in place. It stung a little, feeling so polar opposite to the concerned and caring Minho that I had just experienced. It was a bite of the tongue every time he passed, convincing myself he was just stressed, sent on a mission from Chan each time he made his way through the halls.

By the fourth I had enough, stopping in place before he reached me, watching as he passed by me once more in silence. Pivoting on my heels I swung around, lending a bit too much volume to my voice as I called out.

“Yah!” He stopped, hesitating mid step before turning in my direction, head tilted and brow arched. “I still exist, you know.” My frustration bled through my words, melting into a puddle beneath my feet and radiating back up and engulfing me. His silent stare broke as his eyes drifted down to the sling, brows softening as his face dropped.

“I know.” His voice barely sat loud enough for me to comprehend, eyes avoiding meeting mine again as he gazed down the hall towards Chan’s office.

“The least you could do is say hello, or even a smile, nod of the head, anything. Just stop acting like I’m not even here.” He hung his head before bringing a hand up to aggressively massage his eyes, dropping the hand at his side and slowly turning back to me with a forced smile and nod of the head.

“Hello.” Without further word he continued back down the hall, slipping back into Chan’s office, letting the heavy door shut behind him. I scoffed with a roll of the eyes, he’s lucky that I’m stuck with this fabric restraint or my hands would have gladly found their place around his throat while giving him a good shake.

My fingers tightly twisted in the air in front of me as grumbled incoherent irritations made it past my lips. Attempting to take a breath to compose myself, I let out one more mumbled fucking ass before heading back down the hall towards the stairs.

Flicking on the light to the kitchen, I looked around the counters, only just now realizing the disarray the kitchen had fallen into. I pulled different pieces of trash from around the room, dropping them into the bin and tidying up the surfaces before targeting the pile of dishes accumulating in the sink.

I attempted to apply extra pressure to the bowl, pressing it into the surface of the sink while scrubbing to try and keep it in place with a single hand. Not every dish seemed to like this treatment, the occasional one slipping from my grasp letting it slide around, hitting multiple dishes in its wake and leaving a crashing noise echoing down the hall. The frustration bubbling inside me from my Minho encounter, paired with the irritation of my restraint manifested in a string of mumbled curses and threats towards the inanimate objects in front of me.

“Hey, hey! What are you doing?” Hyunjin seemed to have appeared out of thin air, snatching the sponge out of my hand and gently pushing me out of the way. “You’re supposed to be resting, why are you cleaning?”I threw my head back with a sigh, my closed eyes opening to focus on the ceiling before lowering my head back down to Hyunjin.

“I’m fine, I may only have one hand but I can still perform simple tasks. You guys don’t have to baby me.” I tried to reach for the sponge and grab it back out of his hand, which he responded to by holding it up in the air and out of my reach.

“I’m perfectly aware that you can, that’s not the issue.” He stared me down sternly with his other hand settled on his hip, “We would treat any of the members the same if they were injured, and I’m here to remind you that you’re one of us now, so you’re getting the same treatment.”

With a groan I leaned against the counter behind me, accepting I wasn’t going to be getting anywhere in this debate. Hyunjin set the sponge down on the sink before turning back to me.

“Listen, the other members are gonna be down here pretty soon, Chan said it’s time for the meeting. Just go sit down, and don’t you dare let me catch you with a sponge in hand again.” I huffed as I pulled the fridge open, grabbing a bottle of water and making my way to the couch, plopping into the cushions and pulling a blanket over my legs.

I pressed the bottle to my stomach with my restrained hand, attempting to hold it firm while my free hand twisted off the top. I have barely had this thing attached to me and I was already sick of it, and I was real close to making the call to leave it off myself, I could deal with an angry Seungmin later. I just needed free use of both of my arms again.

Raising the bottle to my lips, I let the cold liquid pour down my throat and chill my chest, the physical cold finally calming down the mental fire within me.

Sure enough, just as Hyunjin predicted, each member started to slowly slip into the room, taking place on the couches and settling themselves in. Hyunjin took a seat on the couch that was beside mine, crossing one leg over the other and staring me down with folded arms.

“What? You think I’m gonna get up in the middle of this and start cleaning or something?” I snapped at him, a slight smile and chuckle coming from him as he shook his head, tilting his head back to look at Felix as he entered with us.

“She gets fussy when frustrated.” Felix placed his laptop on the coffee table before sitting on the floor in front of me, starting to open it and set up what he needed to present. I nudged him in the back with my foot, causing him to let out a soft giggle as he turned around to look at me. “What? I’m just speaking facts.”

“Maybe just don’t speak then.” I mocked, giving a blatantly fake smile before he reached back and patted my leg.

“It’s okay, I know healing isn’t fun.” I glared at his condescending tone, opening my mouth to retort but getting cut off by Chan and Minho being the last to enter, joining the rest of us.

An eerie silence laid over the room, the sunset outside leaving a warm glow pouring in through the windows. Minho had taken it upon himself to sit at the far end of the couch, planted next to Jisung and putting as much distance as possible between us.

Chan fiddled with a small projector on the coffee table as the other members surrounded him, I watched as Felix flipped between multiple documents on his screen, the words flying by too fast for me to comprehend.

I pulled my feet up onto the cushion underneath me, my knees pulled up to my chest, sandwiching my arm against myself as it laid snug in its sling. Seungmin sat beside me, flipping through a notebook searching for keywords frantically scribbled upon the pages. My eyes glanced at his book with each turn of the page, the notes flip flopping between clean and organized, to words scrambled with no rhyme or reason.

The projector finally roared to life, the motor letting out a warm buzz of air as it shined onto the whiteboard in front of us. Each member’s attention is brought to the blank screen as it clicked to mirror Felix’s laptop as he plugged in the cord linking the two, scrolling through the copied system from the warehouse. An elaborately organized system of files littered the screen, my eyes squinting as I attempted to process the quickly flowing information as Felix tried to find a certain page to start the meeting on.

Chan rose to take seat on the armrest of the couch to my side, fingers interlocking in his lap as he waited for Felix to find his target. As the screen finally stopped in place, Chan’s tilted head slowly turned to the rest of us, eyes scanning between each one of us in silence before letting out a slow deep breath as a sigh. He gazed down at the floor, searching for the best way to communicate with the group as we sat in awkward silence.

“So things are looking worse than we expected.” He avoided our gazes as he turned his attention back to the screen, each of our eyes following his line of sight as Felix opened one of the folders. My brows creased as I studied the words on the screen, unsure of what exactly I was looking at. “But before we continue on, from discussions I’ve had with each of you, it seems like we had a visit from SuperM.” Chan slowly turned to the group around him, his eyes falling on mine before slowly following down to the sling across my body, then quickly down to the hands in his lap with a clear of the throat as he swallowed the lump lodged in his airway. “It wasn’t very expected for them to be involved in all of this, but it seems as though they might be the surveillance team for the warehouse.” He turned to look back at Seungmin. “Wanna let us know what you found?”

“Oh, right.” Seungmin’s back tightened as he sat straight, flipping back to the first page of notes in his book. “So, they’re clearly running multiple tests down there, these chemicals are far stronger than anything I could have expected. I’m still trying to run tests on them myself, but they’ve been experimenting with different combinations, compounds, and how they interact with each other. I was able to take with me a lot of their log books which is going to set them back in their research quite a bit.” The series of nods in acknowledgement from the group followed with tight lips, none of us truly knowing how to respond to the information being fed to us. Seungmin relaxed into the back of the couch, his journal dropping into his lap as his fingers ran through his unkempt hair. "I have a hunch I may have discovered what they are, and if I’m right, we might have a big problem on our hands.”

“Okay, so what might it be then?” Changbin was slouched back into the cushion on the couch, relaxed with his arms folded across his chest.

“There’s the potential that this is VX that we’re dealing with, a nerve agent that was banned by the United Nations as a weapon of mass destruction in the 90’s. From reports, all countries had actually disposed of their stockpiles of this stuff, but every now and then it has popped up in different attacks.” Seungmin ran his fingers through his hair again with a sigh before continuing. “It attacks your entire nervous and muscular systems, stopping communication between the two and completely paralyzing you until even your lungs stop working and you eventually asphyxiate. It’s highly dangerous, just simply getting this stuff on your skin can cause the effects, but it also has the potential to be dispersed as an aerosol.” The room fell quiet once Seungmin finished, Felix finally breaking the thick air by speaking up.

“Now in terms of my findings…” His words sounded anxious as he spoke, his finger tapping on the table in front of him before continuing. He looked up to the projection as he opened a document housing a log book of different contacts, names of varying origins and a wide array of locations. “Things are a lot more extensive than them simply importing these chemicals.” He slowly turned to the group behind him, his eyes trying to hide the nerves pounding through his system. “They’re also setting up plans for export to other countries. I’ve tried looking into the names in this document, they’re key players all across the world.” Mouths hung slack as everyone’s eyes crossed back and forth between Felix, Chan, the screen, and each other in tense silence.

Felix turned back to his computer, clicking through multiple files until he reached a deeply hidden log book of communications. Notes on their progress with testing, short paragraphs following one after another, dated and time stamped after each one. Each update concluded with the same sentence;

The Tiger has been contacted.

I tuned out the voices around me as my brows creased in confusion, my eyes scanning the room slowly with no visual input as my brain buzzed with thoughts. A knot quickly formed in my chest, the boiling of stomach bile leaving a poor taste in my mouth the moment the lightbulb flipped on in my mind. My sight turned frantic as I sat in doubt;

No, it couldn’t be…

He couldn’t…

My unrestrained hand gripped at the fabric covering my knee as I tried to calm my breathing, the words coming from the mouths around me sounding like a distant muffle as the members deliberated amongst themselves about who the mysterious Tiger may be.

But I knew.

With frantic eyes I looked towards Chan, who had clearly taken notice of my silent panic and had his focus pinned on me, also tuning out the other members as we shared sharp silent eye contact. My head was spinning as I struggled to swallow the rock that was lodged in my throat, a wave of nausea quickly overtaking me as I tried to fight it off. The room fell silent as I pulled myself from my seat, avoiding the eyes around me as I quietly excused myself to the bathroom and tried to escape the walls closing in around me.

It felt as though my feet couldn’t take me towards the door fast enough, the desire to lock myself within the confines of the bathroom taking over, needing to put a wall between myself and the new information that my brain was processing at a rapid rate. I shut the door behind me with a click of the lock, the light illuminating the small room around me as my single arm supported my weight against the edge of the counter.

He had been by our side my entire upbringing, knowing every function of the family. He had assisted us with so much, could he truly be capable of turning on our father? Would he stoop so low as to take him from us?

I leaned back into the wall as my head fell back, staring up to the ceiling as I blinked back the moisture now building up along my lash line.

He was an honorary member, an unofficial brother of my father, welcomed into our home on so many occasions. He knew the layout better than the housekeepers, he knew exactly how he could make his way towards my father’s office without any suspicions pointed in his direction, his presence within our halls of safety was no surprise, and honestly it became an assumption.

The softest of knocks emitted from the door, knocking my from my haze, my body and mouth too frozen to formulate a response, my feet firmly planted and mouth sewn shut.

“Y/n…” Chan’s voice was gentle, quiet and almost a whisper as he spoke through the wood. “If you’re alright, I’m going to need you to open the door.” My head rolled in the direction of the door, my tongue struggling to function as it quickly dried, I knew I needed to tell him, it wasn’t a secret I could keep hidden.

Pulling my body from the wall, my hand hesitated over the knob as I gave one final attempt to compose myself, slowly pulling it open and revealing a concerned Chan standing in the doorway. His eyes studied my face, my pale skin reflecting light as the blood that drained from my face had stolen with it all color.

“Is there something you should let me know?” My fingers fidgeted within the fist they were tightened into, lips pursed as I avoided speaking the words that sat on the tip of my tongue.

“The Tiger.” Chan’s brow raised as he eyed me, waiting to speak until I had continued. My face scrunched with tight lips as I quickly pointed my head to the floor, rising again to meet Chan’s eyes with one last deep breath. “Tiger JK.” Chan’s head tilted in question, brow raised. I held his gaze as I forced the panic to the back of my mind before gaining the strength one final time, speaking flatly.

“My Godfather.”

Next Chapter

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blowflyfag · 8 months ago

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Pro Wrestling Illustrated: September 1996

FROM THE DESK OF…Stuart M. Saks

I THOUGHT I WAS in hell.

Men were brawling recklessly, chairs were crunching skulls, and garbage cans were pounding backs. One-by-one, more men kept joining the fray. The fans’ screams of delight were drowned out by blaring rap music. I was there, yet I wasn’t. Everyone was involved in some way or another. Battlers. Spectators. Sound men. Security guards. Not me. I was merely an observer. Close enough to sense the raw emotions of the event, but far enough away to feel protected from the sheer horror of it.

“___ you,” one of the battlers screamed at a spectator who made the mistake of using the wrong finger to express his view that the battler was number one.

An image of Lou Thesz came into my head. I eliminated it quickly. He should not be exposed to this!

Then again, this isn’t for everybody. That’s what the promoters of Extreme Championship Wrestling keep warning us.

“ECW! … ECW! … ECW!” The spectators chanted in unison after seeing a sampling of extreme wrestling. These are not fans of wrestlers per se; they’re fans of the concept that nothing is to be held back in an effort to bring them what they want. Ever.

Brutality? Almost always. Breathtaking aerial wrestling? More than you’ll see anywhere north of the Mexican border. Beautiful women? Hey, 95 percent of the audience is comprised of males between the ages of 18 and 35, and after being Dudleyed into submission, it’s good for the eyes to look at Beulah McGillicutty for a few minutes.

My walk through hell occurred in the strangest of places. This was not even the official ECW hell hole–the ECW Arena on the mean streets of South Philly. This was an auxiliary hell, in the quiet upper middle-class Philly suburb of Plymouth Meeting, in an all-purpose auditorium called Lu Lu Temple.

I was not there to cover wrestling matches on this evening. Bill Apter and Craig Peters were taking care of that. But Lu Lu (no relation to Ed Norton’s deceased dog) is only a few miles up the road from our Ambler offices, so, with my Friday evening free, I went merely to record my thoughts of the big picture.

Randomly …

***

[2 Cold Scorpio and Sabu literally risked their necks in their ECW TV title match. ECW fans have grown almost jaded by such action, and their reactions aren’t proportional to the efforts the wrestlers put forth.]

ECW belongs in the family-oriented Lu Lu Temple like that Charlestown Chiefs of Slap Shot fame belong in Madison Square Garden … I love the fact that some of the wrestlers made themselves available to the fans before the matches began. Craig Peters might not agree. He was sitting on the stage behind the seats with Beulah, taking credit for her being on the cover of June ‘96 edition of PWI, when a fan interrupted their conversation and said, “Hey Beulah, you’re in PWI.” Only this was the July edition, and the article the fan was making reference to was Craig’s “In Focus” column in which he rated some of the more prominent women of wrestling in various categories. This is great, I thought. More brownie points for Craig. Craig, however, knew he was in trouble. Beulah finished ninth on his list of 10! “Sex appeal–zero?!” she shrieked. Craig responded sheepishly: “But look at the reason why. You’re pregnant.”

