#always more expensive than stone plugs?

[tarrodetaro]

i'm doing that thing again where i become slightly obsessed with a new body mod and spend several hours looking at things related to it

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Solaire Family Fashion

William

Professor core. He’s been through centuries of fashion changes and trends, but he’s always had an affinity for smart but comfortable clothes. He likes to look put together, but lost interest and wearing bland and boring clothes hundreds of years ago. Will also had an eye for durability. He’s going to need clothes for centuries to come. If a piece can last him a hundred years, he’ll choose that. Because of that, a lot of his clothes and silhouettes are classic and timeless. Masculine and simple. Will remembers a point in time where most people had one or two sets of clothes, and relishes the fact that he can have a suit for every day of the year. 

Reds and deep, dark indigo blues were difficult to achieve with Elizabethan era dyes in Europe. Most of his closet is maroon or deep navy. It serves to make him look serious and dark, but it also makes him feel expensive and royal, because he is. 

Tweed jackets and corduroy pants. Dark colored ties and pressed, white dress shirts. Brown oxfords, not black, and never, ever brogues. He thinks they’re tacky. Fun socks, but always in the color scheme of his outfit. Snug sweaters and a golden tie pin, fascened just above his heart. He wears a golden signet ring with one of the rubies in his mother’s collection that he’s held onto and maintained for five hundred years. It is invariably on his right pinky. 

While some clan kings wear intricate regalia, escapilly to summits and multi-clan meetings, William believes in small details. All of his jewelry matches. Studded earrings, waxed and polished shoes, and a perfectly fitted maroon suit.

Alexis

Bold, bright, and powerful. Alexis wants everybody’s eyes to go directly to her when she walks into a room. She’s a subordinate, yes, but she believes in dressing for the job you want, not the job you have. If William won’t dress with the flare of the kings, then Alexis will. 

Blood red and pitch black are the only acceptable colors. Her hair is either slicked back to nothing or so big it’s it’s own statement piece. Her makeup is strategic and bold. Statement brows. Graphic liner. Red lip stain so she always looks like she’s just fed. 

Alexis used to have ruby earrings made from William’s collection, but after Will took Sam’s side after his turning, she relinquished them. She wears precious stone plugs in her 8 mm stretched ears. Onyx for protection in clan meetings. Bloodstone for strength and courage to multi-clan gatherings. Rose quartz to promote unconditional love when she knows she’ll see Sam. 

Tight suit pants that hug her thighs and flare around her five inch heels. Fitted suit vests and jackets with nothing underneath. Complicated, overlaying necklaces that never tangle, no matter how she moves. Two inch long, stiletto nails in red or black only. Chunky platform boots that slam so hard on the ground you can hear her a room over. She wants you to know when she arrives. Skin tight latex dresses that leave nothing to the imagination. Black hats that wrap around her head like a halo. So many rings her fingers don’t touch. 

She wears luxury like a child of new money. She wears it on her sleeve, on her chest, and makes sure that everybody who sees her knows exactly what she has, who she is. That bravado is all she has.

Vincent

Genderqueer prep with an eboy twist. Vincent didn’t have a lot of style when he was human. He wore ill fitting jeans and oversized shirts. Pretty much everything he had was a hand-me-down from his older brother. Nothing was ever his. When Will turned him, Vincent wore Will’s clothes for weeks. He couldn’t go back to his dorm and get his things, and he couldn’t bear to wash the blood and patch the holes in his Levi’s and his Johnny Quest t-shirt. 

When he finally went out to buy his own clothes, he veered to the left. He’d been told that he was royalty, and he suddenly had more money at his disposal than his family had seen in a hundred generations. He wanted to look the part. 

It started with suits. He bought day suits and tuxedos, fancy clothes in every color. Eventually, he got sick of asking Will to tie his bowties. He started finding more casual ways to wear his clothes. 

Tight suit pants that accentuate his ass paired with vintage graphic tees and pressed flannels. Immaculate Chuck Taylor converse and Dr. Martens Jadon boots. Black and maroon dress shirts, unbuttoned to his abs. A delicate silver chain, cold without his body heat. A gray peacoat that he only wears in winter to wrap around Lovely’s shoulders when they forget their own. A single ruby stud he wears in his right ear (he gave the other to Lovely). 

In recent years, Vincent’s been playing with more feminine accessories and lines. Chain belts, perfect black nail polish, and subtle, winged eyeliner. An Elsa Peretti snake necklace in sterling silver from Tiffany’s and an Hermés Kelly in noir. Higher waist pants and lower cut shirts, all that make his tall, slim form more striking. 

He still scours vintage shops and Goodwills for shirts that remind him of his brother’s hand-me-downs.

Sam

What I like to call punk cowboy. Sam grew up in the south, obviously, and the utilitarian, outdoor-heavy style of that region plays heavily into his fashion sense. All of his clothes serve a purpose and last for decades. Sam will always choose utility of style, but he’s not opposed to looking good. 

He owns one suit for special occasions. It’s a deep green, and he has a Solaire ruby tie pin. Will got it for him when time came for his first Monarch Summit. Sam sat through the fitting holding his breath the whole time. He feels unnatural in it, but it fits so perfectly that the only thing that looks awkward is his posture. 

He’s the only one in the main Solaire family that wears mostly cool colors. He doesn’t like red. He thinks it's a bit cliche. 

Blank tees and thick work flannels. Dark wash, straight legged blue jeans, mostly Levi’s. A matching denim jacket he’s had since high school with lovingly patched holes. Black work boots with a matching belt. Real leather only, which he maintains meticulously. Band t-shirts from underground shows he saw in his youth, thick sweaters and hoodies. Sam can never shake the feeling of being cold, so he layers heavily in the winter, although it never makes him any warmer. The man isn’t opposed to cargo pants. He likes pockets, accessible places to keep things. He’ll sneak away little keepsakes. Movie tickets, scraps of paper, restaurant napkins with notes scrawled in black ink. 

Sam does not wear hats, no matter how many cowboy hats Darlin’ gifts him. He’ll wear a plain baseball cap if he’s caught in the sun, but nothing more. 

He used to wear ruby stud earrings, the same ones that Alexis returned to Will less than politely, but not anymore. Each of his progeny wears one of them now. 

[maatryoshkaa]

between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[harrysgloves]

The Devil You Know

Harry Styles x Reader

Story Summary: CEO!Harry punishes reader in his office after catching her flirting with his coworker.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Language // This is just straight up p*rn // Daddy kink // Spanking (belt) // Oral Sex (male receiving) // Vaginal Sex // Anal Sex // Degrading // The slightest bit of choking // Probably a whole lot more that I’m missing // Not edited... sorry

Authors Note: Another work in progress finally DONE! YAY! Hope you guys like it! Feedback is always loved and appreciated so much! Thank you guys so much for reading. xx

>>><<<

Your high heels clicked against the cold marble tile of the lobby floor for the second time that day. Your billowing black winter coat hit your knees with every step you took towards the elevator.

You could have seen him earlier but his secretary swore he was busy. Like he could ever be too busy for you. You scoffed, a roll of your pretty eyes before telling this no-good conniving bitch what was up.

"Tell my daddy that his girl was here," You said, tongue wetting your lips as you leaned over her desk. Your perfectly manicured hands landing loudly over the papers she should have been working on instead of hitting on your man. "And just so we're very clear on something, sweetheart. He's not my father."

You turned on the spot, hips swaying just a bit extra as you marched yourself back down to the elevator. Grumbling under your breath the whole way. 

Who did she think she was? 

Harry was yours. Your daddy, your sweetheart, your boyfriend. You two had been together for years. Your name was tattooed in red ink on his wrist for fuck sakes but that sense of jealousy burned deep into the pit of your stomach. 

The vibration from your phone was the only thing that pulled you out of your thoughts to go up there and teach that girl a lesson on who ran the show around here. His picture flashed across your screen. You scoffed, ignoring the call, and shoving the phone back into your expense handbag. Yes, it was against his stupid rules to ignore his phone calls but you were pissed. He could go screw Karen, or Tina, or whatever her name was for all you cared.

"Bad day?" The sound of another voice in the elevator made you jump. You didn't even notice someone else in here when you got on. How long had he been watching you throw a fit?

"You could say that." You sighed, your back leaning against the cool metal of the elevator as it reached the bottom floor. Door opening to reveal the perfectly decorated lobby floor.

"Pretty girls like you shouldn't have bad days." He flashed a smile towards you when you chuckled, shaking your head at him. He was cute, you'd give him that, but he was no Harry.

"I'll keep that in mind." You said as you started to walk out in front of him. Until your heel caught on the ledge of where the elevator met the floor. Your hands desperately trying to catch onto something before you hit your ass on the ground. You weren't dressed to be falling. A small silk camisole dress paired with no underwear didn't make for a good look if you landed with your legs wide open right now. 

Plus, that pretty pink plug Harry had fucked into your ass that morning before leaving you wanting and needy didn't exactly seem like the best thing to be landing on.

The hands around your waist was the only thing that saved you from mortifying public embarrassment. Your arms against his toned chest as he held you inches from the ground.

"Thanks." You breathed out, a cheeky smile on his face when he lifted you back to your feet.

"Well," he said, his arms still on the small of your waist. "I'm part-time broker, full-time knight in shining armor."

You laughed that big deep luscious laugh that made Harry fall in love with you. Your hand ran over his chest to lay back down the collar of his suit that you had grabbed. You backed away without a second thought, thanking him yet again before leaving the building. 

Not once seeing Harry's fuming face staring you down from the stairwell.

>>>

"Kristen?" Harry asked as he exited his office. His eyebrows scrunched together when he opened his door to see the new girl sitting there with no you in sight. He could have sworn he heard your voice.

"It's Catherine." She corrected what he assumed to be a flirty look crossed her face as he stood in front of her desk.

"Right. Anyway, was a girl jus' out 'ere looking fo' me?" He asked, describing you down to what you were wearing for the day. The mental picture of you sauntering around the apartment in that fucking dress when he didn't have the time to do what he really wanted to do to you that morning played in his mind.

"Uh, well, someone was but she ran off pretty quickly." She lied with a shrug of her shoulders. Harry's eyes narrowed at her when her cheeks flamed red. 

Why did he always end up with the crazy assistants?

"Y'sure 'bout that?" He asked again, his hardening stare made her splutter and crack as he rounded her desk to stand directly in front of her.

"You were busy, Mr. Styles, I sent her away." She mumbled, her eyes flashing away from him when he cursed under his breath.

He already knew what you'd be thinking. His hands fished in his suit pocket for his phone to press your icon. One ring, two rings, voice-mail. He took a deep breath, reminding himself of how insecure you could get sometimes.

Not like you ever needed to be insecure. He thought you were a total knockout. Plus, he was absolutely head over heels in love with you.

"Y'can pack up yeh things." He said as he slid his phone back into his pocket. Her eyes widened at his words, fake apologies started, but he didn't care. He only wanted to make sure you were okay. He needed to reassure you that you had no reason to feel insecure or jealous.

You were the only girl for him.

His fast steps down the stairs got him to the lobby in no time. Whatever thankfulness he had to catch you before you left was gone the second he saw that bastard touch you. 

He swore his eyes could have shot flames through that curly headed asshole. His chest pounded with a rage he didn't know he could feel when you laughed. God, that fucking laugh. His tongue wet his lips before his teeth ground together. 

You touched him. Your hands ran down his chest, smoothing out his suit, like you'd done for him so many times. Your fingers lingered a second too long. The guys hands tightened into the fleshy curves of your hips a little too much, pulling you in closer to him before you eventually walked off.

Your bouncing ass caught the attention of the guy who had touched you. Shameless staring at his fucking girl while you walked out of the building. He had to repeatedly remind himself that he couldn't beat the shit out of his own employees. 

His fist unclenched when you were long gone. He brought his phone out once again to send you a text.

My office. 7pm.

>>>

You stormed through the lobby, up the elevator, not paying any mind to the people around you. Ready to burst into an angry monsoon of jealousy, when the sight of his empty receptionist desk stopped you in your spot. Her things, gone. A baron desk with no sign of a girl simply gone for the evening greeted you.

He'd fired her.

Suddenly, the anger you'd had bubbling in your stomach faded. Replaced with that sinking feeling of guilt. He always seemed to know what was bothering you, even before you talked to him about it. Which was just another one of the many reasons you loved him so much.

You sighed, your shoulders slumped, as your hand laid on the doorknob, knowing he was going to be upset with you. It took everything in you to swing open the door to his office exactly at 7 on the dot. Not a minute early but not daring to be late after your little show of ignoring him earlier. 

His stiff demeanor screamed you were in trouble as you shut the door behind you. You swallowed thickly, heels clicking hesitantly against his floor as you made your way to his desk. Your fingers skimming the dark oak wood as you moved around to stand in front of him. Your bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you glanced down to see he hadn't moved a muscle.

No words had been spoken through the tense air. No sound dared to come from you. You knew better, knew how upset he got when you ignored him. So you stood, perfectly still in front of where he sat, your sight hyper focused on the scratch marks on his desk instead of his intense eyes.

You'd have to be easier on this desk in the future but you had a feeling today wasn't going to be the day.

"Got somethin' to say fo' yehself?" His voice was hard, leaving no room for your shit tonight. You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat as your eyes finally met his. They were colder than you'd ever seen before. 

Usually, when you acted out, he found a bit of humor in it. Teasing you about being nothing but a brat but always letting you know he wasn't going to put up with it. He always went easy on you and honestly, you were a good girl. You almost never broke the rules and when you did, it was something trivial.