“Zero?!” she shrieked. “But–” “Zero?!” … As match time approached, I heard a fan yell, “ECW rules!” Talk about your classic oxymoron. I bet you could fit a copy of the ECW rule book on one page of PWI—and still have room for pictures. There are no rules in hell. Referees? They have them, but they don’t even make a pretense of counting to four when traditionally illegal acts take place. The fans booed both referees when they were introduced, but I don't see why. They do exactly what the fans want them to do–nothing … I saw a young fan throw a flattened soda can toward the ring. The promoter also saw it. Acting swiftly and properly, he had the fan tossed … And, yes, there was wrestling at the Lu Lu Temple, too. In fact, I’d venture to say that the match between TV champion 2 Cold Scorpio and Sabu was one of the 20 best matches I have ever seen. Too bad the ECW fans didn’t appreciate it. About a minute into the match, many of the fans started with that ignorant “Boring!” chant. I suppose they just couldn’t wait for the wrestlers to get past that feeling-out phase before really getting down to business.

[Beulah McGillicutty gave Craig Peters an earful when she discovered that out associate publisher had given her a zero in the sex appeal category in a recent “In Focus” column.]

But get down to business they did; more accurately, I should say get up to business. These two men performed aerial feats that rendered the term “high-risk” a gross understatement. In one memorable sequence, Scorpio had Sabu in trouble and mounted the turnbuckles. Sabu lifted himself off the canvas, ran across the ring, sprung off a chair that had been left near the ropes, and maneuvered his body so that he was able to grab Scorpio around the neck with his legs. Sabu then reversed his momentum and “Franken-steinered” Scorpio from the turnbuckles down to a table at ringside. When I was a young wrestling fan, a dropkick was a spectacular move. This was beyond belief! The fans were appreciative; thy should have fallen out of their seats … I guess you can’t give people too much because their natural inclination is to always want more. Ultimately, you’ll have nothing more to give them, and one day you may even find them chanting “Boring!” rather than “ECW!”

#ecw #extreme championship wrestling #magazine scan #magazine transcript #PWI #pro wrestling illustrated #hi Beulah hiiii hi #stu saks doesn't get it ur beautiful to me girl #stus a hater in this and i believe in being unbiased #unless its to vince russo. fuck vince russo #PWI 1990s #1990s #1996

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freckolocation · 1 year ago

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a post about signalis, a game i haven't finished, and how it feels to be haunted by a piece of art

(no spoilers save for a few quotes from the first hour or so)

the other day i asked a friend of mine if they'd ever felt like they'd been haunted by a piece of media. they told me about some experiences they had but nothing quite matched the way that signalis has affected me. this post is an expanded version of what i told them

i had heard whisperings about signalis around its release last year, and in march or so of this year, having recently finished the dead space and resident evil 4 remakes, i was itching for more horror. i picked signalis up in mid-april of this year and according to steam i have not played it since the 17th of that month. i played about five hours total

the first few hours were amazing, and with the exception of the dead space remake a few months prior, i don't know how long it's been since a game has sunk its teeth into me that deeply. everything about it was immediately fascinating to me--the world, the art, the design, the atmosphere, the soundtrack, the characters, the themes, the writing, the gameplay, everything

but the latter few hours were extremely frustrating, as someone not familiar with the more classic survival horror style. the combat is relentlessly punishing and the inventory system is brutally restrictive, and i wasn't approaching the game in a way that made it anything less than infuriating, as i didn't know how else to play

by the end of those five hours i didn't understand why it was garnering such universal acclaim. despite the world and atmosphere being unlike anything else i had ever seen, so uniquely tailored to my tastes in science fiction and horror and visual style, i found it incredibly laborious to play

ultimately, i assumed it just wasn't for me, and i decided to drop it entirely

but those first few hours were so gripping i couldn't stop thinking about it

there are a fair amount of literary references in signalis to works such as those of h.p. lovecraft, as well as an explicit reference to robert w. chambers' short story collection the king in yellow, a copy of the book sitting on a desk in the introduction. the collection is named after a fictional play mentioned within several of the stories, the second act of which would drive the reader to madness, the very first lines so captivating that the reader would feel compelled to continue

such a concept feels a bit too familiar, in retrospect.

i read what other people had to say about signalis. what their thoughts were on the things that frustrated me. i watched an entire half-hour review of it, and i began to understand that others found it just as enthralling as i did, and were simply approaching the gameplay differently, with more care and patience

and only a few days after deciding to give up, i decided that i hadn't given it the fair shake i thought i had, and that i would give it another shot

...but i still haven't opened it since i first decided to give up on april 17th.

a few days ago i came across a song: "no station" by the band 65daysofstatic, from their 2005 ep hole. the song prominently features a sample from the lincolnshire poacher numbers station, which operated from the mid-1960s to 2008. the transmissions, like those from most other numbers stations, began with something called an interval signal--in this case, a few bars from "the lincolnshire poacher," a traditional english folk song. a synthesized voice then recites a formatted string of numbers, purported to be encrypted messages for intelligence officers operating in foreign countries

there's a specific station that i think of any time i hear a transmission from a numbers station--one believed to have operated out of hungary from at least the cold war until 2005, known as the three note oddity. like the lincolnshire poacher, the three note oddity was named for its interval signal: a series of three rising tones, after which a synthesized voice would state "achtung! achtung!"--german for "attention! attention!"--and proceed to recite the numbers, also in german

a transmission from the three note oddity plays in the main menu and during the end of the intro to signalis, and it was the first time i had heard it.

a few days ago i rewatched blade runner 2049 with a few friends. it's one of my favorite films, and like the first, it deals with aspects of humanity in synthetic beings created by humanity, in humanity's image, to serve humanity

signalis has a similar concept, and similar themes.

when you are made aware of things in relation to a piece of media that affected you, you begin to notice things you may not have paid attention to otherwise

now i'll see a youtube video about the king in yellow, or hear the sound of a numbers station, or watch a movie about replicants, and i'll think of the book on the desk, of the three note oddity, of replikas.

i often say that there is too much art in the world i want to experience for me to dedicate too much time to the art i don't enjoy, and yet somehow this game i decided i was done with took such a hold of me that it only took mere days for me to decide it was still worth my time, despite my frustration

...and yet, i still haven't returned to it since the day i gave up, even though i said i would go back.

i think of the tones from the three note oddity and my memory repeats like the station itself

"achtung! achtung!"

as if this game i somehow couldn't bring myself to keep playing is calling me back, compelling me to finish it

there's a line from lovecraft's story the festival near the beginning of the game, an excerpt the protagonist quotes from the necronomicon: "great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl."

holes have been dug into my brain, and thoughts that ought to have dispersed have instead invited themselves in

despite the poetic yet haunting nature of the lovecraft quote, the penultimate line at the end of the intro is perhaps the game's most memorable:

"remember our promise."

signalis has dug itself into my head and latched onto my brain, and while it isn't a constant itch, it never completely goes away, and unrelated things keep guiding my thoughts to return to it, as though the game itself is haunting me

the game wants me to finish it, it needs me to finish it

and until i do, every time i hear those three notes, i will feel that calling and the hairs on the back of my neck will stand up

"achtung! achtung!"

attention, attention, it calls

i said i would go back to finish it, and yet i haven't.

but the game itself insists i keep my word.

REMEMBER OUR PROMISE

#ves.txt #long post

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homosociallyyours · 2 years ago

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I WANT TO YELL ABOUT ALL OF YOUR WIPS!!!!!!!!!!! Can I be greedy and pretty please ask about Tax Preparer Marcel/Stripper Louis, Cinema/cinnamon 80s- times square red, times square blue, AND Upper West Side (girl direction)???

OMG YES of course Maggie!! Thank you for asking!!

Tax Preparer Marcel/Stripper Louis: This was actually supposed to be part of last year's Reverse Bang, with art/prompt by @becomeawendybird and it's. SO GOOD!! I basically just took on too much and couldn't make the deadline, but the fic kinda just needs another ~500 words and final editing.

It's based on a tweet by H&R Block saying they can help strippers figure out tax write offs (but in a cute, catchy way), and I set it in SF with Louis dancing at the worker owned, union-led Lusty Lady (which is closed, sadly). Here's a snippet, and the rest of the answers, behind a read more:

“I just wanted to say it’s been a real pleasure working with you, Lou. And if you have any questions you can call me any time and I’ll help you out if I can.” She slid a copy of her business card across the desk, her personal number written carefully across the top. “I hope I’m not overstepping, I just--”

“Oh, you’re not at all! I was actually taking my time with these papers trying to figure out how to ask if you wanted to get coffee sometime. Or a drink, whatever.” Louis swiped her hair across her forehead, letting it fall artfully back into place. Her smile was soft and delicate, and Marcel felt like anything she could say in return would come out clumsy and awkward, but she had to try anyway.

“I’d do whatever you wanted.” Her glasses slid down her nose as she looked down at her desk, not wanting to meet Louis’ eyes. “At least once tax season is over.”

“So-- after April 15th, then?” Marcel nodded. “I’m going to hold you to it, Marce. Might even drag you to the Lusty one night since you said you’ve never been.”

“Oh!” Marcie’s cheeks flamed, the thought of sitting in a booth with Louis in her lap filling every available space in her mind. “I did tell you that, didn’t I?” She was pretty sure if she saw Louis actually dancing she’d spontaneously combust, but that was the image that came to her mind next. She widened her eyes, trying to bring herself back into the moment.

“You did, and you said you’d been meaning to do it for years.” Louis tightened the strap of her messenger bag, swinging it around to her back. Marcel refrained from staring at her tits, even if the strap pressing between them made them that much more prominent. “And honestly? I’ve told everyone I work with about you, so they’re all dying to meet you.”

Cinema/Cinnamon/Times Square Red, Times Square Blue: So this is one that's just a fleshed out idea, but I REALLY wanna write it, so I hope I can make it happen. Basically when I first heard Cinema my first thought was that it sounded like Harry was saying "this enema" or "the cinnamon" instead of "the cinema" and of course that "you bring the pop" was about poppers. All of that plus cinema had me thinking about Samuel Delaney's Time Square Red, Times Square Blue, which talks about 1970/80s Times Square NYC and the porn theaters there as a gay space (I'm definitely oversimplfying; it's been years since I read the book and would wanna re-read before writing!)

Soooo. The plot is that Harry goes to the Times Square porn theaters regularly to anonymously get off with men there, but there's one guy in particular who it's always really good with-- a guy in a cap with long-ish hair who manages to keep his face hidden but who's always chewing cinnamon gum. It gets to the point that even smelling that warm cinnamon scent makes Harry's dick interested. Meanwhile, he takes a job in a restaurant kitchen in midtown. It's grunt work, and he mostly just keeps his head down until a new guy gets hired as a dishwasher. They strike up a friendship, and while walking downtown together after work, Louis pops in a stick of cinnamon gum as they pass the theaters (definitely a Pavlovian response).

Immediately Harry realizes that Louis is his cinnamon guy, but when he points it out Louis kinda freaks out and bolts. They do work it out, and it's not long before they're really getting to know each other/dating. After they've been together a minute they re-create their anonymous hook ups in the theater with Louis bringing poppers and the two of them fuck in the back. THAT'S ALL I'VE GOT

Upper West Side: This is a VERY old wip/start of a fic that's based on the King Princess song of the same name. It's set in NYC in the 90s. Here's the start of it:

They met at Clit Club on a Thursday night, the room more crowded than it should’ve been and “Push It” pounding out through the shitty speakers. Louis was high on the success of her drag show and covered in girls, but all she really wanted to do was dance. Find someone with a tight little ass and grind against her, taste the sweat rolling down their neck before she sucked a kiss there. Her favorite kind of calling card.

She was about to go to the middle of the floor and let herself get lost in a sea of dykes, maybe find someone for a quick fuck in the bathroom, when the door opened, bringing a rush of cooler air from outside and grabbing her attention. A woman stood there, backlit by a streetlight and with long curls that made Louis want to get tangled up and pull. Louis squeezed her thighs together, thinking about getting this woman-- tall, femme, over-dressed for a bar like this, --up against the graffitied walls of the bathroom and finger fucking her until she was an absolute mess.

There was no use wasting time. She walked over to the woman, who was still standing in the doorway, her eyes searching the crowded club as if she’d be able to find anyone she knew in the shadowed mass of dykes, and introduced herself.

“You look lost. Like you might need a guide for the night,” she said, going on tiptoes to reach the woman’s ear. “I’m Lou.”

“Harry,” the woman said, giving Louis a sidelong glance. “Don’t need a guide, but maybe you could get me a vodka soda? And a dance?” Her smile was a coy stretch of her wide, cherry red lips and a dart of her tongue, and fuck, that was enough to convince Louis she’d made the right move talking to this woman.

#this is so long #!!#my wips #wip game #1d #my fic

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stardestroyer81 · 3 years ago

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Happy twenty-fifth anniversary to the third installment of Namco's arcade archives, Namco Museum Vol. 3! This game (Tied with Mega Man 10 and Mega Man 11) is my favorite video game ever, and from it being a game I played a lot of during my earlier years, is largely the sole reason why I have such a deep fascination with all things arcade games! The Namco Museum series, which debuted on the PlayStation, took classic arcade games of Namco's creation and made them accessible for play right in the comfort of your living room! Five installments were released on the PlayStation (Including a Japan-Only sequel 'Namco Museum Encore'), and each volume has games that everyone knows and loves, and even a few that are lesser known. I find that Namco Museum Vol. 3 pulls the balance of 'arcade classics' and 'classics lot to time' quite nicely; you've got games you recognize like Ms. Pac-Man and Dig Dug, though there are also some games that aren't quite as well known (Especially to the western audience) like Phozon and The Tower of Druaga. It makes for such a great collection of games! And there's only one way I like to show my appreciation for something in time for its anniversary...

It's easier to notice in some wallpapers more than others (I find it's the most obvious in the Phozon wallpaper), but I've attempted to replicate the style of an old CRT screen for each game's wallpaper, so it looks like each picture was taken right from each game's respective arcade cabinet. I've still got a little ways to go until I master the effect, but it really makes the game-specific wallpapers stand out! Hopefully one day we'll see a 'return to form' for the Namco Museum series, as the original pentalogy on the PlayStation, while a bit dated, still has the most charm out of every Namco Museum that followed suit (All of which are mere compilations instead of... well... museums of content). Here's to a timeless collection of timeless games!

#Namco Museum Vol. 3 #Namco Museum #Namco #Ms. Pac-Man #Dig Dug #Galaxian #Pole Position 2 #Phozon #The Tower of Druaga #Anniversary #Wallpapers #Coolness #What you're looking at is a game that definied my childhood #My copy of it sits prominently on my desk.#It's got everything from the manual to the little Tower of Druaga hint book #It even has a software registration card in the middle of the manual- you'd swear it's almost in mint condition!#I very nearly forgot about this one. Seven of the eight wallpapers in this post were made in the span of 45 minutes yesterday #I C R U N C H E D .#The last one I did this afternoon and I think it might be my favorite because it's essentially an extension of the original game's cover #I had a whole lot of fun with these and it definitely isn't the last time you'll see me replicating a CRT effect... hint hint

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margowrites · 3 years ago

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Hi my lovely friend! I have another request if that’s ok, please and thank you❤️❤️How about from teaching ideas- “How do you spell it?” With either Bucky and reader or even Bucky and Steve (either is totally fine) and you can add an AU if you like! Could be like college AU or something or regular! Yay! Thank you! Hugs and love❤️

Can’t Take My Eyes off of You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU!)

Summary: You’ve been infatuated with a boy in your class for quite some time. This time all the seats are taken and he’s sitting next to you, making it harder for you to concentrate on the lesson. Bucky asks for help with spelling, not that he really needs it but it’s an excuse to hear your voice.