You were never one to get in trouble on purpose, at least not with him.

"I'm sorry I ignored your call." You tried to say in the least shaky voice you could manage.

He hummed, acknowledging your words but not accepting your apology. Those dagger like green eyes burned through your body, directly into your soul as his thumb twisted his gold ring on his pointer finger. 

"Anythin' else y'need to tell me?" He asked as he raised from his chair. His large chest mere centimeters away from your face as you stood your ground, literally. 

"No?" Your eyebrows scrunched as you peered up to him. Utterly confused on why he was so pissed at you. 

The sharp stone like features of his face didn't help settle the racing thoughts in your mind. That cold chill that ran down your spine as his lips pressed into a hard line. The back of his hand as it skimmed across the highs of your cheek bone was the only feeling of warmth in the otherwise frigid room.

"Know why I got y'this?" His finger ran across the pink leather of your choker collar, across the gold "H" that was embedded in the middle.

Your big doe-eyes flashed up to him. You didn't sway an inch as his fingers laced through the ring that dangled at the bottom of your choker. His grip was firm around the cool metal. His hold kept in place as he stared down at you.

"Because I'm yours." Your eyebrows furrowed together as you looked at him, not having a clue as to why he needed to remind you. 

You gasped as he tugged you forward by your lead. Your feet barely stayed in their spot on the ground as your hands grasped around his arms for balance.

"And do you think I like what's mine flirting in the elevator with my employees?" His words shocked you, stuttering, spits of partial words fell from your mouth as you gaped up at him. "Think I didn't see?"

"Harry, I wasn't flirting with him." You tried to explain away the situation. It was simple, a misunderstanding. "He helped me when I-"

"Did I say y'could use my name?" He practically growled through clenched teeth. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him. Boy, were you in trouble.

"No, daddy." Your voice was soft, eyes all dewy as you stared up at him. A show, really, you loved when he got like this. That familiar ache already growing in your core as he dropped the lead on your collar. You quickly stood back up in your place, hands by your side as he stalked around you.

A hunter watching his prey.

"What's y'word?" He asked as he circled back in front of you. His suit jacket was abandoned over the back of the chair. Ringed finger hands loosening his tie around his neck.

"Peony." Your tongue wet your lips as he rolled up his sleeves in front of you. The crisp white linen of his shirt sleeves being rolled up was only a slight distraction from the nod of his head.

"And your hard no's?" 

He wasn't fucking around. You considered it for a second, all the things you two had previously taken off the table. 

"Still the same." You told him, knowing that this meant he was really going to push you tonight. 

He studied you for a second longer. His head dipping down to catch your line of vision, eyebrows raised as if he was mentally asking you the same question again.

"Good." He said when you gave a nod of your head. "Strip."

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. Your hands shook by your side as you clenched and unclenched your fist, once, twice, three times. Just enough to get you in your head space.

The skin on your arms raised in goosebumps as the warm fur lined jacket slid off your shoulders and onto the floor. A pile of useless fabric pulled into a puddle at your feet. Your slip of a dress followed directly after it. 

A scoff of a laugh came from him, a shake of his head as he turned away from you. Long, silent, steps over to a much-needed drink from the bar cart in his office. Your eyes lowered to the floor, watching the pacing of his shoes. Ears zeroed into the sound of liquid pouring, a deep gulp, and then more pouring. That lump in your throat grew with every slap of his heel back in front of you.

Of course you had to pick today to be defiant.

"It's like y'wanna be in trouble, baby." He hummed and you swore if you looked at him right now he'd be wearing that smug little smirk. 

"Pretty." He mumbled, his fingers dancing across the lacy top of the underwear you'd slipped on when you got home. "Too bad yeh not 'posed to be wearin' 'em."

"Off." He snapped his fingers in front of your heated face. At least he wasn't ripping this pair. 

The stringy lace slid down your silky smooth legs. Each high heeled foot stepping out of the leg holes one at a time. Shaky hands handing over the garment you put on in a moment of anger. 

Your eyes refused to meet his as he slid the panties into his back pocket. Your lips rolled into your mouth as he stared at you. The heat in your body raised with each passing second as he finished his drink. 

God, you'd never been in this much trouble.

"Y'know I was gonna take it a little easy on yeh." His words and the sound of the glass being sat down snapped you out of your fixed trance on the floor. His shiny black shoes disappeared from your line of sight as he circled around you. "Figured my baby girl jus' got protective over her daddy."

His hand ran down your cheek from behind you. Your head instinctively nuzzled into the few fingers that trailed from your jawline to your lips. Chaste kisses pressed to his fingertips.

"But now, I see you need a good lesson on who makes the rules." You gasped when his hand clamped around the front of your neck, your head snapped back roughly against his shoulder. His fingers digging into the side of your neck made you whimpered, a low stirring in your stomach.

His hand released you only long enough to loosen his tie. The fabric you once gifted him for his birthday dug into the skin of your forearms and wrists behind your back. The restraint, a little tighter than usual, not enough to hurt but enough to let you know this wasn't some usual punishment. 

"Bend." He said with a tight grip on the tie that held your arms in an uncomfortable position behind you. Your body maneuvered by him until your hips hit the edge of his desk. You gasped as your bare chest was pushed against the cold wood. Your nipples peaked from the sudden ice like material that you now laid halfway over. His hand finally left the intricate knots holding your arms back when your cheek rested on the table top.

"Looks like y'know how to listen when it comes to this." You could imagine his eyes rolling as he stood behind you. His hand ran down your ass, to the plug he'd placed there this morning. A quick tug on the pink silicone drew a whimper from you, your legs shifting back and forth in their spot.

Harry had to hold back a groan as he watched your hips sway. His hand gripped his twitching cock that throbbed in his pants at the sight of your pretty wet pussy already soaking for him. A smirk spread across his lips, his hand gripping the flesh of your round ass again.

His perfect little baby girl was such a whore for him.

Fuck, you were perfect.

"Thinkin' three fo' 'ry rule yeh broke today." His accent somehow thickened the more turned on he got. That heat burned in your stomach that turned in anticipation and a bit of nerves.

"Y-yes, daddy." Your voice betrayed you with shaky cracks. 

The room quickly quieted again after his hum of approval. His hand left your ass, left you completely. Silence had you straining your ears for any hint of a sound when you heard it. 

That familiar clink of a sound.

You buried your head into the smooth surface of the table, lips pressed against the wood to hide the moan that wanted to slip past your lips. Your core clenched around nothing but air, not sure how this was anywhere close to a punishment when you constantly had to beg him to be this rough with you.

You gasped as the cool leather of his belt ran down the strain muscles of your back. Tauntingly slow as it passed over the fabric of the tie, dancing across your fingers.

"What're in trouble fo'?" He asked from behind you, your lips that had been tightly clamped between your teeth unrolled, just enough to talk.

"Not answering your call, wearing underwear, using your name, and-" you sighed, "Touching another guy." You finally spit out, not wanting to add anymore lashings to your ever growing amount. 

"Hm, think'll add three more fo' that one." His voice was hard and cold through the air around you. "Better hear yeh count, sweetheart."

He gave no warning other than that. The sound of the leather slicing through the thickened air in the office was your only clue of what was coming. The sharp snap of the hide hitting the soft flesh of your ass rang through your ears before you felt the sting. 

"One." You spoke into the wood. Your nose flat against the desk, hands tightening around your restraint as the shockwaves of a dull pain ran down your spine, directly to your steadily wettening folds. 

Two, three, four, more and the spark of a pleasure still burned, lingered down into a blazing river of red marks across your ass cheeks to your pulsating pussy.

"T-t-ten." Your words choked and contracted in your throat when the belt smacked across your ass, five more left and you were determined to make it through. The grunts and groans that rolled from deep in his chest as the leather dug into your flesh again and again. Whimpering sobs, face flushed with tears and mascara as he went harder on you than ever before.

And that fucking plug you decided to keep in.

You were teetering on the brink of your headspace when the final smack came. Your breast smashed against the now warmed surface with the force. You cried, pushed forward into that floating sensation of the deep part of your mind as you were lifted by your restraints. Body maneuvered until you kneeled before him, heels haphazardly kicked off in the motion downwards to the ground.

The searing skin of your ass cooled against the marble floor when your shaky legs gave out to the weight on them. You sighed from the little bit of relief you got, stuffy nose from crying so much, desperately trying to suck air into your lungs. You were too wrapped up in yourself to hear the clank of the belt hitting the floor.

Your foggy mind lifted out of the deep when you felt his hand around the back of your neck, his cold features barely broke through your vision that was clouded with tears.

"What do y'say, baby?" His hand tightened in the hairs at the back of your head. A hard jerk backwards had you gasping in surprise.

You were far from being done with your punishment.

"Thank you, daddy." Your voice cracked from the amount of tears you were holding back. The words you'd spoken did nothing to change his unimpressed facial features, his tongue slid across his front teeth as he studied your mess of mascara and eyeliner.

He stood up abruptly, his hand didn't leave the back of your neck, sufficiently holding you up from your ass resting on the cool tile. 

"Yeh know, darlin', daddy doesn't punish yeh as much as he should. That's on me more than yeh. Should've put yeh in y'place more often, sweetheart."

Your eyes widened up to him. Whatever shred Harry always kept of himself while he was in this role was abandoned. No, now, he was fully in his dominant role. The waves of demand rolled through every part of him. His voice, his demeanor, his words.

"That's okay though, baby, gonna learn who yeh belong to. Isn't that right?" He practically cooed at you. A mock tone that made your face heat as blood rushed to your face. 

"Yes, daddy." Your chest seemed to heave with anticipation.

"Open." He said as his hand clamped your mouth open for you. Your obedient tongue sticking out for him before you even had a chance to think twice about it. 

Harry hummed as he stared down at you. The hand that was around your jaw slipped into your open mouth. His finger fucked into your open and waiting throating. Your legs tightened together as his smirk grew wider at your movement.

Sure, you weren’t supposed to move but God, you always wanted it so bad he couldn't help the turning of his lips.

He lowered himself to your level. No words were said as he loosened your restraints. The fabric that held your arms back finally, finally, was gone. Your body slacked forward as Harry backed away from you. His towering form loomed over you as your hands fell forward to hold yourself up.

The strain on your muscles in the back seemed to lift only momentarily before he guided you upwards by your upper arm. Your back on the now warmed surface of the desk, your head hanging off the side, your freed hands clutched beside you as your anticipation for what was coming grew.

"Gonna show me how sorry yeh are, darlin'." His throbbing cock was finally released from its confinement. The hard, pulsating, tip was red and aching for relief. Only millimeters from your upside-down vision. 

Your legs spread wider at the sight of him. Your toes pointed against the smooth oak, your arousal felt like it could have been running in a river down your legs as you licked your lips. Your mouth opened without any demand from him as he stroked his cock in front of you.

"Good girl." He groaned, his hand guided himself into your mouth.

You always had a hard time taking him. He was just so big, so thick. Your tongue pressed against his tip as he slowly rocked into you. His hands grasped onto your breast as his cock slid further and further down your throat.

You moaned around his member that stretched open the sides of your mouth. You tried your best to relax your throat, breathe through your nose.

"Relax yeh throat." He grunted as your throat constructed around him again. The irritated tone in his voice only made your slick folds drip with your arousal.

"I said to relax." He said once your gag reflex halted his movement for a third time. A harsh slap of his hand landed on your open and waiting cunt. You would have yipped at the feeling if you could have. He ceased your moment of being off guard to finally push himself fully inside.

You moaned the best you could as your throat finally relaxed. His balls rested against your nose, the crotch of his pants and zipper rubbed against your face but you didn't care. He felt so good in your mouth. 

You heard him let out a moan as you felt your nipples harden. His fingers lazily rubbed at your swollen clit as he slipped down your mouth.

"Why can't yeh be a good girl like this all the time for me, baby?" He asked as his hand held the back of your neck. His hips picking up to a pace that was almost too much for you. "So much fuckin' better for me when yeh jus' a hole for me to fuck." 

He pulled out of you suddenly. A string of your spit connected from his red tip to your mouth before he bent down to your level. The look behind his eyes was intoxicating. Fuck, he was enjoying this.

"Gonna have to keep you tied up to my desk, aren't I? Only time yeh good for me if when yeh have a cock stuffed in you." 

"I'll be good." You said as he stood back up. His hands gripped your thighs to turn your body around like a rag doll, your ass in the air as your face laid on the desk, again.

"Be good, huh?" He teased his tip against your opening, a deep groan left him from just how fucking wet you were. "Yeh call throwin' yehself at my employees bein' good?" 

"I didn't." You pouted, your bottom lip stuck out even though he couldn't see it. His cock parting the folds of your pussy, the thick tip against your sensitive clit had your hips shifting. 

You wanted him to stop being mad at you and just fuck you already.

"If I wanted someone else to touch yeh I would have told them to." He started to slip into you, the overwhelming sense of him starting to stretch you already filled you. Blood rushed to your lightheaded head as you restrained yourself from pushing backwards onto him.

"Such a tight cunt." He grunted as the thought from your earlier run in fell from his mind. Your velvet caves pulled him, his anger melted away as you clenched around him.

A hard thrust forward had him directly on your sweet spot, your eyes rolled back in your head as you held on tightly to the front of the desk. 

He wasn't messing around and he wasn't holding back.

You could feel his hip bones smacking against the abused flesh of your ass. The sting sent an electric shock through your body as he wrecked you. You could feel him pounding all the way into your lower stomach as your jaw unhinged from a sea of moans.

"Think he could fuck yeh better, sweetheart?" Harry asked as he pulled on the plug in between your cheeks. His cock rammed into you as the silicone slipped out.

"No." You finally managed to get out an answer through your moans, your wrecked vocal cords cracked until he let up. You almost turned around but you knew better, the sound of his bottom draw opening gave away his next move.

You two needed to fuck at his office less. He had way too much sex shit laying around here.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the cold gel of his lube coated fingers slipping into your tighter hole. Your breath caught in your throat as he slid back inside of your pussy. Your eyebrows furrowed together from the overwhelming sense of pleasure that pulsed through your veins.

"Such a slut, know that?" He spoke as a second finger joined his first one, fucking you open enough to take him. "Lemme fuck yeh in ever hole in my office." 

"Fuck." You moaned into the wood, your hands gripped around the front edge of the desk as he pulled himself out of you, a generous amount of lube slathered across your hole before he put some on himself. 

He took a second just admiring your wrecked state. Your pussy opened wide for him, able to be fucked so easily now that he'd destroyed it. Your ass shined red with lash marks, your hair a complete mess.

He had to stop himself from shooting a load into his own hand. His thoughts getting the best of him as he stroked himself from behind you. His tip pressed into you slowly as he waited for your muscles to relax.

You felt like you could have bit your bottom lip off from how tightly it was tucked under your teeth. Your nails dug into the desk as he pushed further into you, his head finally getting past your tight ring. His hips laid flat against your ass, his hands pulled back each cheek to get a good look at himself stretching you out.

"Gonna ruin you for anyone else. Y'understand?" He mumbled into your ear as he pulled up to his chest by the front of your neck.

"Yes, daddy." You squeaked out as he finally moved his hips. His head rested against your shoulder as you let out a sound you never wanted to admit to making. His cock hit all the right places, the stretch wasn't painful but you were so tight there you could feel every one of his veins pushing against your walls. 

You felt so full of him it was almost overwhelming. You could feel every throbbing jump of his cock as he pumped in and out of you. His grunts as his teeth dug into your shoulder, his fingers from his free hand swirled around your clit while his other one squeezed the sides of your neck.

Your arousal slicked all the way down to your shaky knees as your body bounced against his cock. You panted out moans as your body burned red hot. Your orgasm was just on the horizon, so close you could hardly keep your eyes open.

"Gonna cum with daddy's cock in yeh ass?" He asked even though you had no idea how he managed to put together words in this moment. Your own mind wasn't able to let you do anything more than nod.

"Cum for me then, pet." His finger pressed down harder on your clit, cock shoved deeper inside of you. 

Your vision blacked around the edges, body shook, your high washed over your head all the way down to your toes. The sound of your moans carried through the office, down the halls of the almost emptied building. Your mind barely had time to put together the fact he'd pulled out of you.

Until he slammed back into your cunt. 

A warmth filled you as you whimpered, your body slacked in his arms as his cum dripped out around himself. 

"I gotcha." He mumbled as he moved you both into his office chair. Your makeup smudged face pressed into his chest as you came down from your high. His hand ran across your back in soothing circles.

"Baby, yeh did so good." He said into your hair, his lips pressed in light kisses against your scalp. "Such a good girl. Made me feel so good, baby."

"Gonna take yeh home and get yeh a bath, hm?" He asked when your body felt less limp. You hummed your agreement, head still in that floating space for a second.

"Harry, you know I didn't flirt with him, right?" You asked after a moment. Your fingers danced across his bicep absentmindedly.

"Yeah, jus' like yeh know I didn't sleep with my secretary." He let out a chuckle when you raised your head to pout at him. "Gave me a good reason to fuck yeh like that though." 

"Shut up." You muttered to him. Your eyes rolled as he gave you a stern look.

"Pup, I jus' fucked yeh into next week, do not start with me again."

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Skirt

MOVIE PHANTOM HALO

COUPLE SAMUEL X READER

RATING SMUT

I sat perched on the patio steps reading my phantom halo comics trying to avoid my dad raging at becket who has gone out to see his girlfriend, my dad was drunk, and angry and I knew well enough to stay out of his way if I didn't want to be in the firing line. I heard steps on the stone path so I glanced up expecting the usual people you'd quiet like to avoid but I immediately blushed hard as I saw her.

I couldn't help watching her as she moved almost in slow motion,  sweet little y/n. She lives nextdoor with her mother, two aunt's and her grandma all of them break there backs working every hour God sends in order to send her to the private school up it was expensive and hard to get into you had to be one of the smartest people around to even get into an intro class there, but she's more than smart enough. She walked down the street on her little black shoes, black thigh high socks with a double blue stripe around the top of the socks, a little blue plaid skirt that didn't even hit the socks but she always rolled it up on her way home, a black button down shirt each button struggling to contain her uhhh rather voluptuous breasts, a blue plaid tie undone around her neck the few buttons at the top of her shirt undone, her black dark blue blazer over her the button in the centre done up tightly her backpack on her shoulder, her sweet hair loose from her curls that she curls into her hair every morning, her make up almost all faded away alot of eyeliner and other black gunk on her skin around her eyes where she had rubbed them during the day. I blushed hard as I watched her walk down the street.

Fuck. What I wouldn't give to get my hand son that girl… on that little skirt, on those little shirt buttons, on those sexy little socks, I'd sell my soul to the devil himself just for… ummmm one night alone with that girl. 

"Hi sammy" she smiled as she walked past

"Uuuuhhhhh I uhhhh ummmm hi" I blushed 

She giggled giving me a little wave and shaking her little skirt at me in a flirty little way "see you around sammy"

"Yeah uhhhh I uhhhh see you" I told her 

She kept walking going to her house and grabbing the mail from the mailbox, I couldn't help starting at the gap between her socks and her skirt, at the little skin below her shirt, ummmmmm I wanna peak under that skirt so badly, I wanna cuddle her tight press myself against her, grab her sexy breasts, slap her ass, sit her on my lap, tie her to my bed and have my way with her! 

Whoa…. That. That got out of hand quickly. Damn it. I can feel my erection in my pants rock hard already from just looking at her. She went into her house so I sighed and took my comic going down the side of the house and climbing in my window so that my dad didn't know I was back, I threw my comics in the usual place and grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom making sure to be quiet luckily by now he was in his room still yelling. I snuck over to the bathroom shutting and locking the door hanging my towel on the hook I turned the shower on and let it run for a minute as I cracked the window and slipped off my shirt. I looked back and changed my mind clicking it over to bath instead putting the little plug in, throwing some old little bubbles in I waited a little while for it to run after a while I turned it off tugging my clothes off and climbing into the little tub snuggling in the warm water and soft bubbles I grabbed the little soap bar scrubbing it a little hard to get some good bubbles going slowly running my hands up and down my body stroking my chest, my legs, gently running my hands all over my body and on the one place I desperately wanted my hands 

"Uhhhh! Y/n!" I groaned stroking myself harder then I likely needed too but I was desperate "uuuuuuughhh! Baby! Please" I groaned gripping my shaft hard and the stroking turned faster and harder jerking off as quickly as I could trying to get the release I was so desperate for, just thinking about that cute little skirt that sexy little body of hers, dipping my head under the water to conceal my groans, I felt the wave crash over me my eyes rolling back I wanted to scream her name but I slowed my hand trying to get every last second of pleasure I could 

"Samuel!" I heard my dad yell banging on the bathroom door making me sit up quickly and push the water from my face

"Yeah dad" I sighed 

"Where's your brother?"

"Still out as far as I know" 

He marched off elsewhere in the house, I finished cleaning up and climbed out wrapping my towel around me and let the tub drain as I returned to my room sitting on my bed and hugging my spare pillow "uuuuummmmmm, was it good for you too baby?" I smirked giving my pillow a kiss 

[delightfullyatomicfest]

John Lennon and Yoko Ono in Melody Maker, 20 September 1969

JOHN LENNON HASN’T had a royalty cheque for two years. 

And, believe it or not, he’s feeling the pinch. The man whose group has again been voted top in both the British and International Sections of the Melody Maker poll told me that The Beatles’ own company, Apple, has become something of a monster which is out of control. 

“The problem is that two years ago our accountants made us sign over 80 per cent of our royalties to Apple,” he said. “We can’t touch any of it, and it’s a ridiculous situation. All the money comes into this little building and it never gets out. If I could get my money out of the company I’d split away and start doing my own projects independently. I’d have much more freedom and we’d all be happier. I still feel part of Apple and The Beatles, and there’s no animosity, but they tend to ignore Yoko and me . 

“For instance, [Radio One DJ] Kenny Everett recently made a promotional record for Apple which was played at the big yearly EMI meeting. It plugged James Taylor, The Iveys and so on, but it didn’t mention the things Yoko and I had been doing. And I think that what we’re doing is a lot more important than James Taylor. Apple seem to be scared of us. They didn’t want to have anything to do with our Two Virgins film, for instance. 

“The Beatles’ wealth is all a myth. The only expensive things I’ve ever owned are my house and cars, and I just haven’t got anything else. Don’t even break even on the films we make, and that worries me.” 

I asked John about his recent evening of films at the ICA. (A selection of John and Yoko ’s films, including Ono’s Bottoms and Lennon’s Self Portrait , which detailed the rise (and fall) of his penis, were shown at the New Cinema Club, Institute Of Contemporary Arts, September 10, 1969.) Why, for instance, did he feel it necessary to make a film like Self Portrait, with its highly controversial content, when Andy Warhol did the same thing years ago with his films Empire State and Sleep ? 

“It’s not like Warhol at all. He’s negative and we’re positive. I can’t stand negative things, and our attitude is completely different. Self Portrait has vibrations of love, and it has an immediate message of humanity. 

“When Yoko showed me her Bottoms film I thought it was ridiculous, but she explained it to me and I was convinced - I don’t remember how. I think it was the humour of the film, and that’s what we try to keep in our films. If we’re going to get these films shown, we’ve got to get into the scene. We’d like to make a film that wasn’t so underground in concept, but we wouldn’t do something like Barbarella or 2001 - although that was a lovely trip. 

“Films are moving ahead so fast - much faster than music or anything else. We’re hoping to have talks with a big production company which I shouldn’t name - oh well, why not, it’s United Artists - who seem to be interested. We’d like to get on at the West End.” 

Yoko, who was sitting by John’s side, chipped in, “We don’t know how to go about it. We’re sussing it out at the moment.” 

John continued, “It’s not like films, it’s more like TV. Dylan was right - it should be less important. Our films, and the Beatles and Stones albums, shouldn’t have so much noise made about them. The process of production is so slow. We’d like to speed the process up, and get a new album and film out every month. For instance, we haven’t been able to get our Wedding film out yet. And the trouble is that people will say we copied Jane Birkin on one track, but we didn’t. It’s just that we couldn’t get ours out fast enough. 

“Most of our films are like portraits. For instance, Smile is simply a portrait of me sending out love vibrations to Yoko, who’s on the other end of the camera. People say it’s boring, but they’ll look at Van Gogh, which doesn’t move at all, and they’ll have it on their walls.” 

I suggested that perhaps the audience at the ICA had been dissatisfied because the environment was wrong. 

“Yes, it would probably be best if people had the film at home and could show it on their walls and look at it when they felt like it. The ICA night was too long- but they asked for five hours of film and that’s what I gave them.” 

Wasn’t the work of John and Yoko coming to resemble an open diary, I asked? And don’t most people keep their diaries in their desks at home? 

“Yes, but who doesn’t like to read other people’s diaries? ” he replied. “That’s exactly what it is-but you must realise that The Beatles’ albums, and Dylan’s for that matter, are all diaries. We’re just bringing it out into the open and making it more honest.” 

Does this theory inevitably lead to disposable works of art? 

“Yes, that’s what we’re aiming at,” said John. “Yoko’s having her book of poetry, Grapefruit, reprinted and at the end there’s an instruction to the reader to eat the book.” 

Yoko added, “When you keep things they become tombstones. The world would be clogged up with useless objects.” 

Have they any new ideas for their well-publicised campaign for peace? “There’s this Peace Ship plan,” said John, “which is very strange because I recently read a book which contained almost exactly the same idea. There was this bloke in a white ship from which he broadcast peace messages, and then when I’d read the book a real guy came to me with the plan for doing it. Someone’s also given me some ideas for doing things in Nigeria and Biafra, but I can’t talk about it at the moment.” 

Does this suggest a more direct involvement with war and peace? “Not really, because I think that what we’ve done already, like staying in bed for peace, has been very direct. It wouldn’t do any good, for instance, if I was to go to Vietnam and get shot. That proves nothing, but it’s what people are always telling me to do. 

“We’re after people’s minds. If we go to see Nixon, for instance, it wouldn’t make him down tools, but we think we could find out what he thinks and tell other people. We’d know where he was at. 

“You can’t change anything by violence. You have to be aggressive, that’s part of everyone and I’m aggressive, but we have the machinery to challenge it. We don’t have to get involved in other people’s games, and I think that all the killers should be allowed to take their tanks into the desert and kill each other off. But I don’t want any part of it, and we’ve got the power to do something about it.” 

With two albums in the can Abbey Road and Get Back [sic] - would there now be a lull in The Beatles’ recording schedule? 

“The trouble is that we’ve got too much material. Now that George is writing a lot we could put out a double album every month, but they’re so difficult to produce. After Get Back is recorded in January, we’ll probably go back into the studio and record another one. It’s just a shame we can’t get more albums out faster.” 

Richard Williams

Source

[woodrokiro]

Do It For the Band, Part Six (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Read Part One, Two, Three, Four, and Five. 

Tatsuki never thought she’d live to see the day that she has to drag herself to jam with her friends.