Word count: 1,625

Author’s Notes: My sweetie pie @jobean12-blog ❤️ I can’t thank you enough for being so incredibly kind and sending me requests 🥺 they make me truly so happy and I’m so honoured to write something for you! Hugs to you my beautiful friend ❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: Fluff, crushes, Bucky is a little sassy towards the Professor, Professor Wilson, mild language (one or two words of fuck), crushes to lovers implied.

If it was under any other circumstances, you would be positive that it was the heatwave outside that caused you to sweat profusely and your clothes to stick to your skin. You would blame it on the sun that was far too hot combined with the speed walk you did across campus just so you wouldn’t miss your class. You would blame it on any other reason apart from the true reason as to why you were currently sitting in your seat with your heart pounding out of your chest, covered in sweat with your hands shaking and unable to grip your pen.

And the real reason wasn’t because of the summer heatwave, the sun or the unbearable and sticky humidity. Your current state is all because of one boy; A top A student in all of his classes, a boy who makes all the girls and even some of the boys swoon just because of his existence. A boy, who loves his leather jackets - even in the scorching heatwave - likes to keep his hair tied back into a bun or low ponytail. A boy who loves to wear his dark jeans and dogtags. An almost 19 year old boy named Bucky Barnes, who you also happen to have a very big crush on. The same boy who was currently sitting right next to you because he was late to class and all the other seats were taken.

This lesson wouldn’t be easy. You were just so infatuated by him. Everything Bucky did fascinated you and you often found yourself staring at him in a dreamlike state when the two of you had the same classes. Watching the way he would roll his toothpick between his teeth, the way he would hold his pen and letting the tip of it glide smoothly across the paper to write down notes. The way he would swing back dangerously in his chair only to be told off by Professor Wilson because, “boy, you could swing back so much your head would crack against my floor and I’m not cleaning it up. Sit properly!”

Bucky even smelled so good, like soo soo good. A sandalwood scent mixed with sweat and something else permeated the dusty air around you that tickled your nostrils that you were sure you would be smelling for days. Not that you would ever complain about that. Being this close to him was a once in a lifetime opportunity and you would make the most of it.

“Y/N?” His voice rang through your ears, snapping you out of your current thoughts. His voice was deep for a college boy, his blue eyes watching you carefully.

You cleared your throat and shifted awkwardly in your chair. Your damp clothes from the sweat squeaked against the hard plastic, causing your cheeks to heat up in embarrassment. If Bucky heard, he didn’t comment on it. That was the other thing you liked about him. Bucky was mostly polite, unless you crossed him, in which his ex-girlfriend caused a scene in the cafeteria one time and Bucky came prepared with his colourful language. They had been having problems for quite some time according to his other friend, Wanda who filled you in on all the gossip. “I- yes?” You stuttered, shaking your head as though it might just shake your nerves away.

“I said, can I borrow a pen? I gave mine to Steve who is currently holding it hostage…” he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Wait, why was he nervous?

You nodded and pulled a spare black pen from your pencil case. From your observations, you learned he loved to write in black ink only and that’s what you gave him with shaky hands, you pushed it towards him and smiled.

“Thanks, doll! I owe you one!” He smirked, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and licking his plump pink lips.

Oh Jesus Christ.

You knew this would be impossible. Everything Professor Wilson was teaching right now went right over your head. You just knew it was something something about dinosaurs. No information was registering and trying to concentrate just wasn’t going to happen. Not when your crush was right next to you, anyway. The veins in his hands were prominent and the temptation was strong to run your fingertips over the lines. His other hand was moving quickly as he jotted down notes, already halfway down the page. You blinked and stared down at your blank page. Your mind refusing to soak in what’s being taught and your hand refusing to lift your pen and write. Something would be better than nothing, you tell yourself but you’re nervous. Bucky is more interesting than the lesson.

Bucky stops writing for a few seconds to look at you. He frowns, curious if something is going on because from his own observations he knows this is one of your favourite lessons and you’re always keeping up.

Bucky leans in, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear sends a shiver down your spine. “Are you okay?” He smiles, his shirt too tight for his body, you notice.

You nod and smile awkwardly. “Yeah, I’m fine, just finding it difficult to catch up this time.” You sigh, your racing heart still pounding in your chest. The room feels much hotter than it was when you first arrived, even with the air conditioning cranked up.

“Okay, doll. Just checking.” He smirked and started to swing back on his chair as the professor started the second half of his lesson.

Professor Wilson walked around with his hands behind his back as he talked about fossils and mammals that existed almost 169 million years ago. “Mr Barnes! Put your legs on the ground in this instance!” Professor Wilson lectured him and shot him a stern warning look.

“They are on the ground.” Bucky sassed back, rolling his eyes and earning giggles from girls a couple of desks away. Professor Wilson sighed and shook his head.

“If you fall and crack your head I-”

“Yeah, yeah. You won’t clean it up, I know.” Bucky dismissed Professor Wilson’s worries with a wave of his hand and started to take notes once again as soon as the professor carried on with his lesson.

“And the Tuojiangosaurus was found in China 157 million years ago. It was known to be 7.0m in length and weighed a hefty 1500kg.” Professor Wilson brought up slides of what the dinosaur would have looked like.

“What a fuckin’ beast.” Bucky murmured under his breath, “how do you spell whatever he just said?”

A breathy laugh escapes you and you scratch an itch on your nose. “Uh so, TUOJIANGOSAURUS.” You spelled out for him slowly.

“Thanks doll. I thought you weren’t paying attention to the lesson.” He teases, a sly smirk on his face.

“I remembered the spelling from my spelling bee test.” You grow shy under his now intense and impressive stare.

“Well, he should have these in big letters on the board.” He scoffed and you giggled.

“He… does…” you point to writing under the pictures, the names of the dinosaurs in big black bold letters. A shade of pink dusts Bucky’s cheeks and he dips his head with a smile.

“I know, I just like hearing your voice. You sound really sweet. S’like music to m’ears.”

Oh my goodness. This couldn’t be happening, right?

“Oh I uh- really?” You stammered, mesmerised by his homely blue eyes.

“Really doll, I’ve wanted to ask you-”

“Barnes! Since you’re distracted. Tell the class about the Triceratops. We’re waiting.” Professor Wilson stands in front of your desk, his arms folded over his chest and his foot taps impatiently against the tiled floor. All eyes are on Bucky as he sighs and subtly rolls his eyes under his eyelids.

“The- whatever you just said is a horny dinosaur with teeth.”

“Correction. He has a horny beak.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Please elaborate next time Barnes.” Professor Wilson shakes his head and his eyes narrow on your blank page. “Miss y/l/n? Why have you not been taking notes?!”

Your voice was lost, what could you tell him? That you were too busy watching your crush and not paying attention?

“She’s not feeling well and she can copy my notes. S’no big deal.” Bucky spoke and you felt so relieved. Professor Wilson seemed to be satisfied with that answer and went back to finish up his lesson.

“Thank you.” You leaned in and whispered, sighing when things didn’t feel any better for you. Your heart rate was still out of control and you’re pretty sure there might be a damp spot on your seat.

“It’s okay, doll face. You can copy my notes and be my study buddy in the library if you want to.”

If you want to? Of course you want to!

“Yes- I’d like that!” You smiled and pulled your lip between your teeth. “What were you going to say earlier? Before Professor Wilson interrupted?”

Bucky’s cheeks turned from a light shade of pink to a crimson red. He chuckled quietly and nervously.

“You’ll say no!” He chuckled, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips.

“Try me.” You challenge, mimicking his movements with your eyes.

“I’ll tell you when we’re at the library. Deal?” He winks, and shushes you as he writes down his final notes, catching the slight nod of your head.

Your mind went into a frenzy. All it took was for all the seats to be taken and for Bucky to sit next to you this once to escalate things. You wished he was late sooner. What was he going to say to you earlier? You couldn’t wait to find out as you sunk back in your chair with the biggest smile on your face, feeling like the happiest person in the world.

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1kook · 4 years ago

Text

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates.

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens.

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class.

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him.

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all.

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly.

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months.

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got.

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career.

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course.

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.”

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you.

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.)

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side.

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly.

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil.

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester.

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness.

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you.

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face.

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!”

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things.

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone.

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought.

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you.

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news.

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward.

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason.

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away.

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom.

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same.

Apparently not.

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed.

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile.

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.”

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck.

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot.

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi.

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.”

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face.

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments.

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.”

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.”

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character.

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester.

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right.

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile. He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.”

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?”

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh.

This man was dangerous for your heart.

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.”

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you.

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well.

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook.

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#mine

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what-i-call-men · 3 years ago

Text

Sell my soul

Jeff Pfister x fem!reader

Request: "anything with Jeff having a mommy kink"

Warnings: Smut! Some mommy kink (i tried ok), mentions of Michael and selling your soul to Satan

Once again the pic I stole from @copy-of-a-cheeto because they always have amazing pictures

Proof read by @divineruler

Working with Jeff and Mutt could really be challenging at times, especially when they couldn't be bothered to use your help. You hadn't really done much other than help them get their prints down for their robots, then you were demoted to coffee monkey for a few days at a time until one of the men would ask you to interact with one of their robots or help with small useless tasks. Mostly your job consisted of the marketing of their products and the output and delivery of robots they sold.

After Mutt threw a tantrum at you about his coffee order not being right, you finally gave up and walked to your desk that sat in the small room between the lab and Ms. Venable's desk. Pretty much anyone who walked into the lab had to go through your office. Yes it was pretty annoying at times but it was nice sometimes too because that means Jeff had to walk through your office whenever he wanted to go out for any reason. One day particular Ms. Venable let this man into the lab, walking through your office and giving you a kind smile as he walked into the lab.

As he walked past you could feel chills go up your spine and he closed the glass door separating your office and the lab. You stared at him for a moment as he walked up and the men greeted him. You looked at Venable and stood from your desk, walking over to her desk. "Who is that?" You asked and gestured to the glass doors as you sat on the side of her desk. She glared at where you sat but said nothing. "His name is Michael. He's a very powerful man." She said and waved the back of her hand at you. "Now if you'll excuse me I actually have work to get done." She excused you off her desk and you huffed, walking back to your office and clicking around on the website.

You tried to keep your eyes to yourself but you couldn't help but look over at the coconut heads as they talked to this mystery man. More specifically you looked at Jeff. You couldn't tell what it was about him but he seemed so cute and fuckable. You knew you had barely any chance because he could literally make a robot of his ideal woman and have her do whatever he'd like, why would he choose to sleep with someone like you when he could build the perfect woman for himself.

After a few minutes, you were fucking around on your phone before the shades to the lab dropped quickly and then only about a minute later the door to your office opened and Michael walked out with a smile on his face. He looked at you for a moment, stopping in the doorway. You had Jeff's Instagram pulled up on your phone, shamelessly looking at a picture the two of you had taken at some big event for a news website. Michael closed the lab door behind him and looked at your phone where it sat on your desk.

"Do you like him?" He asked and looked down his nose at the phone. You felt the chills run down your spine again. "Yeah... and I just want him to like me back- even better I wish I had the courage to make him like me back." You suddenly found yourself kinda spilling everything to this man without considering it beforehand. "I can help you with that... My father is in a pretty powerful position. We could make a deal and I can get you what you want." He said and walked to where he could place his hands against your desk and lean over it. You swallowed the spit in your mouth and stared at him. You couldn't really say anything but you did nod. Michael grinned and offered his hand to you. "Sell your soul to Satan, like they did, and you can have him wrapped around your pinky plus the courage you need to get him." Michael said and you paused before taking his hand.

He leaned forward and kissed the back of your hand before walking out of the room. You paused for a second and looked down to your desk. You didn't feel any different at first, but then you heard your door to the lab opening. Mutt walked out through the door and nodded at you, saying he was running out to pick up lunch for them, leaving the door wide open behind him. You nodded and spun in your chair for a few moments after Mutt left your office.

That's when you heard Jeff call for you from the lab, so you walked over, already feeling yourself stand a bit taller. "Hey y/n can you help me with this coding? I can't find why I'm getting errors." He said and you walked around his desk looking at his laptop over his shoulder. You glanced over the code realizing really quickly that Jeff didn't fill in parts of the code, just leaving them blank. "You literally didn't fill out the whole code." You said and pointed at the computer screen before looking at Jeff. He was obviously staring at your chest. You smirked a little and played into it. Pushing your hands against the edge of his desk and pushing your breasts together as you leaned forwards to "look at the code".

You pointed to the screen and Jeff didn't look back to the screen from your chest. You stood up and he looked quickly up to your face. "Oh baby if you wanna stare that hard you might as well take a picture." You said and leaned back to sit on his desk. He stammered for a second before spitting out a simple "can you just help me with this?" You shrugged and looked at the computer and he continued to glance between your chest and the screen. After instructing him what to type in, his hands shook as he typed. Eventually you reached forwards and took his hands off his keyboard.

"Jeff, do you want me to help you?" You asked and he nodded a bit. Gently pushing his shoulder back, you moved onto his lap gently, sitting and facing his computer. You typed into the code silently, yet you could feel him adjust against your ass, his very prominent boner pressing against you. You just smiled to yourself as he stammered quietly behind you.

“C-can you help me with something else…” he asked softly, now pushing his blushing face against your shoulder from behind.

“Where do you need my help baby?” You asked, a smirk finding its way across your lips as he pushed against you with his dick. You took that as a sign and stood up, turning around in his lap to straddle him in his desk chair. “You want mommy to take care of your little problem?” You ask, your hand roaming down to gently rub him through his jeans. He nodded and moaned quietly against your shoulder.

Moving yourself up a bit, you unzipped his jeans and moved them down a bit so you could properly rub him through his boxers. God whatever Michael was, he definitely worked a bit of magic to get you to this place. Jeff whimpered under you as you rubbed him through his boxers. “Please…” he whimpered as you moved off of him and back to kneel on the ground between his knees.

As you kneeled down, Jeff hurriedly pushed his jeans down along with his boxers. “Slow down baby, don’t you wanna enjoy this?” You asked in a quiet voice and wrapped your hand around his length. It was harder than you would’ve thought for having just barely riled him up. As soon as you made contact with him his dick jumped and he whined. With that reaction you gripped him a bit harder and began to stroke him slowly, leaning in to lick the precum off his tip and giving small suckles to the tip as his hips bucked against your movements.

As your actions continued, you heard Jeff’s cell phone buzzing against his desk, you two paused to look at it. It was Mutt calling him. “Go on and answer it baby. I’m sure it’s really important.” You whispered and his shaky hand swiped the answer button and put it on speaker.

“Hey bro. They don’t have the sandwich that you usually get. What do you want instead?” Mutt’s voice sounded from the phone. You looked up to Jeff, now fully taking his length in your mouth and sucking on it roughly. He bit back a moan and there his head back against his office chair.

“Dude, h-honestly just get me whatever you got… whatever you got last time. I-It looked good.” He responded and let out a breath as you began to bob your head against him. Mutt paused for a second on the line.

“You said that it smelled like shit and that you hated it. What about that chicken one that you had a few days ago? I can make a stop on the way back if you’d prefer that. I know Y/n likes the soup from that place. Do you know if she brought lunch in today for herself?” Mutt asked and Jeff’s eyes lulled back in his head; both rolling his eyes at Mutt’s questioning but also at you lazily jerking him off as you sucked on his tip.

“Uh, it doesn’t look like it… I’d make the stop and get it just in case.” Jeff responded and as he spoke you doubled down and sucked a bit harder.

“She’s been doing pretty good lately. Can you remind me when I get back that I wanted her to put a new listing on the site? That fleshlight that you designed to look like her will be a top seller bro. And I bet you she’ll be none the wiser that it’s inspired by her.” Man if Jeff’s face wasn’t already beet red by this whole situation it was now.