Sure, she’s been pretty hung over on some of her work days; but she was always, always able to pull herself out of bed, pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her way to make a racket. It made no sense how she could still be giddy to beat some loud drums when she had a throbbing headache - but.

She loved it. She loved her band. 

She still does… But she hates Ichigo right now.

Ichigo, who’s being a real insensitive dick. Ichigo, who went on a date with Orihime, aka her-best-friend-aka-longtime-love-of-her-life-maybe-who-knows-she-never-got-a-chance-to-find-out-cuz-of-her-dickwad-friend. 

Ichigo, who is doing this as some stupid fucking vendetta against Rukia, or to forget her, or whatever the fact is being a dumbass and everyone is having to pay for it.

Needless to say: she’s worked herself up to a pretty furious state by the time she rages to practice.  

She stomps over to Chad’s garage, viciously lifting the the heavy door while simultaneously (unreasonably) half expecting to be faced with the sight of Ichigo and Orihime making out - 

When her eyes adjust to see into the garage, there’s none of that (thank God). They’re not even next to each other. Instead, she’s met with a very different sight.

Ichigo’s stewing in the corner, hands stuffed in his pocket and visibly grinding his teeth. Chad is sitting quietly next to him but definitely trying to blend himself into the shadows more than usual. Orihime is looking down at her hands across the room, silent and stiff.

And Rukia is plugging her phone into their speaker jack rather manically. 

“Ah, good afternoon Tatsuki!” Rukia greets the drummer with a too-large, sparkling smile that she recognizes as Rukia’s favorite mask to put on when she’s pissed. The vocalist has noticeable bags under her eyes from… Lack of sleep? Crying? Who knows. Her heart cracks for her.

The pity doesn’t last long when Rukia continues, sickly-sweet. “Since Ichigo was so kind to tell us we should start working on new stuff - “

“Woah woah woah, I didn’t tell you - ”

“My mistake!” Rukia sends Ichigo a somehow-withering smile that could kill. “You’re so right, we all agreed. In any case, I decided to start sooner rather than later. I recorded a quick version by myself last night at - oh, I don’t know, two A.M. - and sent it to Urahara by five.”

Ichigo’s foot starts tapping as he leans forward, arms crossed. “You sent something to Urahara without showing us first?”

“He said he liked it, but to get it passed through you guys. Of course I agreed, so… Here we are.” Rukia’s not looking at him any further, instead sending a hard glance to Tatsuki. 

The drummer knows it’s not really directed at her - more like a woman’s communication-without-words kind of thing - but she finds herself gulping anyway.

--

Here we are indeed. 

Oh you got stars in your eyes, baby

If you think this will work

I won’t follow your galaxies

Won’t fall for that fucking smirk. 

When will you realize the stars were never yours?

Never at any time, never at any time.

The song has turned to pure obliteration by the end. Rukia’s voice intentionally fades out at the finish, but not without absolute raw emotion, pure fury that leaves goosebumps on Tatsuki’s skin. 

Rukia stands in the middle of the garage, hands on her hips, looking proud and dangerous and fiery as she stares straight back at Ichigo’s stone-faced glare. 

Good for her, Tatsuki thinks before remembering: wait. She shouldn’t be rooting for this. 

This is the beginning of a war. 

As if on cue, Ichigo clears his throat, raising his chin to match Rukia’s arrogance.

“Great work, Kuchiki. Way better than anything you’ve done so far, I’d say.” 

Rukia’s nostrils flare. “Is that a comment on my previous work?”

“Not at all. Just… Inspires me to step up my game. In fact…” Ichigo stands up, dusting off his pants. “Is it cool with you all if I cut out early? Think I have some writing to do too, alone.”

“Absolutely not, Ichigo.” Tatsuki is shaken out of watching the trainwreck that’s her life. “Chad, Orihime and I did not come here for you to cut out without even practicing - “

“No, I think it’s fine, Tatsuki.” Rukia’s eyes glint with a challenge. “We can practice… Without Ichigo.” 

An excruciating silence follows. Tatsuki can practically hear Ichigo’s teeth crack beneath his grinding.

“... I can wait to write.” He roughly grabs his guitar, quickly getting to work on tuning it. “Teamwork is important. We’re nakama, after all.”

Something about the pointed word visibly causes the keyboardist to flush, but she starts to unplug her phone from the speaker jack anyway.

The next hour of practice may just be the most painful hour in Tatsuki’s life.

--

She thought she might have an idea of what happened between Ichigo and Rukia from Rukia’s song Celestial Lies - okay, so Ichigo broke a promise? - but seeing what kind of songs follow after that practice from both of them leaves it all… A little muddled.

The next day, Ichigo sends the group chat audio of a break up song.

Eyes softly gazed 

Heart breaking stare

Who knew you’d crush me 

Lying is your best jewelry you wear. 

Everyone hits a wary thumbs up reaction except Rukia, who hours later only replies: Did Urahara approve of this one?

Yes. Ichigo sends back at a neck-breaking speed… 

Followed by a :).

A few days later, Rukia sends another audio. 

It only took you ten days to realize 

I wasn’t good enough, but no one’s ever good enough

No one’s ever nice enough, 

No one’s ever fucked you enough

Called your bluff enough

Said your name like a God enough.

Now Ichigo’s response is a weird song about a siren with lavender eyes feasting on a golden-haired sailor’s skull, and Tatsuki didn’t know what to think happened but frankly? She doesn’t care. 

She calls Urahara immediately. 

“You know what this is gonna do to us, right?!” She shouts into the phone. “This isn’t doing anything but hurting the band, letting them go at it like this!” 

Urahara - to his credit - listens patiently from the other end as she explodes. He has the decency to voice his sympathies, that it must be really tough working in a group with… So many opinions.

“These aren’t opinions. These. Are. Fatalities.” She grits out. 

“I understand, Tatsuki-san, but…” She can nearly hear their manager shrug. “This is… How good music is made. I hate what it’s doing to your nerves, but you have to understand that this is how I get you guys out there.”

“At the expense of our friendship? What kind of manager are you -”

“A good one.” His voice drops low, suddenly serious in a way she’s never heard before. “What would you have me do, Tatsuki-san? Tell everyone to stop writing mean songs? Have them hug it out? You know that does nothing for any of us.” 

“That’s not what I’m... “

“Tatsuki.” His voice lifts, a bit gentler. “This is what you all wanted, what you’re working hard for. Whether or not they get through this… Nobody can say. But that’s not gonna change whether or not they stop writing these stellar pieces. You know how good they are. So… I hate to tell you, but you’re gonna have to suck it up. Enjoy it while it lasts. It might make your career.”

She hangs up immediately, knowing he won’t be offended.

He knows that she knows he’s right. 

--

Almost like a God-sent gift for Tatsuki’s suffering, Orihime breaks it off with Ichigo after only a few weeks. 

The relationship ends - quite spectacularly - in disaster after a couple of dates… Just as Tatsuki thought it would, but hey. She’s not going to gloat about it, only promises whatever deity is responsible a huge offering the next time she happens upon a shrine. 

She hears all about it from Orihime, of course - she’s way too pissed at Ichigo to speak to him about anything besides business - who tells her they got a couple of drinks, dinner a few times. 

“It’s a very nice time! But he’s not… It’s…” She sighs forlornly and it makes Tatsuki hurt for her. 

“He hasn’t made any moves, huh.”

The stage manager shakes her head, suddenly grabbing her water to keep the tears misting her eyes at bay. 

Tatsuki wants to kill him. 

“He said I looked nice. He opens the doors for me, pulls out my chair, pays for my bill. He and I have… Fun, I think. At least I do - and he’s very kind, such a gentleman -”

“It’s okay, Orihime. You can say it: he fucking sucks.”

Orihime laughs a watery laugh. “No, nothing like that. I just… This Rukia thing. It’s so… Intense, right? In practice? I should’ve known. I feel so stupid.”

“... Orihime.” The drummer puts her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Nobody could’ve known. Had I known? You’d find me on a cruise ship, drumming for some dumb cover band.” 

“You make jokes like that, Tatsuki, but you’re the band’s lifeline.” Orihime shakes her head, blinking back tears. “I just… Rukia is so… Goodness, she’s lovely. And talented. And so, so kind - “

“Orihime - “

“And I’m not one to be jealous, I know I’ve only known Ichigo for about a month now so I’m really not too upset about that. But I’d - I’d love to be someone’s first choice like that. I’d love to be the person that someone wants to write songs about, that inspires someone so much. Because that anger that’s coming through their songs… That’s them caring, you know? That’s them caring so much that good or bad, they want the whole world to know, and yeah I don’t love the bad so much but I do love love and want to be cared about like that one day but I’m not as smart or talented as Rukia-chan so - “

Tatsuki interrupts her by firmly pressing her lips to Orihime’s, her hands snaking into her gorgeous auburn hair and suddenly: everything is perfect, angels are singing and if she died at this very moment she would be too blissed out to fight it. 

She briefly breaks it off, nudging Orihime’s forehead with her own. “Rukia is also my friend, but don’t get it twisted. They’re both absolute shits.” 

Orihime laughs, smiling softly at the drummer before she goes back in and Tatsuki thinks band drama?

Who gives a fuck. 

--

Her new girlfriend calls her the next day to say she’s told Ichigo, and Tatsuki sighs. She was about to enjoy her morning by smoking a joint, but. Priorities, she guesses. 

She arrives at Ichigo’s apartment door within the hour, banging until he opens it.

“Y’know, how you get beyond the buzzer at the building entrance is beyond me - “

Tatsuki wastes no time. “Orihime told you, yeah?” 

Ichigo rolls his eyes, but a rare, small smile betrays him. “Yeah, she told me. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. You mad?” 

“What? No. Of course I’m not mad.” 

“Cool. ‘Cuz what the ever-loving fuck, Ichigo.” 

“... Not sure what you mean.” Ichigo’s eyes turn to flint as understanding dawns on him, and he’s about to close the door when she stomps on his foot. 

“Tatsuki, what the hell--”

“Don’t ever try to do that to me again. What is this all about?” 

“God, we didn’t have a - Orihime and I are friends! It’s all been worked out! What do you care, you got your girl - ” He shuts his mouth at the giveaway as Tatsuki narrows her eyes. 

“Is that what this is about? You didn’t get your girl so you tried to get mine?”

“No, Tatsuki. I had no idea you liked her, I would’ve never had - and what do you mean ‘my girl’?!”

She ignores the question and chooses instead to ask in reply: “Have you talked to Rukia?”

A beat.

“... We’re not discussing this, Tatsuki.” 

“Like, really talked to her? ‘Cuz I know you, and a whole lot of this bullshit could’ve been avoided had you just - “

“I’m not discussing this with you Tatsuki.” He looks down at his phone, lighting up the screen to look at the time. “Look, there’s a few more hours until practice and I wanted to get in some writing - “

“Of course you do.”

“... Just do me a favor. Please? Don’t - don’t ask me to talk about that stuff. You’re my friend and you scare the shit out of me - but I’m drawing the line there. Unless it has something to do with the band - “

She’s getting pissed all over again. “Ichigo, you know it effects the band - “

“We’re professional.” He snaps, and the quick show of temper stuns Tatsuki. He’s never had the nerve to talk to her like that, ever.

She’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

“... Congrats again on you and Orihime. I’ll see you two at practice tonight.” 

He slams the door.

“... And you can kick my ass for doing that, later!” His muffled shout sounds from the other side of the door. 

Tatsuki leaves in a hell of a less good mood than when she came.

[dcstechno]

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[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression - Ep 45, radio version, August 2016 - Dobashi in Brazil, 'Crush the NHK' election broadcast, Shark movies.

Kaoru starts the show by commenting on how suntanned Joe looks. Joe says he attended Fuji Rock and got tanned. He spent three days watching live performances and had a great time. The weather was relatively mild, cool at night, no rain, so Joe says it was quite a 'comfortable' Fuji Rock. Joe asks Kaoru if he's getting a suntan yet. Kaoru says he hasn't got a tan at all. He has been spending all his time indoors song writing.

Kaoru then reminds listeners that its only three more days until the live special will be broadcast, and reads out the title of it again. Joe says its quite a rough sounding title. People will be intrigued by it. Kaoru then says he has recieved a message from Dobashi in Brazil, and proceeds to read it out..The message reads as follows: 'Hi to everyone at TFoE. Are you all well? Are you into 'Hiranabe Go'? (*Kaoru comments, 'We kinda are'*) At the time of this broadcast I am in the Southern hemisphere, in Rio de Janeio, Brazil. There may be people wondering why Tokyo Sports has come here. I've been requested to do Tokyo Sports style reporting here, but nothing dangerous enough to get us into trouble. Some of my articles are already published, so please, fans of Dir en grey, fans of Joe, fans of Kami, and fans of Hiranabe with thier butts out (*Did I get this right?? '平鍋の下半身出たファンの皆さん'...??😳*), please do go and pick up a copy of Tokyo Sports. There will also apparently be a live broadcast of this show on August 9th and I will join it from the other side of the world for just a little while. Security is so bad here, and I may be robbed during the broadcast, but I won't miss it! Everyone please listen'. Kaoru and Joe both say they are looking forward to it. Kaoru reckons it'll be about lunch time in Brazil when Dobashi joins them for the show. Just the kind of time he's likely to be busy with work.

Tasai joins them next, for the Tokyo Sports corner. Tasai goes back to the question of why Tokyo Sports is at the Olympics. He says that overseas, people see the word 'Tokyo' in Tokyo Sports, and often mistakenly assume that it must be the major sports newspaper in Japan (*It isn't actually considered a serious newpaper at all in Japan*). Once, when a Tokyo Sports journalist went overseas to report, a special reserved seat had been set up just for them. Kaoru says he can understand how such a misunderstanding could take place. If they, as Japanese people, heard of a newspaper with 'New York' in the title, they would assume it was pretty major. Tasai calls this, 'Tokyo Sports magic'. They laugh about how the people in Brazil might see Dobashi and think 'Wow, a Tokyo Sports reporter!', they probably assume he's rich.

Tasai's first news is about one of the contenders for the Tokyo Governor position, Tachibana Takashi, who represents the N Koku party (or The Party To Protect The People From The NHK). His election broadcast/pitch was pretty incredible, says Tasai. Joe watched it, so knows all about it, but Kaoru did not. Tachibana was originally an employee of NHK. He quit after leaking info about NHK's financial trouble to a gossip mag. When running for Tokyo Governor, he put out a 6 min televised election pitch, which was actually broadcast on NHK, in which he repeatedly called for the NHK to be destroyed. This has gained both supportive and critcal reactions from the public. NHK employees get a very high annual salary, which is paid for by the NHK fee imposed on the public. Even people with low incomes are hounded for this fee, which Tachibana thinks is questionable. In his pitch, Tachibana also raised the many crimes or wrongdoings which individuals related to NHK have been involved in, including the case of two NHK TV announcers who were having an affair, and were caught having sex in a car. Tachibana claims the NHK is trying to cover up this info. Kaoru wonders if Tachibana is holding some kind of grudge against the NHK.

Joe then mentions the documentary movie 'Candidates/立候補', which deals with the topic of bubble candidates in elections. This movie features Mac Akasaka who is also another bubble candidate in this Tokyo Governor election. Joe explains that a bubble candidate is a candidate who is not expected to recieve many votes (like Tachibana). He adds that in order to run in the election, any wannabe candidates have to first pay a fee of ¥3million. This is to try to avoid joke candidates from running, and to make sure the candidates who do run are doing so seriously. The movie in question deals with the idea of paying the fee whilst knowing you won't win, and the reasons for doing so. Joe says it may obviously just be for a bit of self promotion, but this is also actually a good way to put a message out to the public that would never normally get there through the mass media. At the same time, there is always the risk that you will come across as a joke, despite paying ¥3million. Its a risk you have to take if you run as a bubble candidate. Tasai adds that any candidate that recieves less than ten percent of the vote has to forfeit the money they paid. Joe says that most bubble candidates never clear this post, and they have the added burden of campaign costs. They may get a chance to speak out about what they want, but it costs. Tasai comments that criticizing the NHK publicly is actually a massive tabboo, so ¥3million is perhaps not so expensive if it means being able to say such things publicly. With the tv election pitch which all candidates get, you have 6 mins on national tv to speak the truth exactly as you see it. Tasai's favourite thing about Tachibana's pitch is that at the end of his speech, he proposed a kind of quiz asking viewers to guess how many times he had said, 'Crush the NHK!' during the last 6 mins.

Joe also mentions that the 6 min televised election pitch can also unfortunately be used as a means to deliver hate speech, which was seen in the pitch of candidate Sakurai Makoto, founder of the ultra-nationalist/far-right group Zaitokukai. Allowing candidates to speak thier mind directly comes with this risk. Joe then brings up the legendary election pitch by rock star Uchida Yūya, still available to watch on youtube today. (*Do check this out if you havn't already!*)

Tasai's next news is about the recent hit shark move, 'The Shallows' (Japanese title: Lost Vacation.), starring Blake Lively. The movie had quite a low budget, but has taken in huge amounts at the box office. Tasai asks Joe and Kaoru if they like shark movies. Joe says he knows someone at the Rolling Stone office who is a shark movie mega-fan. Shark movies have evolved a lot since 'Jaws', there are even movies about flying sharks etc out there now. Its proper b-movie territory. These days there is also a lot of shark merchandise, like shark backpacks etc.

Tasai goes on to say that shark movies are particularly popular with young women these days. The younger generations, particularly women, are not that interested in mainstream Japanese movies, but much more into horror etc. Kaoru didn't know that young women actually went out to watch movies much these days. Tasai says they apparently tend go as groups of three or so. Each of the three will then tweet to thier friends, and so popularity spreads. Kaoru comes to the realisation that women also actually like scary stuff. Tasai says (*I think*) that a scary movie is the place to go to find young women this summer, and Kaoru likens this to playing 'Hiranabe Go'.

To finish, Kaoru comes back to talk about the live special which will happen in 3 days. Joe admits a lot of his friends have asked him about it. After the last live boadcast, they all recieved a bit of a bashing. Kaoru doesn't know how it will turn out. Joe says they will look back over the last six months during it, and Kaoru adds that he will play some more of the new jingle entries for the last time. Finally, he plugs the Dum Spiro Spero tour and ends the episode.

Songs - Dir en grey/Lotus, ???/??? (*couldn't make this out*), Dir en grey/Utafumi

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[kazoo5480]

Ruby eyed Killian as he opened the door, and when Emma came in the door she squealed running toward her.

“Are you insane! I was terrified when you disappeared! You didn’t answer your phone, I was so worried” Ruby admonished while hugging her in a rocking motion. She kissed Emma’s cheek leaving a red imprint, and Emma smiled.

“Thank you, Rubes. I needed exactly what you gave me” she said and hugged her friend.

Ruby nodded and glanced at Killian. He stepped forward and Ruby hugged him, whispering in his ear that she had just been trying to protect them both.

He nodded, and Ruby cupped his cheek. She handed her keys to Emma before they could ask, and said she would have food ready for them on their way out.

Killian walked into Emma’s room and noticed her bed looked very slept in. Like a nest of pillows and blankets.

“Swan, did you have guests?” He asked, and she nodded.

“Ruby and M’s slept with me,” she said and his heart squeezed.

“C'mere, Swan” and patted the bed. She sat and he cupped her jaw. “No more running, I’m not, I need you to not either. Do you need space? We argue, I’ll give you space but we don’t leave our house angry, or scared. Ok?” His eyes bore into hers, and she nodded.

“Ok. But what if we need actual space?” She asked moving to stand.

He shrugged. I’ll get a couch for the office, sleep in the shop. But no, Granny’s isn’t our safe haven when we fight. That’s something I’ve been thinking about too" he said.

Emma looked at him curiously. “What do you mean? She asked.

"A house. For us. More space, I don’t know. It was just a thought” he said as he shoved her laptop bag full and zipped it.

Emma didn’t respond, and when he looked at her she sat in his lap and put her arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry again. My rationale was that I ran somewhere nearby where I could straighten myself out. You had Graham, but my lack of communication sent you to a dark place. I trusted you, I knew you wouldn’t do that to me. But I needed the space to make sure my feelings were under control, that I wouldn’t hurt you just out of retaliation for your horrible ex-girlfriend. I didn’t plan to run out of town, that’s why I came here. A block away, I just needed to make sure that I was able to be rational, tell you why I did this to myself, and apologize to you” she said softly, and he let her continue.

“I hurt you by not trusting myself. I don’t know how to make that up to you. I am sorry you felt alone, I just was so afraid I’d say something to make it worse when really by saying nothing made it worse than words probably ever could have. I’ll just try to be better for you, every day.” she finished.

Killian wiped the stray tears on her cheeks away. “Ground rules Swan. No running. You wanna yell, fine. You want to run, you tell me why, and then you can yell some more when I won’t let you run. You just can’t do that to me, it made me feel insane because I lost the one person I depend on. Who held my happiness inside of her, and while on some level I knew you had to be nearby, I couldn’t say a word" he said, swallowing.

“You didn’t pick up calls, I didn’t know where you were. Had it been me who stumbled in and saw you in that way, I would have probably hit the guy too. The difference is I would have stopped, and asked if you were ok, and taken you home. You ran, like a ghost with no way for me to find you. I get it from your past, the abandonment, I forgive you, but I can’t have you do it ever again. It isn’t fair to me” he finished.

Emma nodded and hugged him. “I promise” she whispered and he hugged her tighter.

Killian kissed her, “now let’s get you home. We can watch all 7 Harry Potters since I probably won’t be letting you out of my sight for a while,” he said with a small chuckle.

Emma nodded, “fair enough”. She set her forehead against his.

“Are you sure that you can forgive me?” She asked and he nodded.

“I did the moment you left the note on your pillow, I just wish you’d have said where you were” he whispered.

“I knew you’d break the door down, and I wasn’t ready,” she said, stroking his hair.

Killian grabbed her bag, and she took one last look and they headed home, grabbing the bag off the counter from Ruby.

Emma unpacked quickly and changed into her pajamas wrapping one of Killian’s flannels around her as she ate her grilled cheese watching Harry Potter. Killian polished off his burger, and Emma laid atop him snuggling into him.

Killian’s phone chirped and he opened it, Emma watching the TV. Marco emailed him. He kissed Emma’s hair and said he would be right back, and headed into the bathroom.

Marco had sketched something incredibly similar to the photo, and he had priced out different stones giving him an idea. Killian typed out the number, one he had crunched every which way to make sure it was a smart choice and emailed him back asking what his options for the stone, the ring, and Marcos work would be totaled together.

He brushed his teeth and plugged his phone in. He smiled. Marco had said it could be ready by June, if not earlier. He shook the thought away and smiled at Emma curled up. He came back, and she sat up making room for him.

"Can we get a bigger couch? Like a sectional? She asked and he laughed beneath her cheek.

"Why? You don’t want to share couch space?” He asked her.

“No it’s not that, but it would be nice to get something more comfortable, maybe with one of those chaise things we can snuggle on together,” she said, her bottom lip jutting out and he laughed.

"As you wish” and kissed her forehead.

Emma headed to bed and snuggled into Killian. “Is it cold in here to you? She asked him.

He shook his head and felt her forehead, and frowned. "You don’t feel warm, do you not feel well?” He asked.

She shook her head, “just cold” she said.

“What do you think about a dog?” He mused as he played with her hair.

Emma looked at him, “I always wanted one,” she said with a small smile, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a little hopefulness.

He smiled,“ let’s get one. Someone for you to run with,” he said.

Emma smiled, “We don’t have a yard, the concrete out back would hurt its paws,” she said sadly.

He thought about it and nodded. “What if we fostered one for the holiday season? Graham always says they need foster homes since the staff wants to be with their families.”

“I think that would be okay,” she said, “just a foster until we have more room.”

“Are you allergic to anything?” He mused. She smiled and nodded, “penicillin.” He was surprised, but it was good to know.

“Are you?” She responded, and he shook his head, “not that I know of, but that’s good to know. Is August?” He asked and she shook her head.

“I should probably update my forms,” she said absentmindedly.

“Forms?” He asked her, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, medical forms, emergency contact information. I can add you, and keep August” she said.

He nodded. “I should probably do that too. Graham is mine,” he said. Emma nodded and kissed his jaw.

“You really aren’t cold?” She asked him again, and he shook his head pulling her closer. He started worrying, what if she got sick.

She curled her legs, tucking her feet between his calves. Killian yelped.

“What the bloody hell is that? You’re that cold?” She smiled and nodded at him.

“I’ll plastic the windows this weekend,” he said and kissed her forehead.

“I love you” she whispered, her head tucked under his chin.

“I love you more than anything. Sleep, I have a busy day tomorrow” and cuddled her tighter.

Killian’s breath evened out, and Emma couldn’t sleep. She laid there thinking, unable to turn her brain off. She began reading work emails, and deciding which cases she would take and those she wouldn’t. She knew she wanted to quit her job, but she also knew she had to give Graham an answer.

She rolled over on her side, looking at Storybrooke real estate. A large Gray victorian was for sale. It looked like it needed a lot of TLC, but it wasn’t crazy expensive. She would run past it tomorrow.

“Emma, sleep” Killian grumbled pulling her back into his chest, curling around her.

She shut her eyes, and finally drifted off to sleep, his body heat warming her.

Killian snuck out of bed and dressed, opening the shop up. He had a full day and was grateful for it. He had a ring to buy after all so he should probably try to keep the garage as full as possible.

He texted August and said he did want some help with stocks after all. Maybe a few investments were not a bad idea. He also thought about Emma’s approaching birthday, and his thought was interrupted as the new neighbor Ingrid pulled into the lot.

He waved and walked out to greet her. He apologized for his behavior, and she smiled knowingly. “

I’ve met Emma, she is lovely,“ she said and he nodded.

She needed help with her new ice cream truck and asked if he could have it towed, it needed quite a bit of work and a paint job. He happily accepted and promised to drop by around lunch. She left her car for an oil change, and he said he would drive it back to her when he came to see the truck.

Billy walked up the lot and Killian waved him in, and he turned on the radio getting to work.

Emma got up and pulled her email up, groaning when she saw a new case waiting in her inbox. She read the file, it was something local in Portland, so she agreed and said she would take it up tomorrow. That would be the last one she decided and would tell him after she turned the skip in, and got paid.

She headed down, Killian was under a car so she lowered the music waving to Billy. “Jones?” she called out.

Killian slid out and sat up, and she knelt before him. Pulling her phone out she showed him her maps, “I made sure you had access, I promise not to ever turn it off, even if I get mad. Ok?” she said and he pulled her to him and kissed her.

“Enjoy your run” and he kissed her again and she stood up, watching him slide back under the car.

Emma put her headphones in, and thought to the gray house, typing the address into her app and following the route. She hit play, and her music came to life. She tried to focus on the scenery, the people who smiled at her as she ran by, waving back. She tried to pick apart the last few days, tomorrow and analyzed why she was even running past this house.