“Y-yeah dude. I’ll remind you later. I’ll see you when you get back to the shop.” He spit out a quick goodbye and then hung up the phone. You pulled off of Jeff and looked at his face, which now refused to look back at yours. you hummed and stood up from where you knelt. Jeff looked at you quickly, scared you were upset by what Mutt had said over the phone. Instead you leaned against Jeff’s desk, slowly pulling yourself to sit on it. “A-are you mad?” He asked softly, looking up at you embarrassed.

“No, baby. But next time if you want to fuck me so badly…” you said as you undid your jeans in front of him. “Just ask. You don’t need a fleshlight when you can have the real thing.” You said and pushed down your jeans and panties infront of him. Leaning back on the desk, you stared him down. Your own hand came to grab his shaking one, placing it gently against your cunt. “Now how about you go ahead and give mommy a taste.” You said and he was on you in seconds.

You didn’t want to lose your dominance, but the second Jeff’s lips were basically devouring you, you couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan. You’d think the man would be more focused on his own pleasure due to the fact that as his job, but the way he licked and sucked at your cunt told you he might’ve been using that fleshlight for things other than fucking. You reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair as he pushed a finger into you slowly. “Fuck baby. Just like that hun.” You mumbled and threw your head back as he thrust his finger in and out of you in speed with his tongue against your clit.

After not too long you felt your back arch against the cold table and your thighs squeeze around Jeff’s head as you came against his tongue. The moan you let out, you were sure Venable would hear, but honestly you weren’t too concerned about that now. What you were concerned about was Jeff’s face, patchy red and staring up at you from between your thighs. His hair was tousled and his eyes were glossy as he stared at you. “C-can I please fuck you? Please mommy…” He asked as he moved his finger out of you, but instead of fully removing it he moved it to rub your clit slowly.

You nodded at him and he eagerly stood from his chair. Glancing at him you saw a pretty big stain on his shirt and it became obvious very quickly that you were not the only one who came, but he was already hard as a rock again. Smirking silently to yourself, you pulled your shirt off. He looked over your bra clad chest as he adjusted himself between your legs. As he slowly pushed himself into you, you felt him shake a little bit from excitement and nervousness. Pushing in, he leaned over you a bit, silently staring at your breasts as he leaned above you.

“Go ahead baby.” You whispered and almost immediately your bra padding was pulled down and his lips were connected to your nipple, his other hand finding your other breast. He immediately began some small thrusts into you on instinct as he sucked. The thrusts soon became more forceful and purposeful and your moans became a bit more high pitched. You could tell his stamina wasn’t going to let him last long so you would get the most out of this that you can.

Jeff’s eyes were glued to you, hardly able to pull them away for fear that if he did you’d cease to exist. Your moans of his name felt like small blessings from whatever beings were out there and having you wrapped around him was somehow just a pure god send. As you noted his slow in pace, you looked down back to him, gently wrapping your hand around his throat and catching his attention. “Go faster Jeff.” you strained out and squeezed his neck. He obeyed and you leaned up to catch his lips in a kiss as you felt yourself topple over the edge, his own orgasm following only seconds later.

As he slowed, he didn't pull out immediately, instead you wrapped him up in the kiss. You two made out for a moment as you caught your breath. As you slowed and he pulled out, you excused yourself to the small bathroom the men had attached to their lab. After cleaning yourself quickly, you walked out and saw Jeff sitting at his desk again, Mutt walking into the lab almost the same time you were walking out of the bathroom. You smiled at Mutt as he handed you the soup he had mentioned before on the phone. “Thanks Mutt. By the way, it’s bold of you to assume I wouldn’t know what my own pussy looks like. That’s not it…” you pointed at the fleshlight sat at his desk. “Jeff, how about you show him what needs fixing.” You smiled at the men and walked back to your desk, shutting the door behind you.

#jeff pfister x reader #Jeff pfister smut #jeff pfister #ahs apocalypse

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jxsttheone · 3 years ago

Text

when winter rolled around - colt g.

i'm copying all my ao3 works to tumblr! you can find me there under @/jxstheone.

Summary:

In the bleak monochrome of winter, the sight of the younger warriors makes you miss the old days, and you reminisce in old memories with an equally nostalgic Colt Grice.

"What do you mean? We are friends, right?"

Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Teen Romance, Slight OOC-ness :(

Your half-asleep eyes tried their best to focus on every single snowflake that fell from the sky, outside the frosted window. In the palm of your right hand rested your tired face, tired of a day of long, hard training. Today consisted of survival training, drills, drills, and more drilling by Commander Magath out in the snow.

The younger candidates were still full of energy, even after training, and you wistfully recollected their triumphant yells of joy every time they won in some sort of childish race or contest they had made up.

Speaking of the kids, you saw the four dash outside of a building and into the snow, shouting incoherently at each other, and you soon realized they were about to stage a snowball fight amongst each other.

Heaving a sigh, you play with the yellow armband on your right shoulder absently, starting to space out.

It was only the faint click of the door that snapped you back to reality. You look back to lay your eyes on an equally tired Colt Grice. A hand was on his messy hair as he walked in the room, exhaustion clear in his posture.

The dark bags under his eyes were as prominent as ever, but his dull eyes seemed to lighten up at the sight of you leaning against his jacket, propped up on the chair you were sitting on.

A tired smile graced his lips. "What are you doing in my room?" He said playfully, lightly punching you on the shoulder. You shut your eyes and pretended to not hear him, which elicited a confused expression, causing him to frantically wave a hand in front of your face.

You smirk and push his hand away. "I heard you. I needed a break, and my dorm is so far away from the training grounds today. I just thought you'd be okay with it." You said plainly.

Having training was alright, seeing as it was the daily routine for everyone in the Warrior unit, especially for their candidates. But today was exceptionally cold, and you almost thought your toes would freeze off back in the field with the lack of layers you had on back then. But the soldier's barracks was warm, and Colt strode over to his fireplace to light a match, tossing it on the logs.

The air turned calm and pleasant as the crackling of the fireplace replaced the awkward silence that had fallen upon you two. You cleared your throat and turned to face him. "So, uh, how was your day?" You said, trying to make conversation. Colt tilted his head and stifled a laugh. "We were together the whole day, what do you mean?"

"Oh, right." You said quickly before a flush rose to your face. Perhaps you should find a better topic of conversation other than this bland small talk.

He joined you by his desk and leaned on the wall, his head turned to face the window. Seeing his brother and his friends playing, he looked fondly over all of them as they hurled snowballs at each other, Gabi's competitive spirit getting the best of her as she started to yell obscenities that a child of her age should not be saying.

"They sure are having fun." You said longingly. You wished you had a circle of friends at that age. Playing in the snow sounded so fun when you were twelve, but where were the people to join in with you?

You were in the same Warrior intake season Colt was. He was only a year older than you, and miraculously, you passed along with him. The demand for candidates a few years ago was much less compared to now, where they were training four children simultaneously for the position of a Warrior for Marley.

Naturally, with the two of you being a pair of a boy and a girl, you got along quick, starting off as fast friends, and now? Well, you weren't all that sure. Dating in the military was strictly forbidden, but the occasional flirting was definitely there.

Sometimes you leaned on his side and he would wrap an arm around your shoulder to keep you warm, and these small exchanges of affection quickly grew into feelings for each other, though you knew neither of you would be brave enough to admit it.

Back when you were ten and he was eleven, all you two knew were that one was always going to score higher above the other. It was a fierce rivalry that tamed down to a friendly competition for a spot in the Warriors. You remembered how he would always lend a hand with that trademark smirk of his, after a brutal sparring match and you were pretty much beaten down to the ground.

"Get back up! Is that really all you got?" He would always say, with a shit-eating grin that always tempted you to smack him in the face.

It went on and on like that for years, before he introduced you to his little brother, Falco, one of the newest candidates. Sure, you felt rather threatened with your position, but why would you feel threatened by a bunch of 12 year olds?

Your seniors always said you two looked cute together, with Miss Pieck, who held the Cart, always trying to pair you two up for every single event and competition the military held. You also knew she had plenty of pictures of you and Colt that she would take every year, and on occasion, she would give you a copy, saying,

"I just want to document the growth of our two cute juniors! Closer, you two! It's not like you' re both mortal enemies, right?"

"Gosh, I wish we could have done that." Colt stared out the window, looking at Udo and Zofia teaming up to build a fort to conceal themselves from Gabi's relentless ambushes. You cracked a soft smile. "Yeah. D'you think we're too old for that kind of stuff now?"

He sighed, folding his arms as he shifted his position to lean against the dusty wooden desk. "Well, if we had a snowball fight right now, we'd probably get our ears told off by Commander Magath." He said, thoughtful. You let out a laugh that sounded more melancholic than humorous. "Favoritism. Just because they're cuter than us teenagers doesn't mean they get to get away with everything..." Colt trailed off with an undertone of frustration.

Without thinking, you moved closer to him in an effort to keep warm. His body immediately responded, leaning into you to stay comfortably snug against each other.

"Ugh, these winter blues are really getting to me." You complained, burying your face in his shirt. Colt stood there in a state of shock for a second, before running his hands through your hair, silently sympathizing with you. Sighing, you looked through the window again.

"I just realized how much of our childhood the military had really taken away from us. I won't say it's cruel, but I just wish I could spend more time as a kid and not... a weapon-to-be."

Colt sighed in agreement. "They're more lax with the kids now. We used to be so strictly controlled. Man, if Magath was this nice back then-" He stopped, as if he had lost his train of thought. He just continued on to shrug and stare into space.

"At least Falco has more time to live out his childhood now. Anyways, we have each other, right?"

"Right." He said, putting his hands on your shoulders, nodding. "We got each other. Friends or not."

"What do you mean? We are friends, right?"

Now it was Colt's turn to blush awkwardly as you stared back at him, perplexed.

He hesitated. "W-well, maybe if we weren't held back by military restrictions, our relationship could've grown into something more?" He said, his face as red as a tomato. You quickly picked up on what he was saying and just sat there, flustered.

"You mean-"

"Oh, god," He sighed, looking away before turning back to meet your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm just going to say it now because I don't want this to be special or anything. I... kind of like you. Like, these past two years? I always liked the idea of the two of us together."

You sat there, frozen, an unreadable expression on your face. A million thoughts were rushing through your small little brain, and you struggled to comprehend the words Colt just said to you.

Only two words appeared in your ear at that very moment.

Kiss him.

You stood up abruptly, chair falling to the floor to collide your lips together with his. Although you had to stand up in your toes to kiss him, he sat you up on his desk to try and close the height difference between you two. You didn't really know what was going on, but you knew you liked him too, and after all these years, one of you gathered your wits to spill their feelings out onto the ground.

And you thought you were bringing this with you to the grave.

"Colt! Time for debriefi-"

A lighter fell to the ground with a loud clink as Zeke laid his eyes on his two juniors, obviously busy with each other. The sight of you on the table, with Colt leaning in to further deepen the kiss with you left the blond man dumbfounded.

He raised his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses. You two were too absorbed in each other to notice. "I'll give you five minutes, then." He said before shutting the door, leaving without another word.

On the other side of the door, Zeke was too shocked to even light his cigarette. Porco found him in the hallway, standing still in the corridors, just... standing there.

"Oi, Chief. You alright?"

The man snapped out of his daze to see a confused-looking Galliard in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed, curious.

Zeke didn't know where to begin. "The kids... they're not kids anymore..." He said, trailing off. Porco raised his eyebrows. "What are they doing in there?" He replied, picking up the hint that something was clearly going on between you and Colt in his dorm.

"You don't mean-" He said quickly, hands reaching for the doorknob.

"Shh, Galliard! Leave them be!" Zeke said, grabbing his hand, panic etched on his face. Porco was slightly taken aback at his superior's behavior but shrugged it off. "Alright, whatever you say, Chief. Debriefing's in ten." He said causally before sauntering away.

Zeke collected his composure, shook his head in disbelief, and walked away from Colt's door, hoping they'd heard him the first time.

"Colt-" You said, breaths heavy as you two pulled away, the air still thick with tension. "Don't we have debriefing in a few minutes by now?"

A flicked of recognition flashed in his eyes. He snapped out of his lovestruck trance and nodded. "Right! We should probably get going." He said, laughing nervously.

You two stood the chair upright and you fixed his coat on him, fastening the buttons for him before walking out, you exiting the room before Colt, to not arouse any suspicion.

You headed into the debriefing room a few minutes early, to Chief Zeke, Pieck, Galliard, and Commander Magath in the meeting room.

Right as you stepped foot in the room, Pieck instantly gave you a knowing look, smiling madly. "Had fun in Colt's room?"

Your face flushed instantaneously, causing Zeke and Porco to laugh. "It- it wasn't anything like that!" You said, dismissing her suggestive remark. This only made the three laugh harder as Commander Magath pretended not to hear, although he did appear to be quite amused.

Colt came in through the door a few minutes after you did, panting. He was shocked to see you still stood behind the door and almost caused you to fall.

Righting yourself, you turned to meet Colt's eyes sharing a nervous glance knowing that you two were being looked at by all your superiors. "Colt." You said dismissively, before he nodded along and cleared his throat "Hello." He said promptly before you two awkwardly shuffled to your seats placed opposite from each other on the meeting table.

The adult shared smirks between each other before Commander Magath started the debriefing, leaving you and Colt to fidget in your own seats, unable to process anything the commander said that evening.

#colt grice #colt aot #attack on titan #aot manga #shingeki no kyoujin spoilers #snk fanfiction #snk x you #snk manga #marleyan warriors #paradis island

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teiasviago · 3 years ago

Text

Book Recommendation

For @mypanicface because Scully would totally love HoM.

“Whatcha reading?” By the increased number of pencils stuck in the ceiling over his desk, he forgot to bring a book like she told him to. They’ve just gotten the office back; they don’t have a backlog of work like they used to.

“Why don’t you have a book, Mulder?” They’re getting a new computer for some reason, and it has yet to come in. (Wonder what Spender had on it, he wondered aloud without the usual contrition the other day. The man was recently dead, after all.)

He shrugs and twiddles a pencil in his hand. “Forgot to grab one before I left today.”

Scully licks her lips, unreading eyes trained on the page. “Well, knowing you, you’d probably have picked up a stack of porn mags on accident,” she says, endeavoring to hide a smirk.

“Scully!” She finally looks over at him in time to see him place a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

She giggles softly. “Well, we’ve got plenty of reading material in the filing cabinets.” He groans.

—

“Franco’s?”

“Sounds good.”

Mulder barges into her apartment thirty minutes later, pizza in hand, and shuts the door with his foot. “Delivery for Dana Katherine Scully, badge number JTT—”

“Alright, alright,” she says, standing up to grab the plastic bag of wings and condiments from him, her book from earlier now sitting on the coffee table with a bookmark wedged between the pages.

“So, will you tell me what you’re reading, now?”

“Hm?” Scully glances over her shoulder at him. “Oh. Uh, it’s The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton.” She raises herself up on the balls of her feet to grab a plate for each of them before opening the pizza box.

“What’s it about?” Mulder asks, picking up his plate before going to stand behind her so he can reach over her shoulder and pick a couple slices.

“Um,” she fumbles, ducking under his raised arm holding his plate so she can grab some wings, “it’s about...it’s about this girl named Lily, and—well, I haven’t finished it, so I don’t really know where it’s going—but she’s trying to get married because it’s, like, 1905, and she’s been living off the money her aunt gives her. But her aunt’s not too fond of her, so—” Scully suddenly clams up, cheeks slightly flushed as they sit down across from each other at the half of the table not occupied by the pizza and wings. “Do you care about spoilers?”