She found herself running along the road, the beach and water to her right, and she noticed the houses were spread out further here. She wondered if she was lost, and then she saw it. She slowed to a walk stopping outside the white picket fence.

The house was massive and looked like it was in quite a state of disrepair. She noticed a flyer box on the for sale sign sitting on the lawn. She grabbed one, and walked around the back of the house, taking it in. The lawn was overgrown but there was a good size garage, three cars maybe, and the yard had a big tree, a lot of sun, and privacy.

She looked at the flyer again, and it was a pretty big house on the inside, whatever that looked like. The photos looked older, but she knew it wouldn’t be right to look at it without Killian.

When she got back she went upstairs and changed, heading to the market. She grabbed everything for the week, and some stuff to take to Portland with her on the off chance she was stuck overnight. She started making stir fry, and Killian walked in as it was almost done.

“No offense love, but you need a shower,” he said and kissed her neck. She laughed at him and told him to scoot. Killian headed down the hall, and she finished up, setting the dinner aside.

She stripped off her clothes and got in the shower. Killian’s back was to her and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” he said and turned around smiling down at her.

“Never said I would,” she said and lifted on her toes to kiss him. “But I do need a shower,” she said.

Killian hummed in appreciation, and grabbed the showerhead, holding it over her, and she started washing her hair, and he poured a generous amount of her body wash in her hand, rubbing it over her back, and slipping his soapy hands around, washing her everywhere except where she wanted him.

He was driving her insane on purpose. Emma smiled, let him continue, and began smearing the soap everywhere he wasn’t touching her, giving him a little show. Killian sat on the bench while she rinsed and shaved, and she watched as he took himself in hand, clearly trying to kill her with sexual tension.

Killian watched her close her eyes, sighing as the hot water ran over her body, her full breasts rosy pink, the cloud of vanilla encompassing the shower. He watched as she rubbed the soap off her chest, sliding her hands down and she threw him a saucy smirk, turning around and letting him take in a full view of her ass.

He groaned, his hand gently tugging his shaft, his skin flushed from the steam and before he was too far gone, he sat back, the cool glass against his back. Emma stood before him and kneeled. She tugged his lips to hers, her tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, and his arms banded around her pulling her closer.

Emma ran her hands down his chest, her nails scraping over his thighs, and he smirked at her, she kissed her way down before taking his thick cock in her hand and running her tongue across the weeping tip. She felt Killian’s hand weave into her hair, and she took him inside to her throat.

“Gods love, just like that,” he said and she sucked softly, swirling her tongue around the head before pumping him, and licking him sac to tip. His fingers tightened, scraping her scalp. She went back to doting on him, gently caressing his sac, and taint, paying special attention to the thick vein that ran up the length of him and he moaned her name loud enough for it to echo off the tiles.

“Emma” he cried, and she went faster. He was rutting his hips, holding her hair so tightly that he was fucking her mouth. She let him set the pace, and continued rubbing and cupping him, urging him on. She felt him swell and knew he was getting close. She sucked harder, her tongue rolling over the tip of him, and he growled as he came in her mouth.

Emma slowed her movements, gently letting him ride out the aftershocks and she looked up and him, his head tipped against the glass and eyes shut. She smirked and stood, washing her face and brushing her teeth quickly. She looked over, and his chest was heaving but he was looking at her with a wicked grin.

She shut the water off and reached for a towel which he promptly snatched away. He backed her against the tile and tossed the towel over the glass. “Oh love, I’m not done with you yet” he purred, and his fingers traced lines down Emma’s sides, tickling her.

Killian smirked as she giggled at him, and he glided his hands up to cup the heavy weights of her breasts, running his thumbs across the peaks. He kept his eyes locked on hers, watching the green darken, and she bit down on her lip. He tugged and rolled each nipple, getting her attention.

“I want to hear you,” he said and leaned in to kiss the column of her throat. Nipping and sucking the sensitive points, until she finally sighed, and her hips bucked. He smirked and felt his cock begin to harden again, felt the need for her crackling in his veins. He tugged her away from the wall and guided her to face the bench, lifting her leg to it, opening her.

He knelt behind her, and kissed over the globes of her perfect ass, leaving light bite marks in his wake as he moved her foot over slightly to widen her. Emma gasped above him, her hands planted on the glass in front of her for balance.

Killian licked and kneaded her cheeks until they were pink, and he smirked. He moved his way up, kissing her spine as he rose, and Emma trembled, goosebumps rising on her flesh. He nosed along her shoulder, lightly biting down on her neck, his tongue running over the marks left behind.

“Killian” she whispered, and he ran his palms across her belly, and hips until he finally ran his fingers across her slippery folds earning him a cry that would haunt him. “Please” she begged.

“Mmm, I like when you beg. What do you want, Swan?” He murmured as he continued touching her so delicately, that he could see her hands curling against the glass in frustration as he avoided the pressure he knew would make her body sing for him.  

“I want you” she panted.

“Where?” he asked in a taunting tone.

Emma looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes flashing defiantly, and she lowered her leg off the bench to the ground. She grabbed the towel and left him there, and he cocked his head at her, as he watched her towel off.

“I didn’t say you could leave,” he said to her.

“I didn’t ask you to edge me as punishment,” she said and he could see her getting mad. On some level he wanted her mad, wanted her frustrated, to fuck their way through this, but he had to tread carefully with her right now, he could see the emotions flickering across her face. Anger, fear, anxiety, frustration.

He strode to her, pulling the towel gently from her and letting it pool on the floor. She said nothing, he gripped her hips, sliding his palms over her ass, and pulled her against him. Emma’s eyes were filled with fire when he looked into them.

“I am not punishing you, my love,” he said, nipping at her lip, sinking his teeth into it, his tongue running over it, and he felt her hands go to his chest, her nails scraping his skin.

Emma felt his fingers digging into her ass, hard enough to bruise her. He was pushing her towards something, but she didn’t know what it was yet. Killian had never used sex as a weapon or punishment, she trusted his instincts, to always show her love. But right now, his eyes were blazing with blue fire.

Emma took a deep breath, her body trembling. “I am desperate for you,” she whispered. “I need you to love me” she admitted feeling ashamed at her admission. Killian released her ass and his arms banded around her back lifting her, he walked her to the bed, and laid her down, stretching out on top of her.

“I do love you, more than anything Emma,” he said and kissed her hard. “I need you, I am just as desperate for you, to have you want me, to love me, to choose me,” he said and kissed her deeply. Emma moaned as he rubbed his cock through her folds, his hands tangled in her hair.

“I would do anything to have you be mine, give up everything for you. So long as you were mine, and only mine” he practically growled.

Emma’s mind was reeling too many thoughts, and his words, his hips driving her mad as they rubbed against her, her arousal skyrocketing.

“I am yours” she sighed, as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, taking a deep pull on it, making her back arch. “Just yours,” she said in a breathy cry, and he released her nosing at the opposite one, teasing it to a tight peak.

“Why won’t you make love to me?” She asked, and the tone of her voice sounded broken.

“I am. Focus on me, on us, what we are doing right now, in our bed. What do we always do in our bed? Tell me,” he said harshly, his eyes boring into hers as he hovered above her.

“Love. We always love each other” she said softly and he nodded.

“I am loving you, I am showing you I love you, only you. You are mine, and I am yours, whether I fuck you, make love slowly to you, or hold you, I am only ever showing you love Emma” and he guided himself inside of her, pushing the tip of his cock into her slowly.

Emma cried out, as he inched in, pumping in and out in shallow thrusts, preparing her to take him in. Her walls so tight and hot around him, he groaned at the intense feeling shooting up his spine, his heart hammering in his chest. Emma’s eyes squeezed shut at the intrusion, her breaths coming in short pants, ghosting over his lips. They snapped open the moment he was fully seated within her.

He snapped his hips and plunged into her as deep as he could in one stroke, filling her, stretching her, erasing every inch of space that she was feeling. His hands were everywhere. His skin touched every inch of hers that they could manage, and he never took his eyes off hers.

Every thrust, he never looked away, couldn’t look away. He kept his eyes on hers, forcing her to understand that he was hers, he wasn’t leaving, she owned him as much as he owned her. He pushed her legs wider apart, her hands clenched in the sheets, gripping them tightly.

Her green eyes sparkled with unshed tears, he leaned down to kiss her swollen lips. Their tongues tangled, sucking, and massaging each other’s so that they could hardly breathe. Emma felt like she was drowning, in pleasure, in him, in the feelings he was pouring into her with each thrust.

She locked her legs around his hips dragging him deeper inside, her arms around his neck hanging on as he fucked her hard, their moans and cries, skin slapping echoed through the empty loft.

Killian was reaching his breaking point, his release building quickly, and he wasn’t going over the edge without dragging her with him. He reached down, lightly rubbing the swollen nub, and Emma cried his name, her eyes snapped shut.

Emma was going to come, it was brewing hard inside of her, and it was going to tear through her, every roll of his hips, the tip of his cock rubbing so deeply inside of her, she closed her eyes at the onslaught of sensations, tensing around him. Her thighs trembled, and he wasn’t slowing down.

Emma’s nails were digging into his shoulders, almost painfully. He felt her clench down on him, her whimpers and moaning music to his ears, and the sensation of her squeezing his dick so tightly almost made him let go, but not without her. He changed angles, hitching her legs off his hips he pushed them to her chest and plunged in hard and fast, their headboard shook against the wall, banging against it with each thrust.

As soon as he pushed her legs to her chest, pushing in deeper than ever before, Emma screamed.

“Oh god” she chanted over and over as her orgasm rolled through her, and Killian roared as he spent himself inside of her, unable to hold it back any longer. His hands clasped around her wrists and he held them above her head pinning her still, as he emptied himself, nearly collapsing from the force of it.

Killian stayed hunched over her and pushed her legs down collapsing on her chest, releasing her hands as his heart pounded. Emma’s own heart was thudding beneath his ear while he felt her fingers sift through his hair lazily, both of them too tired to move yet.

He turned his head resting his chin on her chest. “Did I prove my point?” he asked with a light laugh, his chest still heaving and Emma huffed out a giggle and nodded.

He dipped his head down and kissed the skin over her heart. “I love you” she whispered, and he kissed her skin again in response. He pulled out of her slowly, and at this point didn’t care if the sheets got dirty. He pulled her into his chest, and they dozed off wrapped in each other.

Emma woke up, and glanced at the clock, it was nearly eight, she felt sticky, and went into the bathroom shutting the door. She used a washcloth and cleaned herself up, and tugged her robe on. She went to the kitchen where the stir fry had been long forgotten, but started the rice anyway, and heard the water run in the bathroom.

Killian came out in his sweats and grabbed a glass of water. He came to Emma and picked her up, setting her on the island and kissed her.

“Nice nap?” he asked her and she nodded, and hugged him.

“I have to work tomorrow, and I wanted to show you something,” she said and he nodded.

“Just to portland?” he asked and she nodded, sliding off the counter and grabbing the folded flyer out from under her laptop.

“I will do this job, and I am going to put in my notice, which leads me to the other thing I wanted to show you. But it can wait, it’s not important” she said, and he shook his head, plucking the paper from her fingers quickly. He opened it, and his eyes widened.

Emma blushed, watching him look it over.

“You want to buy a house?” he asked, kind of shocked. Emma shrugged.

“I thought we could look at it,” she said quietly. Killian could tell that she was holding something back.

“Talk to me Em, what is this about?” he asked.

Emma went to stir the stirfry that she was heating back up, placing the lid back over it.

“If I quit my job, and we want to buy it, I would have time to do stuff myself. I know it is a lot of work, but I thought you might like it. I ran past it, grabbed the flyer. I didn’t decide to buy a house without you, I just took the flyer, and I thought you might like the water being out your front door is all” she said and turned around, feeling her cheeks turn pink.

Killian looked at the paper, “This is Gold’s old house” he said. He read through it, it was a big house, a really big, old house. He thought about the ring he was about to buy, and a house wasn’t factored into that right now too. He needed to talk to August.

Emma leaned against the counter, “I would buy the house. In cash” she said, and Killian’s eyes went wide.

“What do you mean in cash? Who has that much cash in the bank? Do you even have a bank account?” he teased.

“August handles the money, I have it, I just never used it” she shrugged.

Killian’s head was spinning. “You just have 230 grand sitting in the bank?” he said skeptically. She shook her head.

“August handles it all, he invested everything we had ever earned aside from rent. He wanted us to be sure that we would never be poor or worry about money ever again, learned everything about stocks and that stuff, I have it, and probably the renovation costs too if I cashed some stuff out. I haven’t told him yet, but he sends me the statements” she said.

Killian leaned back, kind of shocked. “Em, you didn’t want to adopt a pet, two days ago you were hiding from me, and now you want to buy a house? I am just a little lost here, and the money thing, I don’t care about that. But a house, a big house is a huge step here, and that makes me nervous” he says honestly.

Emma nodded. “I know, I didn’t expect it. I just ran past it and poked around the yard looking at it. It was odd, I felt something I haven’t ever felt unless I was with you, or August” she said avoiding his eyes.

Killian stepped toward her and tipped her chin up, “and what is that, love?”

“Home. It felt like it could be a home, a real one” she whispered, and looked down almost seeming embarrassed. Killian wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. He sighed.

“We can look at it, ok?” Make an appointment for the weekend, or when you get back from work, we have to go get your car this weekend too,” he said and she nodded.

“Do you think we will ever do things in a normal time frame?” She smiled at him.