Mulder shakes his head and makes an incredulous face. “No, no, of course not.”

“Well, some people care, so I wanted to ask.” He nods, watching her suck the grease off her fingers before wiping them off. “Soda?”

Mulder nods again. “Go on.”

If he’s not mistaken, that’s a little smile playing on her lips. “Alright. Well, like I was saying, Lily’s aunt isn’t too fond of her. In fact, no one in her family wanted to take care of her after her parents died because they lived such a...a frivolous life as compared to the rest of the family. Anyways...” Scully sets their glasses down and settles into her seat again. “...the part that I really like is, um...”

That flush on her cheeks is more prominent now, and Mulder senses an opportunity. “Dana Scully, are you reading a story with premarital sex in it?”

She purses her lips against a grin as she somehow flushes even further and covers her face with her hands for a brief moment. “No!” Scully exclaims. “There’s no sex, Mulder, it’s a book from 1905. I was going to say that my favorite part is Lily and Selden—that’s her love interest—I really like their relationship. The way that they think about each other is so beautiful, if outdated in places.”

Scully’s clear love of this book is more convincing than if she’d told him it was good and handed him a copy. “Like what? What do they think?”

She seems thrown by his interest, but answers his question nonetheless. Or tries to: “Well, um, Selden essentially thinks that it must’ve taken a lot of ugly people for someone as beautiful as Lily to exist, which is obviously a terrible thing to believe. But it’s almost monstrously beautiful.”

Mulder nods. “And what does Lily think about Selden?”

Scully finally meets his gaze, wiping off her hands to drink her soda. “It’s a little complicated, but...only because she makes it that way. She thinks of him as this free-thinker—and he is, but it’s not as revolutionary as she views it. Lily just grew up being told that she needed to marry someone wealthy, which Selden isn’t. He’s related to some of the wealthy families—a cousin, I think—so he gets invited to the same events that Lily does. It’s really the first few pages that draw you in. The way he views her...it’s magical.”

“Sounds like I’ll have to read it when you’re done,” Mulder concludes, taking a sip of his soda. “If you like it then it has to be good.”

“Oh, it’s fantastic. Just go slow. Don’t skimp on reading the details.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

—

“Mulder...” She sounds like she’s been crying, and his hackles raise.

“What is it?” Mulder’s itching to pull on his coat and make the drive back into D.C. just to see her.

“I finished it. It’s so sad... I don’t want to tell you what happens. Just read it. I’ll bring it in tomorrow.” Scully blows her nose profusely. “God, but it’s not a bad ending. It’s just so tragic. Be prepared.”

“I’ve been warned.”

—

He’s not ashamed of the fact that, a week and change later, he’s the one calling Scully in tears. “Wow. Just, wow. ‘Tragic’ is just the tip of the iceberg, Scully.”

“Right?”

“That kiss in the garden—”

“—no tongue! Crazy.”

“I’m just saying, if I were gonna kiss you, I’d do it with tongue. What’s the point of building up a first kiss with the person you love but can’t be with and then do it for the first and possibly last time without tongue?”

A beat of silence from Scully. “You...you want to kiss me? With tongue?”

Mulder shifts uncomfortably. “I mean...yeah.” He chuckles weakly. “I’ve been trying to send signals. Looks. Paying for pizza. Expressing interest in the things you like without sacrificing the things I like.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a good oh or a bad oh?”

The faintest laugh comes through the line. “A good one, Mulder. I wish we were talking in person so we could try it out.”

“Whose tongue in whose mouth first, though?”

She lets out a real laugh this time. “Whoever’s fastest.”

“Mm, that’ll be a tough one.”

“Oh, it’s on, Mulder.”

#txf #fanfiction #mine #i don't control the writing the writing controls me #also who cares about continuity?#certainly not i

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skzsauce01 · 3 years ago

Text

Harmony

Synopsis: Dogged by a shameful past, you try to fit as your new identity in a new dance program at a renowned music conservatory. The school heartthrob and world-class violinist takes interest in you, which would be fine if he wasn’t also your childhood best friend.

Warning: hysterectomy, infertility, panic, mention of murder disclaimer: fertility does NOT determine your worth as a person

Word Count: 10.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Kim Seungmin

There he is. Of course, there he is. Where else would the handsome prodigal son of the most prominent violinist go if not the best music conservatory in the country? You watch his bleached head of hair make its way across SKZ Conservatory of Music’s courtyard as fans flock him from behind.

As for you, you sit on a random bench by yourself, waiting to start your first day at the conservatory’s new and nameless dance program as Emily Regan, not Y/N L/N, and most definitely not the gifted Kim Seungmin’s long-lost childhood best friend.

You must have stared at him too long, for he catches you and smirks. Blushing, you quickly clear your throat and head to class. He couldn’t have recognized you, right? No, you definitely look nothing like you did when you were six. If so, then why is he following you? You speed up, and while he makes no attempt to do the same, he surely is still on your tail. You turn the last corner and he does the same. You enter a room and take a seat. He— oh, you have the same class. First year literature. Just your luck.

He walks by where you are seated and stops. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You wish the ground would swallow you, but at least he didn’t call you Y/N or something like that.

“R-Regan. Emily Regan,” you mutter.

“Oh, American?”

You nod, still avoiding his eye.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Kim Seungmin.”

He extends a hand out to shake, and you take it hesitantly. You aren’t sure you are on first name basis yet, but Kim Seungmin does what Kim Seungmin wants, you suppose.

“Hello, Kim.”

He smiles and takes the seat next to you and you wish you could disappear. But you can’t, so you excuse yourself to use the washroom. You thought you could get another spot when you returned, only to find him reserving your spot next to him for you.

The whole class, you do your best to focus on the professor, but he makes it difficult for you. He makes no effort to hide that he’s stealing glances at you, and fear creeps up your spine. What if he connects the dots and realizes you are your father’s daughter? He’d hate you, that’s for sure. After all you’ve done to him, it’s only natural.

You shake your head and he looks at you curiously. No, the one who did all that isn’t you, but Y/N L/N. You’re Emily Regan now. You just have to make sure you keep it that way.

Still, you’re glad to be able to see him again.

You know you should not be doing this, and there is no reason for you to potentially embarrass yourself even more, but you cannot help yourself. His pieces of work are right there, and his door was propped open so that you could see the music inside. So, you let yourself in.

Being the son of a major benefactor of the school, Seungmin has his own studio on campus. Instruments of all sorts line the wall and his Stradivarius violin lays on the table beside the draft of his latest composition. No one will steal it anyway; it’s chipped and insured.

It does, however, mean that Seungmin probably just stepped out for a bit, so you’ll have to be quick. You look at his piece and hum the notes to yourself.

A small smile forms on your lips as you read the sheet. It’s a duet, and he’s only written the second violin part for now.

This whole thing feels familiar. Reading music with him, cheek to cheek, is something you did often. In fact, that’s exactly what you were doing that day you got that call to rush home only to find where you once lived was turned into a slaughterhouse. Your fingers curl around your cardigan as you recall that day. It was Albinoni’s Adagio. You shake your head and refocus on the notes before you, humming a little louder to drown out your thoughts. You need to finish before—

“You have perfect pitch.”

—Seungmin returns.

You shoot up straight and turn slowly around. Seungmin leans against the door with his arms crossed.

“You have perfect pitch,” he repeats, walking over to his piano. He takes the sheet and plays it on the keyboard. “You weren’t even a microtone off.”

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t—”

He holds up a hand to silence you. “You’re a dance major, right? Do you play anything?”

You shake your head and lie. “Not really.”

“That’s a shame. Well, it’s never too late to start.” He picks up his violin and hands it to you. “Do you want to hear how the piece actually sounds?”

Your eyes widen at the familiar instrument and you visibly flinch backwards to which he raises a brow.

“Emily? Something wrong?”

“No, er, I, uh…” What should you say? “I’m alright. Thank you, and sorry for intruding. I need to use the washroom now.”

“Hold up,” he calls, effectively making you freeze in your step. “You don’t think you can just walk in here and leave unscathed, do you?”

“W-what do you mean?” you laugh nervously.

“You’ve got to pay the admissions fee,” he replies. “If you don’t play the violin, then here.” He hands you his music. “Compose the first violin.”

“What? I don’t even play!”

“You can try, or I can call security. You might even get suspended,” he smirks.

You open and close your mouth soundlessly. If you fail here as Emily Regan the dance major, then what will become of you? You have no choice but to concede and take the paper from his hands.

“Great. It’s only thirty-two bars, so bring it by tomorrow!”

“But I—!”

He takes out his phone and begins dialing the number for security while reading out each digit.

“Fine! I’ll do it!” you relent.

He grins victoriously. “Great!”

You frown at your new project. “But if I may ask, why the first violin? Don’t people usually compose both at once or the melody part first?”

“I like playing second best,” he answers casually.

This you remember from your childhood days, but that was long, long ago, and only because you always wanted to play first. His skills have improved tremendously since then. Anyone who calls Kim Seungmin a second violinist these days would surely be mocked. “Second? But you’re a renowned soloist!”

“I just haven’t found the person I want to follow yet.”

There’s a pain in his voice that makes you bite your own lip. Even if that person is still here, how can he, the prodigal son from the greatest violinist in the nation, stand next to, let alone play with again, the child of a pariah?

“I better get started on this,” you excuse yourself. You can’t bear to see the scars you left on him any longer.

Seungmin finds you the next day with your face on your desk.

“Rough night?” he chuckles.

You pop your head off the table and swipe your hand over your mouth to rid it of any drool. At this point, you should give up ever looking good in front of the school’s heartthrob.

“Here,” you cough, sliding over your work. “I’m forgiven with this, right?”

He hums approvingly and pulls up a keyboard on his phone. After playing it once, he shakes his head and pulls out another score and places it in front of you.

“This won’t do. Try again.”

Your eyes widen. “But—!”

“You didn’t put yourself into this piece did you?”

How can he say that after you spent all night researching and writing drafts, trying to make something that wouldn’t disappoint the great Kim Seungmin? You open your mouth, however, no objection comes out. Something in you knows he’s right.

“Take your time with this next one. Just bring it to my studio when you’re ready, okay?”

You give a small nod and look at the paper on your desk with dread.

“But you did work hard on this,” he continues, “so here. A reward.” He slides a cup of coffee to you. “Tell me what you like and I’ll get that next time.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” you say, a little surprised by the gesture. “This time or the next.”

“Oh, come on. A little boost is nice after a rough night, isn’t it? How many hours did you even sleep?”

Good question. You’re curious yourself. You went to bed at four and were awakened at seven by your bladder, so one, two, “Three.”

He looks at you weirdly.

“What?” you defend. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“You’re not from America, are you?”

That came out of the left field. “What?”

“Americans count like this.” He raises his index finger then his middle and then his ring, counting a number with each digit. “But you went like this.” He holds up five fingers and progressively puts one down, starting from his thumb.

“I must have gotten used to it here already,” you laugh sheepishly. “Oh look, the professor!”

You feel his stare, but thankfully, he does not say anything else after the instructor greets the class.

The next attempt takes you eight days. You wouldn’t mind a little longer to work out the finer details, but seeing him in class pressures you to just turn it in.

You hold your breath as he scans over your new attempt. Your nervousness does not last long though as he does not even bother playing it and instead drops it right into the bin. He takes out yet another copy and slams it on the table in front of you.

“I really am trying my be—”

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” he cuts sternly. “Remember what I said. I want you in this piece. Not your best— you.”

“I—”

“No. Look here. Look at me. Focus.”

You gulp and do as told. His lips are pursed and his eyes intense.

“What do you feel?” His question sounds more like a statement.

“Happy?” you try.

He scowls.

“Sad?”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “Look at me. What do you feel?”

You rack your head for emotional words. What answer could he possibly be looking for? “Attraction?”

Seungmin breaks his seriousness and laughs loudly. “Attraction?”

“I mean, you have all those fans and the looks, wealth, and talent,” you try to explain, “so I thought you were looking for that.”

He pokes your forehead. “This isn’t about me or what I’m looking for. It hasn’t been since I gave you this piece. Think about it honestly. What does Emily Regan feel?”

Emily Regan? “Frustrated.”

Another shake of his head. “Deeper. Think. What do you feel?”

You bite your lip and flick your eyes to meet his. What do you feel? What do you feel, posing as a dancer here at SKZ Conservatory in front of Kim Seungmin?

“... shame.”

He smiles bittersweetly and hands you a pen. “Write,” he whispers gently.

You stare at the empty bars, pen quivering slightly above the page. Finally, you draw a small oval in a line.

You write and write, humming the notes to yourself and not realizing how time has passed. When you finally finish, the sun has already gone down. You look up and see Seungmin with his elbows resting on the table across from you and his hands clasped, not having moved a centimeter for the past few hours.

When you finally put down the pen, he turns the sheet towards himself. He stares at it for a good ten minutes before standing up with it and pulling out his Stradivarius. From his phone, he first records him playing his own composition and then plays yours over it.

The whole thing could not have been more than five minutes, but to you, it feels like an eternity.

At last he finishes the piece with an up bow and brings his arm in a circle to his side. He stares at your work for a few more silent moments before saying, “Have you published music before?”

That certainly is not the comment you were expecting. “No?”

“It’s… familiar. I don’t mean the piece, but the style, it’s…”

“Well, do I pass?” you cut in before he can think too much of it.

He sets down his instrument. “It’s a little bland, but I'll take it. Good work, Emily.”

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Wait—” He calls after you, but you are already out the door.

You speed walk until you are in the safety of a nearby washroom. You rest your back against the stall door and let out a sigh. Does he remember the amateur pieces you made almost two decades ago? Did you accidentally just expose yourself? No, prodigy or not, there is no way he can connect you to Y/N L/N just from thirty-two bars of music. At any rate, it’s best to lay low from him for now, you decide.

Laying low does not really work when you are one of the few members of the conservatory’s budding dance ensemble though. Seungmin is hosting a charity concert and requested dancers for his show. You manage to finish your numbers for the night without complications and are now waiting in the wings for the curtains as Seungmin begins his final piece.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to enjoy his music until something about the tune strikes you. Your eyelids flutter open as a familiar melody fills the auditorium. It’s your piece! Sure, he wrote it into a solo, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

When he finishes, he bows and makes a speech. Your classmate nudges you to snap you out of your surprise and urges you onstage for the curtain call. The whole time, you stare at Seungmin, unsure of what to make of the situation.

At the end of his speech, he gestures for the dancers to come forward. He meets your eyes with his usual smirk and grabs your hand for the bow.

When all is done, you want to find an explanation for that last piece, but your bladder demands to be released right at that moment. You’ve been finding yourself needing to go more and more or the area starts to hurt, so you quickly relieve yourself and speed out. To your luck, it seems Seungmin took his time packing up his violin; you see his silhouette just across the field from the performance hall.

“Wait,” you call out, running after him. He doesn’t hear you until you are closer. “Wait!”

Seungmin turns around as you stop in front of him, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath.

“Emily?”

He takes a look at your state. You’re still in your costume from having rushed out, and your sheer asymmetrical skirt is doing nothing for you against the night wind.

He shakes off his coat and wraps it around you. “Are you here because of that last bit?”

You nod and stare at him, hoping your gaze draws an explanation out of him.

“It’s a good piece. I felt the need to share it.” He fixes the collar around your neck. “I know I should have asked first. I’ll buy you food sometime to make up for it, yeah?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter that you played it; I just want to know why you did it.”

“I told you already. I like it,” he shrugs.

“You like Paganini. You like Strasate. Anything from them or even something you wrote would have made a better finish. Why this?”

“It’s a charity concert for the needy. Your piece had fitting emotions.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Is there really nothing else?

“Hold on.” He narrows his eyes back at you. “How do you know so much about composers?”

“I— It’s— This is a music conservatory! I’ve just seen their names around in murals and such!”

“Makes sense,” he nods.

“Good. Well then, have a good evening, Kim,” you bid, relieved, and begin to turn around.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the dorm? It’s quite late,” he offers.

You turn around but do not stop walking away. “I still need to change. Thank you though!”

It is only when you’re in the green room do you realize you still have his coat.

“Kim,” you call out, shuffling your feet quickly after him.

A wide grin spreads over his face as he turns around and sees your form. There’s a tuba on his shoulder. “Emily! Looking for me?”

You nod and thrust forward the bag in your hand. “Your coat. I came to return it.”

Seungmin dramatically wraps his hands around the instrument. “Oh no! My hands are full right now! Could you bring it to my studio in fifteen minutes?”

Your grip on the bag tightens in frustration, but he leans towards you, tuba looming overhead, and blinks thrice.

“Please? I’ll make it worth your effort.”

You fumble backwards, flustered, and drop your hand and the bag to your side. “Fine,” you relent. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he promises. As you walk out of the music hall, you hear a tuba playing fanfare.

Fifteen minutes later, you knock at his door which opens before you even finish your first knock. Seungmin greets you and gestures inside where a plate of mochi sits on his table with two cups of tea.

“Care to join me?” he invites.

You again hand him the bag and keep your feet planted where they are. “I think I’ll have to pass, but thank you.”

“Aw, don’t you like sweets?” He reaches for the plate and circles it around your face.

Still, you shake your head. “Again, thank you, but based on the last few times I was in here, I would rather not be.”

“I promise not to make you compose again. Just come in before the tea gets cold!”

“Why do you want me to anyway?”

“Huh?” His eyes widen at the question.

“I mean, other people have perfect pitch, yet you only sit with me to work through a composition. You sit next to me and buy me coffee and now you’re inviting me to tea. Why are you so interested in me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “‘Cause I like you, obviously.”

That sets off your alarms. Quickly, you dart your eyes around, looking to see if any of his fan girls are around to hear that and murder you. You then push him into the room and slam the door behind you.

“Excuse me, what?” you exclaim.

He sits by the food, crossing his legs. “I. Like. You.” he repeats slowly.

“B-b-b-but that’s impossible,” you sputter. “Curious? Maybe. But attracted to? No.”

He chuckles. “Why not? I mean, it did start out as curiosity, but the more I poked around, the more intrigued I became. You’re a woman full of mysteries, Emily. I like that.”

You put your hands in front of you and slowly back up. “No, no. No. No. There’s nothing to me at all. We don’t know each other very well. Of course a stranger is going to have a lot of unknowns. Once you get to know me, you’ll find that you’ve wasted your time and energy.” You like your acquaintanceship right now. Even being ignored by him is totally fine, but if he ever finds out who you are, he’ll hate you and spit on the person you’ve tried so hard to become.

“Oh really?” He stands and advances to you, making you shrink. “Then let’s put your theory to the test, shall we?”

“What do you mean?” you gulp.

“You answer my questions and I’ll see if I still like you then.”

“Q-questions?”

“Yeah. We can go slowly if you’d like. Maybe one a day? How does that sound?”

When you don’t respond, he begins. “Why do you seem so afraid of touching a violin?”

“I— uh…”

“Why did you lie about your home country? Why did you feel ‘shame’? Why did you sneak into my studio to look at my work yet claim to have no interest in music?”

With every question, he takes one step in your direction, finally backing you up against the wall.

“And” —he lowers and softens his voice— “how does it feel to kiss you?”

“I’ll— I’ll—” You squirm in your shoes, head down and fists balled. The silence is deafening between your stutters, but he makes no effort to fill it, waiting patiently for your response. “I’ll answer the last one,” you finally squeak.

“Alright then.”

You hear one of his hands pressing on the wall behind you and feel the other coming up to your jaw. He leans closer and closer and you squeeze your eyes tighter and tighter. You’re shaking so much, you can’t tell if you’re even still standing anymore.

His breath fans your lips as he suddenly chuckles and straightens up. He leaves a quick peck on your forehead and steps back.

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want to, Emily.” He has a soft smile which you stare at with surprise at the turn of events. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop annoying the daylights out of you though,” he adds cheekily.

He slides the mochi back into the box they came in and hands them to you. “Go back to your dorm. Maybe we’ll continue our interrogation next time. Oh, and there’s a closer toilet if you turn right since you seem to go all the time.”

You stand there, mochi in hand, with your jaw opening and closing without any audible sound. He laughs again and turns you around towards the door.

“Go, before I poke you with my bow.”

Mention of a violin snaps your soul back into your body. “Okay, okay. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Thanks for returning the coat,” he calls after you as you disappear into the washroom on the left.

“Remember to choose a partner for this project. Let me know if you can’t get one by next week,” your literature professor concludes and whisks out the door.

You feel the entire room turn towards your direction no thanks to the one and only Kim Seungmin sitting next to you. He himself turns toward you with a plotting grin.

“Emily.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, pain rippling through your belly as you do so. There is no point resisting, and you don’t feel up to it today anyway.

“Are you free tonight? I’ll pick you up after your practice and we can get a head start.”

That night, you already know who has just arrived when the girls come squealing into the locker room. You couldn’t care less though. You try to rub away the pain that’s nagging at your belly and fumble around for some pain killers. You allow yourself five minutes after tossing back the pills, but begrudgingly drag your feet outside so as to not keep Seungmin waiting.

He greets you with an electrolyte drink which you take and thank him for as discreetly as possible without catching the attention of his fans. He thankfully seems to take the hint and follows you outside, only fully approaching you when the last of the girls retreats back into the changing room.

“Ready for our project?”

“You’re awfully excited for homework,” you comment.

“It’s not just any homework.” He bumps you with his shoulder. At that moment, another wave of pain grips your stomach, causing you to stop in your step and bend over.

“Did I nudge too hard?” he gasps. “I’m sorry!”

You shake your hand. “Just… premenstrual cramps. It’s a little hard to manage these days,” you squeeze out.

He walks you to a nearby bench and kneels in front of you. He opens your drink for you and wipes sweat from your forehead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go home and rest for today?” he asks worriedly.

“I’ll be fine in a bit; I just need the medicine to kick in. Sorry for delaying us.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He takes your hand and massages the pressure point between your thumb and index finger. “Is there anything you need?”

You assure him that you’re fine and can continue with the scheduled homework session which you know he cut short with one excuse or another. You two do the bare minimum on the assignment before he “realized” he scheduled an appointment to restring his violin. After Seungmin walks you to your dorm, you quickly put on a liner and head to bed.

That night, you learn that a liner was a mistake. You wake up as you often do by a call from the bathroom. Groggily, you swing your legs off your bed and are startled by a loud ‘squish.’ Too distracted by the gnawing in your pelvis, you think nothing of it, until you open your door and the hallway lights pour into your room, illuminating your blood-covered feet. With a gasp, you quickly turn around and see the trail of red behind you. You quickly reach for your heaviest pad only to be gripped with the worst shock of pain you’ve had yet. You fall to your knees then ultimately to the floor.

Waking up on the floor makes you forget where you are, and realizing that you are laying in a pool of blood and urine does not help. It takes a moment for you to recover from the shock the state of your room gave you, but when you do, you decide to get yourself cleaned up first then deal with the room later.

Twenty minutes later, you again face the disaster that is your dorm. Thankfully, you do not have literature today, so no one— and by no one you mean Seungmin— will notice if you take a day off to take care of it.

You begin pulling off your bedsheets to wash when you hear a knock at your door. You panic and look around. It doesn’t take a genius to know your room is in no condition for a guest right now.

“Emily?”

And of course it has to be Kim Seungmin. You freeze in your spot, not knowing what to do.

“Did she leave?” you hear him ask himself. This is good. You hope he leaves.

“I guess so,” he mutters.

You hear some plastic shuffling outside and then his retreating footsteps. You breathe a sigh of relief which you immediately regret because of the pain that comes with breathing too heavily. Your periods have never hurt this much, you note with worry.

You return to your sheets until your phone vibrates with a notification.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Hope you’re feeling better. I left some soup and food at your door since it seems like you aren’t home.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Call me if you need something. Or if you need a ride to the hospital.

Hospital? You rub your abdomen, wondering if the pain warrants a visit. You take some more painkillers and eat the food before finishing cleaning your room. As you leave the washing machine running downstairs, you sit at your table after another washroom stop for a quick nap. You nestle your head in your arms and close your eyes…

… and open them a few hours later, feeling like you’d rather be dead. You can barely breathe and your room spins around you. You don’t even remember to grab your keys as you stumble out the door. Hospital, hospital. No, the hospital’s too far. The conservatory’s health center will have to suffice for now, and it’s only two buildings away.

You must look really unwell, for as soon as you step into the facility, there are already three staff members rushing to your side. You aren’t sure what happens next. It looks like your arrival caused quite the commotion, but all you can hear is Mozart’s Requiem playing somewhere. The world is closing in on you, and you feel your legs give out.

“Seungminnie…”

You wake up to the humming of machines in a hospital room. You realize they transferred you when you see an old lady sleeping in the bed beside yours.

Thankfully, you feel much better now, though you suspect it has something to do with IV connected to your wrist.

Seeing that you are awake, a nurse comes in to check your vitals.

“Are you feeling alright, Miss Regan?” she asks.

You nod and thank her as she replaces your IV bag.

“The doctor wants to see you in a bit for your consultation, but I need a bit of information from you first. We couldn’t find any family members attached to your name, so you’ll have to fill out some forms for yourself, alright sweetie?”

After making sure you are able to, she hands you a clipboard which you complete steadily until one section. “Emergency contact,” it reads.

Seeing your hesitation, the nurse chimes in. “It can be anyone. A friend, teacher, anyone you can trust just in case, you know?”

You smile politely. "May I leave it blank?"

The nurse looks stunned. "I suppose, but what if something happens?"

"You can call a lawyer."

She looks doubtful but stays quiet save for the few instructions she gives to reach your doctor’s office. As you walk there, you think about what just happened. Emergency contact? You'd just moved here for school. Your mother passed during childbirth, and your father— Emily Regan doesn’t have a father. There's no one you could have put down, you tell yourself. No one. Not even a certain overzealous violinist.

You knock twice on the door you were told.

“Miss Emily Regan?” the doctor greets as you walk in.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Doctor Lee. How are you feeling right now?"

"A lot better."

"Glad to hear it. Please take a seat. Tell me, have you experienced frequent urination lately?"

You walk out of the pharmacy with a paper bag in your hands. Your heart drums in your ears but for a completely different reason this time. What will this mean for you? You’ll need to be resting for two months after the procedure, and as a dance major, this means you can’t attend class. Never mind its impact on your school year, what will this mean for your entire life? Your father has already tarnished the name Y/N L/N. You’ve tried so hard and lied so much just to make Emily Regan real. What have you made her into now? Dirty. Fiendish. Despicable. Even if you escaped being the daughter of the most hated artist who shamed his whole nation, you’ll never escape who you really are. And now this? Your hand unconsciously rises to your belly, rubbing it. It’s only further proof of what a defect you are.

It is around four by the time you arrive back at the dorms. Thankfully, the hospital phoned your resident assistant who has your keys for you. You’re still distracted by your thoughts as you approach the building and nearly miss the man pacing up and down the front door.

Seungmin has his shoulders hunched and hands clasped together as he blows on them to keep warm, his grey cardigan not doing much against the evening chill.

“Kim?” you call out, not believing your eyes. You are, after all, on a lot of drugs.

He immediately runs towards you when he recognizes you. You stand where you are and wait for him to come, now believe that he truly is here. Was he out here waiting for you? Your hand curls around your belly. He shouldn’t be wasting his efforts like this on someone like you. Never mind the faults of Y/N, even as Emily, you no longer deserve the love of someone like Kim Seungmin. You’d never wish for your childhood best friend to be with someone as flawed as you.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire as he stops in front of you, raising his hands as if wanting to hold you but is afraid you’d break under his touch.

“You didn’t pick up the phone…” he whispers. “You weren’t home and you didn’t pick up the phone…”

“I… had something going on.” You tuck away your prescription in your coat. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t—”

“Kim.”

“—the phone—”

“Kim Seungmin!”

His eyes look up to meet yours and you see the daze being snapped out of them.

“Huh?”

You exhale sharply and repeat. “What are you doing here?”

“Your dorm doesn’t allow guys past twelve,” he replies matter of factly.

Your brows knit together. “You were out here for four hours?”

He nods. “Where were you? You were sick yesterday, and now you’re off the map until four in the morning.”

You shouldn’t have snapped. You know what he means by his words, but you aren’t exactly having the best day, and Seungmin isn’t supposed to be here. You aren’t who he actually likes. You aren’t the six year old Y/N nor are you an ideal bachelorette. No, you are some imposter and you hate it. You hate it, so you state flatly, “Why does it matter to you where I was? If you’re worried about the literature project, then I’m sorry. I promise to finish it on time, but it was you who ended the homework session early yesterday, and as far as I’m concerned, we don’t have anything scheduled for today. Thank you for the meal earlier, but if stuff like that’s going to make you feel entitled to knowing about my every whereabouts, then please stop doing it.”

“That’s not what I—”

You close your eyes and let your head roll back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, so please just leave me alone for a bit.”

You walk past him, expecting the conversation to be left at that. You hear him hesitating, which you also expect, but you are not ready for the:

“No.”

Seungmin runs in front of you and spreads his limbs out, blocking your path. “You’re suffering. I don’t know from what, or if it’s even really period cramps, but you are. I’m not letting you do it alone.” He sucks in his cheeks as he tries to find his next words. You half expect him to take you to his studio and sit you down with a drink until you give him at least a hint of what’s happening, but he surprises you with, “I’m not saying you have to share it with me, but you need to have someone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t,” he objects. “And trust me. I’ve seen a man try and it cost him his life and his daughter.”

The familiar story makes you freeze. Despite yourself, you ask, “Who?”

“My father’s best friend. The late violinist, L/N.”

“T-the one who turned out to be a murderer?” Why are you saying this? Just leave him and go!

Seungmin approaches you now that you’ve stopped. His presence makes your eyes water. “He only got involved with the wrong people and ruined his name because he tried to deal with the grief of losing his wife on his own. He even hid it from his own best friend, and that’s how everything tumbled out of control.”

“And his daughter?” Stop it! Y/N— no, Emily, stop it!

“No one knows, though she could be dead. My father immediately sent out searches for her, but nothing ever came up.” His voice softens almost to the point of inaudible as he talks about her. “Father hasn’t played a duet since, and neither have I.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say.

“Don’t be. You didn’t even know about it, so what could you have done?” he laughs dryly.

The irony makes your toes curl.

“Just don’t make me watch another person go down the same path, okay?” he pleas gently.

Again, you should have done something else. You should just say, “Okay, I’ll reach out if I need it” and leave it at that. Instead, you turn to him and ask, “Can you play me ‘Méditation’?”

You watch his eyes widen at the ‘coincidence’ of your request, especially after that story.

“‘Méditation?’” he asks.

“Yes. Massenet’s.”

He visibly takes a step back and you know why. After all, you’ve made this exact request a million times whenever you were left to sleepover at your father’s best friend’s house.