He grinned back, “probably not. We are absolutely mad, but it’s ok. It is us.”

He went to her laptop and pulled the listing up, looking over some of the photos, the place needed a lot, but it had good bones, and he thought of Liam. When he walked into the shop which was a dump, he said it has good bones, and they built the business in it, the good bones holding it up.

He smiled as Emma slid a plate to him and grabbed her own, and they sat looking through the pictures. “It might have good bones, we will see. Just don’t get your hopes up ok?” he said and she nodded.

“So tell me about the skip tomorrow,” he asked her. She told him, it was a quick find she thought, a few hours, and she already tracked his debit card to three ATMs, so she had an idea of where he might be and who to lean on. He was overwhelmed but nodded.

“Are you sure you want to quit?” he asked her as they put fresh sheets on, and climbed into bed.

Emma looked at him, “Do you think I shouldn’t? I don’t have to. I just thought…” and Killian kissed her.

“That wasn’t what I asked Swan, or said. I said, are you sure you want to quit?” he said.

“I know I don’t want random trips out of town anymore. I know I want to be with you, and here would be easier. I don’t think or know if I want to work with Graham but it’s a job, and whatever, and I am sure August would give me work too, so I could do it from home but I would need an office area. We are just a little tight on space up here, so I could use the office downstairs and get a better door if the drills are going” she said.

He nodded, “Ok, as long as you know that I am not asking you to quit. I am not telling you to. I don’t mind that you aren’t chasing criminals anymore, but that it is your choice. It is always your choice,” he said and smoothed her curls back.

I know, she said, and he nodded, pulling her into his chest and stroking her arm.

“So a house, huh? I assume a dog? Anything else on that list you have in your head?” he mused.

Emma smiled against his chest, “Not yet” she said.

“That means that there is more, but just not yet?” he asked her, feeling a weird sense of hope flutter in his chest.

She nodded, “not yet,” she said and buried her cold feet between his calves making his whole body jerk.

He rolled out of bed. “That’s it, you are sleeping in socks from now until summer,” he said and pulled wool socks over her feet. He climbed back in and she curled in, kissing his jaw.

“Spoilsport” she teased.

“Aye, I am the spoilsport who doesn’t want frostbite,” he said and kissed her head turning out the light.

“Get some rest, I love you,” he said and she snugged in burrowing into his side.

“I love you too,” she said.  

Emma got up and showered, grabbing her overnight bag hopefully for the last time in a long while, and Killian sent her out the door with a breakfast burrito and a kiss. She smiled and got in her car, making one last trek to Portland.

She dialed August, who picked up immediately.

“Hey sunshine, what’s up?” he said.

“How much do I have in the bank and stocks?” she asked, watching the traffic in front of her.

“Are you running somewhere?” He asked.

“No. But seriously, how much?” She heard him typing.

“How much do you need?” he asked.

“Probably 230. Maybe less, maybe more. Do I have that?” she asked.

August whistled. “You are being incredibly cryptic. You’re not asking for ten grand, so tell me why” he said.

She sighed, “a house. I’m considering buying one. Roots and all that,” she said.

He went quiet, and she heard more typing. “You’d have to cash in some stock, but you would still have a healthy portfolio even if we moved some stuff around. Do you want to buy a house? You were just considering leaving” he said pointedly.

“I didn’t run. I needed a breath, and you were right. I took that breath and put on my big girl panties, and now I am interested in a house August” she said irritatedly.

“I want to see it,” he said.

She sent him the link and waited.

“Wow. That’s a whole lot of house. Why is it so cheap, is that on the water?” he asked, and she heard clicking.

“It needs work. A lot of it. But if I can talk the owner down 30k, it could be a good investment once it was done,” she pointed out.

“Em, this place needs like everything from the looks of it. You’re sure?” he asked.

“I just had a feeling,” she said quietly.

“It felt like a home, didn’t it?” he asked.

Of course, he would understand. “Yeah, or the possibility of one. Holidays, and a bunch of things, just a feeling.”

He hummed. “Okay. Well, talk to the owner. See what she says, try to get her to 190. The roof alone will be 30k to replace, not to mention the new driveway, and probably pipes and electrical.”

Emma scoffed, “How do you know that?” she asked.

He laughed, “Emma you called me. I’m pulling permits and records on the house. It’s actually historical,” he said.

“Yeah, I don’t know. It’s just a thought” she said.

“Does Killian know?” he asked.

“Yeah, we talked about it a little. I just wanted to see it, if it was even reasonable, he agreed to look at it, mentioned good bones or something, but not to get my hopes up” she said.

He laughed. “Well, at least he is being smart. Good bones and everything” he said chuckling.

“I don’t know, it was just a question, could I afford it if I wanted it, I wasn’t sure how much liquid I had, I mean I see the statements but that doesn’t equal liquid cash,” she said.

“You lived like a fraternity kid for the last ten years, rarely splurging and I manage all of our money. If you want the house you can get it and not even touch Killian’s money. Did you show him your statement? Please tell me you didn’t” he said.

“No, I didn’t, your stuff is on it too. So no, of course not. Wait, you have access to his accounts?” she asked.

“Just his personal ones, I don’t look at them. But I offered him help a while back if he wanted to do stock options” he said.

Emma was surprised, and then she wasn’t. August made sure they would never be poor again. If the important person in her life was going to be permanent, August would ensure they wanted for nothing.

“I’m considering quitting my job, I am actually on my way to Portland now,” she said.  

August went quiet and coughed. “What? Why? He didn’t ask you, did he?”

“No, no. I just did some thinking before the fight, it doesn’t really make me happy anymore. I hate being gone a lot, and I kind of hate not being here, and if I want to come to see you, or travel I want to just go and live that life you and I always talked about, ya know?”

“Ah. I see. Well, come work for me. Work from home, make your own hours, but don’t be the fucking deputy” he laughed.

“Hey! I didn’t accept the offer. I feel bad because he does need help, it’s a local dependable job” she argued.

“Don’t ever wear a uniform or I will disown you” he laughed. “Brown is not your color duckling.”

“Ugh, alright mom, I have to go. I am nearly there. I’ll call you after. Love you byeeeee” and hung up.

The moment Emma left the lot Killian called Marco.

“Hello, Marco? Killian Jones” he said.

“Ah, good morning my boy. I saw your response, but since you called I can walk you through it. Is it a safe time to speak?” he asked.

“Sure. Now is good” Killian said.

“The design itself is not troublesome, what size stone do you think?” he asked and Killian looked through his notes.

“between one and two carats, I think the round would look nice,” he said.

“That is a fine choice for Emma. Now, do you have a preference for the Diamond?” he asked.

“Marco, I don’t know anything about diamonds. What are my options? Killian asked.

“Well, a 1.5 carat Diamond, with almost perfect clarity can run quite a lot. But I did some digging around, and I would be able to get you an almost flawless diamond for around Sixteen thousand. I would take no fee because it is for Emma, it would be my pleasure and my gift to you both” he said.

“So the diamond, and what about the setting? What would it be?” he asked.

“Do you want platinum, white gold, yellow gold, or rose gold?” Marco asked, and Killian heard typing.

Killian pulled the picture up, “The photo is white gold” he said, and Marco went back to typing.

“I could do the design, with that stone, the sapphires are small, in white gold and it would total to around twenty-four thousand, waiving all of my fees and labor,” he said.

“Marco, that isn’t fair. You are making a ring” he said.

“I am making something special for a child I was lucky enough to have in my life when I had none of my own. I told you, my gift is to do this for Emma” he said.

Killian scratched behind his ear. “That is incredibly generous of you, but I need you to be sure, I want you to be absolutely sure, you run a business,” he said.

Marco hummed. “Fine, you can pay me one dollar for fees,” he said, sounding like he was smiling.

Killian laughed, “you are an amazing man Marco. One dollar, accepted.”

“When can I expect to see you?” Marco asked.

“Um, I can probably swing a trip sometime after the holidays. Can you email me updates or photos in the meantime” Killian asked, suddenly nervous.

“Of course. I will send you all the details and receipts and call my guy now” Marco said. “You will make her very happy Killian, I am glad for you both. Thank you for including me” he said.

Killian blushed, “thank you, Marco,” he said and the man hung up.

He felt a rush of relief, that was all done. They had plenty of time to figure it out until it was ready, and a year was more than enough time to be together before an engagement.

The house crossed his mind, and just what else might be on Emma’s mental list, but he wouldn’t push. They needed to talk more about all these thoughts he was having, but he needed to get his head out of the clouds and work so he could pay for this ring.

Billy and he cranked out 6 oil changes, two tune-ups, and rolled Ingrid’s truck into the shop when everything was in the lot for pickup.

They stood side by side and looked at it. Billy whistled, “this is going to be a lot of work,” he said, and Killian nodded.

He sat back on the stool and lit a smoke, and grabbed his clipboard. He had Billy crawl under and start calling out things, Killian made a list of parts, and figured out how to get this thing running.

He was grateful when his cell rang, and August’s name flashed.

"Hello August,” he said.

“Jones. You got a second?”

“Sure, one minute”, Killian went into the office closing the door. “What’s up?”

“You two are moving things along arent you?” He said cryptically.

Killian sighed. “Did you call to bust my balls because I am actually working.”

“No, just between Emma’s thoughts, and you, you two are like speed racers. What is the rush with you two?” He asked.

“What do you mean? Did she says something?” Killian got anxious.

“Listen, I think it’s time we do some investing on your part. Emma is covered, but let me play around a bit with yours, put you in our options, grow that little nest egg you are sitting on” August said and Killian heard typing.

“Are you looking at my bank account?” He demanded.

“No, no. But Emma mentioned the house, and I am sure you are already considering a ring, it would be a wise choice to start making some moves to build that egg, and lucky for you, I am good at it” August said.

He scratched behind his ear, nervous. “Aug I don’t know, I need cash right now, and this house, if she wants it…”

“Emma has the house covered Jones” August said like it was nothing.

“That isn’t right mate if we buy a house we buy it together” he protested.

“Well, I know you don’t love her for money, you didn’t even know she had any since she lived like a child. So just do me a favor and let her buy the house. You can pay her back by being wise, and investing smartly to protect the offspring you two will inevitably have with the rate you two go at each other” he said sounding like he was laughing

Killian almost dropped the phone, “Wait. Does Emma tell you about our sex life!”

“No, she doesn’t need to thank god. I can tell by looking at you two, easy Jones. Anyways let me make some moves, give me ten to play with. If I lose it, I will put it back. If I triple it, you can thank me and name your child after me” he said laughing.

Killian laughed too, “you want ten grand to play with, like monopoly? And if you lose it, you put it back out of your own money? Fine.”

“Excellent. I mean I could do twenty. You have over seventy in the savings…” August said like he was talking about pennies.

“August, get out of my account. Ten. Start there, if you do it, I will let you take over, but please get out of my account. Seriously” Killian said, growing agitated.

“Fine, fine. Scott! He said yes”, August called out. Killian groaned.

“Love you both, bye”, Killian said ending the call. God her brother was a pain the ass, he looked at the ceiling pinching the bridge of his nose, a pang of longing for his own brother crossing his heart.

He came out and Billy handed him a completed list. They rolled the whiteboard out, and Billy did a crude mock-up of the truck and began writing. He looked at the clock, it was nearing six.

“Hey man, head out, I will see you in the morning,” Killian said and Billy nodded, just as exhausted as he was.

Killian closed up and headed upstairs to shower. He charged his phone and she still had not called after the text of arriving.

He dialed her as he dressed. “Hey babe, call you back,” she said and hung up.

She sounded like she was running. He sat on the bed and rubbed his hands over his face, and pulled up the tracking app. He followed her, she was most definitely running or driving very fast, but he zoomed in, the dot stopped. He waited a few minutes watching it, still not moving.

What the fuck, he thought. His heart relaxed when he saw it move again, slowly, but it moved. She must have got him.

He waited another hour, and the phone rang. “Swan, are you ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, um I am going to be a little late,” she said.

“Oh, ok. But you are heading back?”

“Ouch” she bit out and he heard a male’s voice in the background.

“Swan? What is going on?” he asked standing.

“Um, he had a knife, ouch! And he cut my arm, I’m being stitched. Easy man, it isn’t falling off,“ she barked at the medic.

"I’m coming to get you,” he said pulling a shirt on, trying to find his jeans.

“No, no. Seriously ill send you a photo, it isn’t bad, it was just a weird angle that caught me. I am ok, really. I turned him in, and tomorrow I am sending in my notice, I just wanted to get paid.”

“ You really decided to go out with a bang huh?” He said completely unamused.

Emma sighed, “I have had worse, I am ok. Hey, are you done? Can I go? Alright, babe, I am done. I will be out of here in a few and heading home. See you in like two hours or so.”

“Ok, just please be safe,” he said feeling defeated and anxiety building.

“I will. Killian, I love you” she said quickly.

He smiled, “I love you more than anything, one piece Swan. Not tiny pieces, not cut pieces. One whole piece,” he said.

“Aye Aye Captain,” she said and cut the call off.  

He smiled and climbed into bed. He turned the laptop on and put on a movie, they needed a tv for in here, seriously.

He went on amazon and ordered a small one and a wall mounting kit.

He woke up when he heard the door shut. Emma came in quietly and went into the bathroom, and the shower turned on. He heard her wince, and was at the door knocking a second later.

“Em, open up,” he said through the door.

She opened the door, looking a bit worse for wear. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I need to shower.”

Killian walked in and took a look at her outstretched arm. It was a nasty gash.

“Do you need help?” He asked, and she shook her head.