You wake up on the couch of his studio. Seungmin lays sprawled out on the floor next to you, violin on his chest and bow dangling from his thumb. You use the blanket he put over you to lift the ten million dollar instrument onto a table before he can roll over and crush it. You cradle the Strad, lifting it over its owner to the table on the other side.

“You know who composed ‘Méditation’ but you can’t touch a violin?”

The voice startles you, and you jerk backwards, stumbling back onto the couch. Once you’ve regained your balance, you glare at the man who’s still laying on the ground, moving only his eyes to look at you.

You sigh and pull the blanket over your head. “Don’t pry my secrets or I’ll have to keep avoiding you,” you warn.

“Oh!” he hums.

You pull the blanket back down and see him sitting up now with an arm propped on his knee. “What?”

“You finally admitted to hiding things,” he tells you.

“Everyone hides things.”

“But not everyone sucks at denying it.”

“Hey!”

He points at your jacket. “Your pill bottles are literally rattling with every move you make, Miss I’m-totally-fine.”

You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. “They’re— they’re—”

“Pill bottles,” he insists. He folds his hands on the couch and rests his head on them. “Your inept lying is adorable.”

You groan and toss the blanket over his head. He tries to pull it off, but you clamp your hand over his to stop him.

“I don’t want to tell you this, but you did house me for a night, so you deserve to know at least this much, I guess.” Your serious tone stops his resistance attempts. “I’m scheduled for surgery in a little over a week. I’ll be in a hotel for two weeks after the procedure with a nurse since I don’t have someone to care for me during the bed rest period. It’s a relatively safe procedure, so don’t worry.”

Seungmin flips your hand over and grabs it. The blanket slips off his head and you are left looking at his glassy eyes.

“I…” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. “I won’t ask you where you’re staying if you don’t want to tell. Just promise you’ll text after the surgery. Let me know that you’re still alive at least.”

You nod. “You’ll see me working on our Powerpoint for the project at least.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

“I won’t be able to dance for a month and a half after this. My general education classes are all I’m going to be doing,” you assure him.

“If it gets too hard—”

“I know. Thank you, Kim.”

You roll your suitcase off the bus. You aren’t sure if it is extra windy today or if it’s just your nerves, but you shiver as you stare at the hospital before you. You take a deep breath and take a step forward only to find your feet glued to the sidewalk.

Just then, you hear a ping through your earphones. You pull out your phone and see a message.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [7:41 AM]: [get_well_soon.mp3]

You click into it and a piano and violin playing a familiar intermezzo fills your ears. You then look down at your feet and successfully lift one up and place it in front of the other until you are in front of the reception.

“Hello. I have an appointment under Emily Regan, and I'd also like to update my emergency contact information.”

After two weeks, you’re at last pushing open the door to your own dorm room.

You aren’t sure if it’s the morphine or the darkness of the room, but stepping inside after two weeks and seeing your curtains sway lightly in the evening air makes you feel emptier than you’ve ever felt before. Suddenly, your emotions overwhelm you all at once and you succumb to the floor. Your throat tightens and you wrap your arms around your abdomen, tucking your knees to your chest. You think you are crying, but you can’t be sure. The walls are closing in. You feel yourself being shackled by chains and no matter how hard you scream, no one hears you. Your voice bounces in your head like a ricocheting bullet and water is seeping in from somewhere, filling your nose and mouth, depriving you of air. All the while, your heartbeat echoes in your head.

Ba dum.

… dum.

With a strangled gasp, you manage to break one hand free for a split moment, and you immediately look for the remote that has called a nurse for the past two weeks. Of course, you are no longer at the hospital, so the only thing you grab is your phone.

“Seungminnie… Seungminnie, Seungminnie.”

You fumble with the device, but the chains are tightening around you again. Fog clouds in and you can’t see your phone anymore. You don’t even hear it hit the floor as it slips from your hand.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Suddenly, you’re six again. Before you is the empty hallway of Violinist Kim’s mansion. Your plastic princess heels thunder with every step as you run down the hall.

Ba dum. “Seungminie?”

There’s no one there. Every turn you make just leads to another empty hall. The ground begins to morph, twisting and turning under your tiny feet.

Ba dum. Ba dum.

The giant bow on your dress unravels and cinches around your ankle, and you trip and scrape your chin.

“Seungmin!”

“Emily!”

The ribbons shrivel. The chains clatter to the ground. The water drains. You gasp haggredly for air as your hands fly up to his shoulders for support. Beside you, your phone sits on the floor, his name illuminating from the screen.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his own device from his ear.

Your hands climb up to his face, cupping it. Your eyes are still glazed over. Blood drips from your lips from having been gnawed on too much.

“You’re… you’re not Seungmin.” You put your hands all over his face, feeling its features. “Or are you? No…”

“Emily—”

“Who’s Emily? You’re not Seungmin.”

“Stop biting yourself.”

“Seungmin’s not blond. Seungmin’s not—”

“Emily!”

“WHO’S EMILY?”

He freezes and looks at you. You’re drooped over at this point, defeated and tired. He then puts one hand behind you and pulls you into his arms.

“I am Seungmin,” he says gently. The vibration of his chest as he speaks lulls you. “I am Seungmin,” he repeats. “I’m right here. You’ve found me. I’m right here.”

Shakily, one of your hands reaches up and grabs his shirt while the other circles around to your lower belly.

“... Seungminnie…”

You’re in the furthest corner of the bed, staring at him. He’s just standing there, staring at you, juice in one hand and your keys in the other.

“So,” he begins. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing,” you answer truthfully. Your eyes shift to your desk where some medicine including a bottle of Kadian and a pack of birth control sit carelessly. “But I don’t suppose I had to say much for you to figure things out.” He’s going to leave you all alone now. Why is he even still here? He should realize how unsuitable you are for someone like him. There’s undeniable evidence in front of him now.

He clutches at his chest and scrunches up his face as a glaze passes over his eyes. He takes a moment before taking out one of the pills. He hands it to you with the juice, obviously having read the administration instructions.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That and the frequent urinations. How much did they take out?”

You look away and your hand subconsciously reaches down. So he is still holding onto hope for some miracle. That’s why he hasn’t left yet. “Enough.” Now go, Seungmin.

He sits beside you, fiddling with the blankets between his fingers.

You break the silence first. “Don’t feel inclined to stay.”

“Huh?” he questions, looking up.

“I’m” —you motion downstairs— “you know. You’re here because you like me, right? Well, I can’t exactly produce an ideal family anymore. You should probably look for someone who can help you continue your and your father’s legacy.”

He looks more confused than you’ve ever seen him. “What?”

“I’m saying you should walk away now. I won’t hold it against you, so you don’t have to live with any guilt. I never considered our relationship possible anyway.”

Confusion shifts to anger. “You— You think I— I—” He struggles with his words after having been presented a scenario he’s never even considered. He exhales long and hard. “No. Just” —he grabs at an imaginary stress ball— “no. I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me. I don’t like you just because of your fertility. How could you think that? I don’t want a child. I want you. Do you understand? You! I couldn’t even sleep or drink for the past two weeks you were hospitalized, and the only time I could eat was whenever you sent a text or when I saw your little cursor on the Powerpoint. You think a surgery like that can weigh out whatever I felt that drove me to do this?”

“Still, I’m—”

“Worthy, beautiful, and loveable,” he insists.

Those words are foreign to you. They’ve been long before you went to the hospital. How can he believe such things about you? Would he say the same things about Y/N?

Seungmin sighs when you don’t respond and drags you closer. You don’t resist which he takes as a good sign. “So you don’t have to hide things from me anymore, okay? I’ll be here for you.”

You try to bite your lip only to find ointment there, so you play with a loose thread on your blanket instead.

“I… I’m already hiding a lot of things from you that I’m afraid to confess,” you admit. “Will that still be okay?”

You feel him nod. “Take your time. I’ll wait until you’re comfortable.”

You close your eyes and bask in his warmth. Will he really be okay if he knew he has in his arms the daughter of a drug addict murderer? Will he really be okay knowing you’re his “best friend” who left him without a trace for all these years?

You hope so.

You want to believe so.

“It’s out! It’s out! It’s out!” you exclaim.

“It’s just one grade. Relax,” Seungmin chuckles. Still, he stops playing the piano and swings his legs over to look at your phone.

“Not all of us have an established violin career to fall back on,” you remind him while logging into your account. You cover your eyes and hold the phone away from you as the page loads. “I can’t look.”

Seungmin takes the device. “I think you should.”

“Why? Is it good or bad?”

“We got a hundred.”

“We did?” You uncover your eyes. “We did! We did!”

In your excitement, you give him a quick hug. He puts your phone on the table and drags you onto the piano bench. “You’re not doing anything right now, right?” He puts a simple piece in front of you. “Try this.”

“Kim, I don’t play.”

“It’s simple. Look.” He squeezes in behind you and puts your hand on the keyboard. “That’s middle C.”

He presses on the key and you scoff. You lift your left hand up as well and humor him. You’re definitely a bit choppy, but you make your way through the piece slowly and surely. Seungmin wraps his arms around your belly and rests his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed, swaying slightly to the music. When you get to the end, you lift up your hands and rest them on your lap.

“You’re just cuddling, aren’t you?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes shift to the music. “No, I like it.”

You feel his heartbeat accelerating at your words. “So uh, you’ve played piano before, haven’t you?”

“Uhm. I played a few different things.”

“Violin?”

“That was my focus.”

He’s not surprised. “Were you good?”

“I was better than you,” you tease.

“Oh, really?” He jumps up and puts his violin under his chin in a challenging stance.

You put your hands defensively out with a laugh. “That was like years ago!”

He wiggles his eyebrow and starts performing up-bow ricochet and left hand pizzicato.

You roll your eyes humorously. “We get it, Mr. World-class-musician.”

He laughs too and sits back down beside you. “Speaking of which, I’m playing with the JYP Philharmonic next weekend. You’ll come, right?”

You nod. “If I can manage to walk there.”

“I need to get there early, but I’ll have my driver take you.” He smiles widely. “You have to come, you have to. I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

He holds a finger to his lip cheekily. “Now it’s my turn to have a little secret.”

You fix the ribbon around your neck and smooth out your skirt as your driver comes around to open your door. You thank him and make your way into the building where Seungmin asked you to meet him. You hear him before you see him.

“Oh, she’s wonderful. She really is.”

There’s another lower voice that mumbles a reply you can’t make out.

“Kim?” you call, approaching his waiting room.

Seungmin’s grin widens as he turns around and sees you. You, on the other hand, drop the chocolate and banana you brought for him when you see the other man in the room.

Seungmin gestures to you and looks at his companion. “Dad, this is Emily Regan, the girl I’ve been talking to you about. Emily, my father.”

Violinist Kim looks as shocked as you. “Emily… Regan?” His eyes narrow.

Seungmin furrows his brows. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything and extends a hand out to you. “Nice to meet you, Emily Regan.”

You shake his hand uncertainly, unable to look at his unblinking eyes.

“Emily? Dad?” Seungmin looks between the two of you.

The older gentleman turns to his son. “See me for a moment.”

After Seungmin sits you on a couch, the two step out into the garden as per his request. You watch as Violinist Kim says something that makes Seungmin run a hand through his hair then stab them into his pockets as he slouches backwards. He replies with something that his father quickly rebuttals. What can they possibly be discussing? It’s clear Violinist Kim does not approve of you. Does he realize who you are? Or is Emily Regan the one he disapproves of? As a parent, it’s not uncommon to want grandchildren after all.

Suddenly, someone else bursts into the room. “Mr. Kim Seungmin, the conductor is looking for you!”

The stage worker is surprised to see only you in the room, and you inform him where the performers are. He thanks you and lets himself outside to deliver the message.

You stand as Seungmin and his father walk back in. Your friend pauses in his steps to talk to you.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. “This isn’t how I thought my dad would react to this. I’ll talk to you after.” He then spots your hand which has again found its way to your abdomen and frowns. “I swear that’s not something we talked about nor is it even something worth getting upset over, okay?”

You give him an assuring smile. “Break a leg.”

You watch as he hurries to catch up to the stage worker who is giving a briefing as they walk. You don’t bother to ask what is wrong. You can already tell from the cold eyes of Violinist Kim what is wrong. All you can do is wonder how much he told his son.

The concert goes well. You can tell that whatever happened with his father took a toll on Seungmin’s mentality, but his concerto was still dynamic and captivating. A few rows in front of you, you spot Violinist Kim still nodding along to the music and supporting his son.

After forty minutes, the house lights come back on and it is time for intermission. Seungmin is done with his concerto, so you go back backstage to see if you can catch him. You don’t have to go that far though. On your way, you hear a tree go, “Psst, Emily!”

You look and see him waving you over. He’s still calling you Emily, so that’s good, you note.

“Why are we out here?” you inquire.

He takes you a little further into the woods until he finds a boulder for you to sit on. He hoists you up so you’re comfortable.

“I thought I should clear things up before my dad talks to you,” he explains. “I’ve seen enough K-dramas to know what kind of headache misunderstandings cause.”

You nod, prompting him to go on. He does.

“You remember when I told you about Violinist L/N?”

This sends your heart racing. Has he found out?

“Well his daughter used to be my best friend. The thing is, my dad thinks you look a lot like her, and he thinks I’m only with you because of it.”

Oh, it’s just that. Thank goodness.

He grabs your hands, his eyes serious. “I just want you to know that no matter what he tells you, that’s not it. I like you for you, Emily, and nothing more and nothing less.”

You’re still convincing yourself that he isn’t aware of your past identity, and you must be making a face that he registers as doubt for he slides a hand up to your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Please believe me.”

You snap out of it. Of course you believe him, and it wouldn’t change much if he were in love with Y/N L/N anyway. However, you don’t miss the opportunity to ask, “What would you do if she is not dead? What would you do if she came back?”

“I’d celebrate her return. I’d grab lunch with her and introduce the two of you, but that’ll be the extent of it.”

“What if she’s been doing well all these years, and you were the only one left hurting and alone, wondering where she is? Could you forgive her? Could you accept someone like that, not to mention a child of a murderer, with open arms?”

Seungmin retreats his hand and frowns at you. “Why are you saying things like that? She’s my best friend!”

You grab his hand before it can go far. This time it’s your turn to stare him in the eye. “I’m not accusing her. I’m just asking if you, Kim Seungmin, would be able to forgive her in this scenario, and I’m not going to say that you’re right or wrong if you do or don’t either.”

“Then why do you ask?” His frown shifts to a perplexed one.

You let your hand drop to your side. “I… I’m in a similar situation. I don’t know if my friend will accept me if I try to reconnect.”

“Do it.” He has on a smirk now as he walks closer. “If it’s you, I’m sure she’d love to reconnect.”

You pout at his unsatisfactory response. “You’re just biased.”

Your pursed lips only makes him stare at them. “I sure am,” he mumbles.

He again brings his hand up to your neck, index finger resting behind your ears. You can’t tell if he’s avoiding your question or just distracted, but who cares? You’re distracted now too. The woods are setting the perfect mood, and the orchestra is playing something romantic inside. Your eyelids begin to close. He looks at you one more time, his own eyes drooping.

“Is this okay…” he whispers raspily. “... Emily?”

Your eyes fly open and you shove him away a little harder than you intended to. This isn’t you. The person he wants to kiss isn’t you, and you can’t steal that away from him, even if you desperately want it yourself. You can’t have this. You can’t have him. It isn’t yours and it isn’t right.

He falls down and looks up at you, bewildered.

“I’m— I’m sorry!” you blammer. “I, uh, I have to go.”

You jump off the boulder and walk faster than you know you should post-op.

“Emily.” You hear his feet crunching leaves right behind you. “Emily. Stop. Emily. Emily. Emily.”

Why does he keep saying that name?

You don’t turn back and you don’t slow down.

You hear him curse and speed up, which scares you, but before you can react, he sweeps you off of your feet and carries you in his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Something you won’t on your own,” he replies vaguely. He storms to his green room and kicks the door open. He sets you down in the middle of it and pulls out his violin. “Play,” he commands you.

You shrink back at the sight of the instrument. It’s a glorious instrument carved from a choice tree and shaped over a careful flame by masterful hands, capable of drawing out the soul of its player. You know touching it will draw out what you’ve been working so hard on suppressing. You aren’t Y/N, daughter of Violinist L/N. You have no business with a violin. “I can’t. You know this, Kim.”

“You can’t play or you can’t admit the truth? Play, Emily.”

Wait, what?

He holds the Stradivarius in front of you. His tone is firm and his eyes are fierce, but he doesn’t hold the violin any closer than thirty centimeters away. He needs you to make this last leap.

“What do you know?” you demand.

“Play.”

“Tell me, what did your father really tell you?” you screech.

“Play.”

You begin shaking. The f holes are taunting you. You hear the screams of your father’s victims. You hear the TV reporters all cursing his name. They’re all inside there. They’re all inside, waiting for you to release them with your playing and eat you alive. “Kim, please.”

“Play.”

“No, I— I—”

“Play.”

He already knows. You’re sure he already knows, yet somehow, this still feels like a chasm far too wide for you to cross. Can you accept this violin? Can your past? Y/N is the child of a drug-addicted murderer. She’s a six year old whose own father bathed her in blood and blacklisted her existence. Can you accept Y/N L/N?

You look up at the deep brown eyes before you. You know he can.

“Seungmin…” you choke.

He lowers his voice and softens his gaze. “Play,” he tells you.

And so you do. You timorously reach for the instrument and perform Albinoni’s Adagio, the very last piece he’s heard you play.

Tears roll down your face as your fingers fly across the board like you’ve played the piece all your life. You’re scared, you’re scared, you’re so, so scared. You didn’t even realize how hard you’ve been working to repress this part of you, and now that you’re facing it head-on, you don’t know what to make of it, but for once, it’s okay. Even if you fall. Even if you break apart, you finally have someone who will pick up the pieces.

You play, and play, and play until you don’t know what to play any more, yet still you played. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you play until you can no longer lift up the scroll. You let the violin slip to your side and the bow clatter to the ground. A pair of arms wrap around you to stop you from collapsing. You close your eyes as one final tear makes its way down your face.

Seungmin presses your head into his shoulder. “I forgive you, Y/N, because I love you.”

You look onto the expecting crowd. Your heart’s beating quickly and the violin in your hands feels heavier than usual. Seungmin steps up next to you with his instrument. He adjusts your white skirt, his new golden band glistening under the lights as he does so.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

You smile at the familiar question. “Ready,” you reply.

He smiles back and lifts his Stradivarius under his chin. You do the same and he begins to play three one-eighth C’s followed half one. You feel his music envelop you. You close your eyes, place the tip of your bow on your E-string and let “Wedding March” flow from your soul.

A sense of peace overcomes you. After learning about your father, starting your life over, and losing your fertility, peace seems almost foreign to you, yet you’ve done it. Amidst all the chaos, you’ve finally found your harmony.

~ ad.gold

Read it from Seungmin’s perspective here.

#kim seungmin #seungmin #stray kids #skz #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #seungmin fluff #seungmin angst #stray kids fic #seungmin fic #violin #childhood friends #stray kids imagine #seungmin imagine #20210615

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solarwonux · 4 years ago

Text

8. “We need to talk about what happened last night.”

25. “It’s an office with huge windows, everyone can see.” “So?”

marketing director!mingyu x f!reader

w.c: 2.6k

warnings: a little bitt of angst, a little bit of fluff, suggestive themes like voyeurism briefly mentioned

note: ngl, I’m sorry not my best work but I TRIED. Let me know your thoughts it would really help me out a lot. Thank you for reading.xx

masterlist || prompt list

Kim Mingyu - Marketing Director

The nameplate on the door sends a shiver up your spine, knowing that the man you had accidentally pulled in for a drunk kiss the night before during the weekly company bonding dinner, was sitting just behind the door. He was pissed, had pushed you away, made a big deal in wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust. Causing you to sober up quickly and regretting it.

It’s no secret that God had taken his sweet time when creating Kim Mingyu Marketing Director of GoSe Enterprises. He put all the Greek Gods you spent your free time reading about to shame. You’ve been crushing on him since he sat in the cubicle next to yours for years. The two of you had developed a nice easy-going friendship. He was sweet, funny, and always offered amazing advice, both on personal and professional matters. You were practically head over heals for him.

Then the promotion came, granting Mingyu with an office on the southside of the company building. Huge windows overlooking the city below, and the office. A nice fancy gold nameplate with his new job description underneath it. Naturally, the two of you grew apart, ripped from one another without a warning. He was no longer rooting for you and your ideas. Instead, he was the one turning down all your project proposals. He was the one assigning you the revision tasks he knew you hated doing. He was the reason for the random spikes of anxiety throughout the workday. He was no longer your friend, he was your supervisor. His soft demeanor and fleeting touches were nowhere to be found. Lost amongst piles of paperwork surrounding his desk.

You took a deep breath holding your laptop close against your chest, eyeing the nameplate on the large dark wooden door that took your Mingyu away from you a year ago. You were nervous. He only ever called you down to his office if you had a proposal revision due, which this time you didn’t.

The last idea you had pitched two weeks ago was turned down before you could finish your sentence during your first PowerPoint slide. He didn’t even give you the chance to improve it, simply said, “trash it, it’s not worth wasting your time when it’s not a plausible option.” So, the only other option left and the one that made sense was your slip-up the night before. He had called you down to ask for your resignation letter for breaking company policy.

“If you keep staring at the door it won’t magically open,” Chan spoke next to you making you jump. “I’m just saying.” He shrugged sheepishly and opened the door, walking in with confidence. “Mingyu I have the copies you asked for.”

You filed in after him, situating yourself close to the wall and by the door, while Mingyu instructed Chan on where to set down the copies. Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest, watching as the two of them laughed about some inside joke they had. The anger along with jealousy boiled with fever deep within you.

This was the problem. Mingyu had only changed when it came to you. With everyone else he was the same Mingyu you once had the pleasure of knowing, and that not only confused you but it made you angry. “Are we still on for guys' night this friday?” Chan asked the older male pointing finger guns at him.

“Yes, of course, drinks are on Seungcheol this time, which makes my wallet really happy.” Mingyu clapped Chan on the back and led him towards his office door. “Same bar with the cute bartender?” He emphasized, his angry gaze falling on you for a second.

Subtle you silently scoffed rolling your eyes, holding your laptop as close to your body as humanly possible.If he didn’t make his distaste towards you obvious by his reaction last night, he surely made it painfully clear just now.

“That’s the one.” Chan nodded, sending you a pitying look, one you didn’t need. You knew you were fucked.

Everyone knew about your painful crush on Mingyu. Everyone had seen you grab the collar of his dark maroon shirt last night and plant a wet alcohol filled kiss against his lips. Everyone had seen the way he reacted, yanking his suit jacket off the back of his chair and walking out of the bar pissed. So, you didn’t need the various pitying looks you were getting since the moment you walked in that morning.

“Alright then I’ll see you then, don’t forget to turn in your proposal by tomorrow night, Jeonghan keeps bugging me about it.”

Chan sighed, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand, “shit, I’ll have it done by tomorrow morning.” He said quickly before speed walking back to his cubicle. Leaving you alone to face the problem you had caused.

Mingyu laughed lightly, shaking his head as he shut the door to his office, “I knew he forgot.” He mumbled before straightening his back, the scowl you were used to seeing appeared on his face once again. He walked past you to his desk, taking a seat next to his name plate. You stayed put, looking down at the floor, only counting the tiny dust bunnies that were visible to your eye.

Mingyu cleared his throat, “We need to talk about what happened last night.”

You raised your head pushing yourself off the wall and walked to him. Stopping behind one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. “Don’t need to, It’s my fault for breaking company policy. I’ll hand in my resignation letter to Jeonghan tonight.” You kept your eyes trained on the skyscraper reflecting through the window behind him. Anything was better than looking at him right now.

He sighed, running a frustrated hand across his face. He pushed himself away from his desk and took a step forward. “I didn’t call you in here to ask you to resign.”

Confused, you tore your eyes from the building behind him and looked at him. The bags under his eyes that had started to form from lack of sleep and overwork were now more prominent than before. It made you wonder if he hadn’t slept last night because of you, but then you remembered the huge project he was currently working on, so you casted that thought aside.

“Oh then...I-umm, why am I here?”

“Do you have any idea the position you put me in last night?” He furrowed his brows, placing a knee down on the chair in front of him. He leaned his forearms against the back of it, closing the distance you purposely kept between the two of you.

You took a step back, scrunching your nose, “I don’t understand. You don’t want me to resign. If I’m not getting penalized then why am I here?” You dropped your arms in defeat. “If you called me in here to tell me you’re not interested in me, you don’t have to. I already know.” You finished swallowing the lump that had formed at the back of your throat.

“That’s the problem.” Mingyu pointed an accusing finger at you before retreating it. “I am interested in you, more than interested in you. I have strong feelings for you and I can’t act on them because I don’t want everyone to think that I favor you, because I do.”

I’m dreaming, you thought pressing the palm of your hand against your heated forehead. You had to be dreaming, life has never been this giving to you, “wait I’m confused...you ran out last night, literally pushed me away, disgusted. Do you have any idea how that felt? I had to sit down and face our co-workers with a fake smile on my face because I didn’t want them to see me cry.”

Mingyu’s face softened, he gripped the back of the chair hard enough for his knuckles to almost turn white. “I know and I’m sorry but if I had stayed then I would’ve kept kissing you. You have no idea how badly I’ve been wanting to do that.” He dropped his head releasing a shuddering breath. “Every time we stayed here working over time, the only thing I could think about was how easy it’d be if I just leaned over a little more and kissed you. No one would be around, no one would see, it would just be our little secret. But the stupid company policy always seemed to find it’s way into my head and I never let myself cross that boundary.”

“Mingyu w-why are you telling me this now? Even if we have feelings for one another, my job is important to me and I don’t want to risk getting fired because we’re together.” You blinked rapidly, now was not the time to cry. You could cry later in the communal bathroom across the hall, or on the bus ride home, just anywhere but here.

“Well,” Mingyu rounded the corner of the chairs and made his way to you, finally closing the distance. “I talked to Jeonghan -”

“Wait you told him we kissed?” You were sure your eyes were bulging out of their sockets as the realization hit you. Of course, Mingyu wasn’t going to fire you, he was saving himself the burden and having Jeonghan do it for him.

He chuckled, placing a hand against your hip making you jump, “Just how drunk were you last night? Jeonghan was there when it happened. He called me and threatened to fire me for leaving you the way I did.” He whispered, circling his arm around you and pulling you close, making you stumble from the sudden impact. “H’said, fuck company policy and that I was stupid for following it when no one does.”

“Wait are you saying th -”

“Yes we can be together as long as we keep our work and personal lives separate, so, no sex in my office.”

You gasped hitting his chest lightly, this lewd side of Mingyu was one you had never seen before. Or at least you had but in a much more subtle way. “Well of course, we can’t do that. That was never going to be part of the deal.” The thought of him pressing you against his desk after hours sent a thrilling shiver up your spine. You bit your lip, shaking your head. No, not allowed, focus.

“Why not? I’ve slept on the couch here a few times. It's pretty comfortable.” He reassured, hooking his thumb in the belt loops of your dark slacks. “And your ass looks so good in these pants, I literally have to make it my mission to not stare.”

“I’m flattered, I guess. But look around Gyu.” His gaze followed your hand as you waved it around in front of him. “It’s an office with huge windows, everyone can see -”

He pulled you closer, eloping your body in both of his arms, “so?” He tilted his head to the side, a smirk playing against his lips. You had forgotten how much he liked to tease you.

“So?” You rolled your eyes, “were you not listening to what I was saying everyone can see.” You emphasized, poking his cheek with your index finger.

Mingyu bit his bottom lip trying to suppress his laughter. He forgot how easily flustered you could get, especially when he would say something out of pocket to you. Sure, half of the time you would ignore him, sometimes you would simply roll your eyes, focused on whatever you were working on. Other times he would leave you at a loss for words.

“Frankly, I don’t see the problem. We can just wait until everyone goes home and then give whoever is walking by a free show.” He finished raising his eyebrows suggestively at you.

You rolled your eyes, pushing him away and walked to his door. “I can’t believe you’re already thinking about having sex with me and you haven’t even asked me out on a date or to be your girlfriend.” You pushed his door open and walked out, “the audacity you have Kim Mingyu.”

He felt panic surge through him, his big mouth getting the best of him once again. “Woah woah wait I was getting there, you didn’t give me the chance to ask.” He followed you out the door, trying to keep up with your hasty steps. Who knew you could walk so fast in heels.

Once you were at your cubicle you sat down, placing your laptop on top of your desk, waking it up. “Too late, company policy says we have to keep our work and personal lives separate, guess you’re going to have to wait a while.” You look at the digital clock on your desk, “Five and a half hours to be exact.”

Mingyu threw his head back, frustrated. As much as he enjoyed teasing you, he had forgotten that you were equally as evil if not worse. He had waited to ask you out for more than two years and now that he could, he literally couldn’t wait five and a half hours.

“Friday, after work?” He whispered, covering the side of his mouth with his hand to make it look less suspicious. It wasn’t working.

“What about guys night and that cute bartender?” You smirked, clicking around your computer opening the files you were working on earlier.

Mingyu took a deep breath and grabbed the back of your chair, swinging it around ripping you away from your computer screen. “Fuck guys night honey, I’m taking you home, cooking you the best meal you’ve ever had and then -” He stopped peaking over your cubicle. Everyone that had tuned in to your debacle, quickly scrambled to focus on whatever they were doing before you and Mingyu walked in. He nodded once before leaning down, his lips close to your ear, whispering, “then I’m going to fuck you against my window so everyone can see that you’re finally mine.”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning.You put your hand on his chest and leaned in, placing a soft kiss against the shell of his ear. “Kinky, ask me again in five and a half hours.” You gave his cheek a gentle pat before pushing him away, returning your attention to what you were doing.

Mingyu grumbled, shoulders slumped as he dragged himself back to his office. You stifled a laugh, the butterflies you had once felt for him returning.

“You know I heard all of that.” Soonyoung spoke, peeking his head into your cubicle, his eyes wide like he had just seen a ghost, or something utterly disgusting.

Fuck! Mingyu! You whined silently before turning to face your cubicle mate. “I’ll buy you lunch if you pretend like you didn’t hear anything.”

He put a pensive hand on his chin before sticking his hand out for you to shake. “Deal, I suddenly have been overcome with amnesia, whatever happened in the last five minutes I do not remember, that’s only if you promise to also finish revising this project proposal for me.” He waved the large packet of white copy paper in front of you.

You groaned, “that wasn’t part of the deal we just shook on.”

He sucked in air, “I don’t remember that.” He pouted. “I have amnesia, remember.”

“Fuck fine.”

#kpopscape #kdiarynet #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #mingyu fanfic #mingyu fanfiction #mingyu imagines #mingyu drabbles #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x reader

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