“I’ll be out in a few, sorry I woke you up.”

Emma held her arm out of the spray and washed the night off of her. She came out and Killian had Tylenol and a glass of water on her nightstand as he sat and waited for her.

She pulled on a flannel of his and crawled into bed, and he propped her arm up on some extra pillows.

“Thanks,” she said. “I am sorry.”

“Well, we got roughly 5 months in with you unscathed, and if this is your last one, then I say you did alright,” and kissed her forehead.

She nodded and was grateful it was her left arm and not her right. She yawned, and Killian tucked her damp curls behind her ear, and snuggled in closer to her, wrapping his hand around her good one as they fell asleep.

Killian got up with the sun, watching Emma sound asleep. He took in her golden curls in the morning light, her dark lashes on the apples of her cheeks. The dusting of freckles coating her nose. He just soaked her in, completely at peace.

“You’re watching me sleep again, Jones. It’s weird,” she mumbled with a small smile and snuggled into his chest.

He smiled and held her as best as he could without moving her arm. She would need Tylenol, he waited a few minutes before he headed to the kitchen and got everything, laying it on her nightstand. He kissed her cheek and headed down to the shop buttoning his coveralls.

He rolled the garage door up, and lit a smoke, grabbing the list they had started and placed an order for the parts they knew so far, getting a head start.

He grabbed the creeper and had just slid under the car when he heard Emma scream.

He bolted up the stairs and ran to the bathroom, “Emma!” He called and opened the door.

“I popped a stitch. Do you have a thread or a kit? She asked, and he nodded, taking in the blood soaking through the cloth she had against it.

"Babe it’s just a stitch, hurry” she pleaded and he ran down the stairs grabbing the red box.

He ran in and opened it on the counter, searching for the sutures. He found the steri strips and pulled them out, tearing one off.

He took her arm and he pulled the cloth away, Emma winced. He held her arm up above her head for a few seconds, and quickly pulled it down, securing her skin and adding a second for good measure.

Emma watched how quickly he worked, with soft touches. She smiled as he finished. “ Thank you,” she said and kissed him.

He nodded, do you need anything else? He asked, gazing at her softly. Emma shook her head.

Killian nodded and washed the blood off his hands. “I’ll be right downstairs if you need help.”

Emma kissed him and he headed down the hall. She finished brushing her teeth and pulled leggings on. She went to her laptop, popped it open, and dialed her boss.

After a long discussion, she gave her resignation. Her boss was a little pissed but she said after last night, her decision was made. She recommended two people she knew in Boston who did side work, and he appreciated it. She thanked him and ended the call.

She saw a missed text from August but it could wait. She shot a photo and sent it saying she would call later.

She called the number on the flyer, and spoke to a woman named Astrid, setting a viewing of the house up for tomorrow at lunchtime, and that was set.

She looked around the loft, if they bought a house what would they do with the space? Maybe Killian would want to rent it, extra income would be nice.

She slid on shoes and made her way downstairs, there was no way she could box, so she took a look at the whiteboard.

Billy slid out on the creeper and waved, Killian on the phone in the office. He came out a minute later with a sheet and taped it on the board.

“Hi, you ok,?” He asked.

Emma nodded and looked at the behemoth sitting on the lift. “Ingrids?” She asked and Killian nodded.

“Do you need help? I can order parts if you give me a list” she offered and he smiled.

“I just finished, go lay down,” he said. Emma sighed and nodded.

“Oh, tomorrow at 11, the house tour,” she said and he smiled at her.

She grabbed a book and went to sit on her chair, and grabbed her phone. She looked at couches, she bookmarked a few to show Killian, and when he came up for lunch, she began showing him the couches while he ate.

They agreed on one, and she ordered it. She looked around and decided with Halloween approaching, some decorations were needed. She ordered some and realized her birthday was now weeks away.

She booked that little place in Vermont for the week she had planned on and smiled. She was restless, so she went downstairs again, deciding on a walk. Killian nodded, and she headed out.

She walked the whole town and came across a little hair salon. She walked in, and made an appointment for herself, and headed home. She decided to establish an OB and a new doctor here, and she needed a dentist too. She completed her paperwork to include Killian as her contact first and August second for the first time ever.

When Killian finally headed up, Emma was asleep on the couch, a book laying on the floor. He smiled and snapped a photo, tucked it away, and called in Chinese before he hopped in the shower.

Emma woke up and the buzzer was going off. She looked around disoriented and headed down signing for the food. She popped some of the painkillers the doctor gave her and cleaned the cut.

Killian came out in his sweats and plated dinner up. She told him what she did, and he smiled.

“I’ve never put anyone else as an emergency contact besides August. It’s a big deal, and don’t tell him” she warned and he laughed.

Killian told her about August’s financial game, and she smiled.

“Babe, you don’t have to do that. I have enough if we want the house” she said.

He nodded, “well how about the car. Still a go?” He asked and she nodded. “Have you thought about what you want to do yet?” He asked.

Emma shook her head, “a break. Oh! I got the Vermont house booked for next month too” she said and he smiled nodding as she told him all the little details.

They curled up on the couches, and he decided to bring up those pesky thoughts. “Swan?”

“Hmm”

“Do you want kids someday?” He asked.

Emma’s mouth went dry. Not sure what he was meaning. “Like kids, plural?” She asked.

“Aye,” he said back amused.

“I’ve considered it, if it were the right time, right person…” she said.

She looked up at him, eyes searching his. “Do you?”

Killian nodded at her “Someday I do, very much,” he said.

“Ok,” she said smiling, and he kissed her hair and pictured a tiny blonde girl with blue-green eyes, a pregnant Emma, a family. He was really happy he called Marco.

Killian heard the door buzz and went down to the door. An amazon truck was there and the guy handed him his TV. He thanked him and headed upstairs, and Emma was already in bed.

“What is that?” She asked, her eyes widening at the sight of the box.

“A TV for in here,” he said tilting the box.

Emma laughed, “as if we need another reason to not leave our bed” she giggled. He winked at her and proceeded to unpack the TV, setting it up on the dresser for now, and sat on the edge of the bed setting the remote up. He finally crawled under the covers and Emma was sound asleep.

He smiled, turned on a movie on low, and set the timer. He fell asleep thinking about blonde-haired babies and Emma in a white dress.

@sailtoafarawayland @omgmarvelous

@holdingoutforapiratehero  @hookedmom @xsajx @kymbersmith-90 @kmomof4 @katie-dub @ohmightydevviepuu @lassluna @pirateherokillian @teamhook @stahlop @elizabeethan @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @killianswannn @stories-enchanted @eleveneitherway @girl-in-a-tiny-box @withheartfulloflove @kday426 @lyssapup27 @swanlovato @kaoslikesstuff @djlbg @kristi555 @laschatzi @xarandomdreamx @lkles08 @wyntereyez @bubblegum1425 @xhookswenchx @yasbio2015 @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @wefoundloveunderthelight @hollyethecurious @let-it-raines @jonesfandomfanatic @searchingwardrobes @dreamingdreamsalways @oncechicagolove @andiirivera @vvbooklady1256 @gingerchangeling @everything-person @klynn-stormz @qualitycoffeethings @vampcoffeegyrl23 @enchanted-swans @cassy1511 @ohmakemeahercules @donteattheappleshook @bluewildcatfanatic @the-darkdragonfly @demisexualemmaswan @lavenderbudd @grimmswan @spartanguard @flslp87 @ultraluckycatnd @sarahpaq08 @thisonesatellite @captainswan21 @zaharadessert @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @xouatxcs @kiwistreetswan @batana54 @nadine200179 @probalicious17 @courtorderedcake @julesep3026 @jackieorioncat @whatthehell102082 @xemmaloveskillianx @jarienn972 @sthonour @linda8084 @carpedzem @pirateprincesslena @daxx04 @winterbythesea @artistic-writer @scientificapricot @cocohook38 @wisfan3000 @chrisilybrooke @pcrcabcth @captainswan4life85 @molly958 @kingofmyheart14 @badwolfreturns @itsfridaysomewhere  @fallingforthecaptain @lovethelifeyoulive1106 @onceratheart18 @strangestarlighttree @omgmarvelous @justanother-unluckysoul @anothersworld @purplehawkcaptain @jennjenn615 @sailtoafarawayland @superchocovian @hookedonkillianforlife87 

[sansugar]

An ultimate secret

Pairing: Wooyoung x Female Reader

Word count: 4.2k

Genre: Smut

Warnings: rough sex..?, fingering, maybe something else I’m forgetting

--Finally sharing one of my first writings. This is potentially a 3 part series, let me know if you want to read more. Hope you enjoy!--

The train pulled to a halt and your suitcase knocked against your knees, startling you out of an upright doze where your head had been falling forward and jerking back for 45 minutes. A voice over announced the next station and you realised you were already in Seoul. After signing up for a 3 month, intensive course right in the middle of the city, you were excited to be given a second chance at your getting dream job, especially since the end of high school hadn’t worked out because you had been terribly sick. Luckily for you, your brother Seonghwa lived in a dorm just twenty minutes from your new school. With your small savings pot from years of working late nights at the convenience store and not having to pay rent, you would be able to focus all of your time on your studies. Or so you thought.

Exiting the confined tunnels of the station you emerged onto the street, squinting over the blurred, buzzing crowd. Though you recognised the faint smell of tobacco and deep fried chicken, and the clopping of heels across the pavement, you had to take a moment to get your bearings. As you hesitated in the middle of the path, a man leaning casually against a tree caught your eye. He reminded you of a cardboard cut out, slender with hard features, dark hair hanging across one eye. His navy blazer hung open, revealing a band t-shirt underneath, jeans and a belt buckle that caught the sun. You barely recognised your own brother.

“Seonghwa?!”

His face softened with a genuine smile as he strode towards you, arms out. He smelt expensive, like a brand name you’d seen on a billboard, but his enveloping hug was the same as it always had been, like he could wrap his arms around you twice.

“Was your train delayed? I thought maybe I’d missed you.”

“No I don’t think so” you replied, distracted by the of rainbow of advertisements flapping in the street above every shop.

You let him pull your backpack off your shoulders and take the handle of your suitcase before leading you out of the crowds.

“Are you hungry?”

You hadn’t realised until that moment that you had been starving.

“Yes please let’s get something good” you whined, pulling on his arm.

He chuckled, taking you down a maze of side streets to a tiny, hidden restaurant.

The food was delicious and you couldn’t stop yourself from ordering way more than you could eat, especially because you knew Seonghwa would pay. You talked with him more than you had in years. He told you all about his experiences as part of a rookie idol group and you told him all about life back home with your parents. You were lucky that he had just finished album promotions and had some time off to spend with you between training sessions.

When you arrived at the dorms you were quickly introduced to the other members of ATEEZ in a whirl of handshakes and tentative hugs before Seonghwa ushered you to his room to get you unpacked. It had all gone so fast that your mind began to replay Yunho’s warm touch, Mingi’s toothy grin, Wooyoungs constant chatter and San’s smouldering stare. Somewhere in the pit of your stomach you felt excited. How were you going to get any studying done with that around you 24/7?

You placed your suitcase on the bed and began to rummage around in your disorganised mess of clothes when you heard a knock at the doorframe. It was Hongjoong.

“Y/N. Do you mind if I quickly grab something? I left my charger in here” He pointed past you to the bedside table.

“Not at all, go for it”

He knelt down to pull his charger plug out of the wall when it clicked in your head that this was his room.

“Did Seonghwa kick you out of your room? Am I stealing your bed?”

Hongjoong chuckled and shook his head.

“It’s yours for the next three months. I’m happy to bunk with Yunho and Yeosang. A girl needs her privacy. Well, you will be in here with Seonghwa but…you’ll be comfortable”

He smiled at you as he swung his hands around his sides, unsure what to do with them.

“Hongjoong, haven’t you got somewhere to be?” Seonghwa said, appearing at your side.

He gave him a look that you couldn’t quite see and Hongjoong slipped out of the room without a word.

Seonghwa pulled a handful of clothes from your suitcase and began to fold them carefully. You crawled up onto the bed and sat with your back against the wall. The room was small and mostly bare but cosy. Seonghwa’s immaculately made bed was opposite yours and you were reminded of when you had shared a room with him when you were younger. You closed your eyes, feeling content in your new home. But that relaxation was short lived.

“Have you studied today?” Seonghwa asked, brow furrowed as he tried to match your socks.

“No? Classes haven’t started yet”

“But surely you have some work to do? To get a head start?”

“I guess…”

“Y/N. I hope you’re taking this seriously. You’re not always going to have a second chance”

You scowled at your brother, starting to remember why you had celebrated when he decided to become an idol and moved out in the first place.

A few weeks later, classes had started and you had settled into life at the dorm. Like you, the boys were in and out constantly but once a week you all had dinner together, and soon enough you were just a regular member of the team. You played mobile games with Wooyoung, watched dramas with Mingi and had regular arm wrestles with Jongho who was sometimes kind enough to let you win. Yunho would ask you about what you were learning while San tried to teach you to do pull ups and Yeosang would send you song recommendations every other day. Seonghwa had been overbearing and wary at first of the boys stealing too much of your attention but over time he relaxed, appreciative that there were 7 other people looking out for you.

It was a Sunday evening and you were sitting on your bed after a few hours of actual studying to watch a movie on your laptop, the room shadowed as the sun set behind the other buildings. You were snuggled in your blanket, completely engrossed when Seonghwa thumped into the room, flicked on the blinding light and yanked your headphones off your head.

“Hey!”

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you studying?” He scolded.

“I have been studying! Get off my back.”

This had been such a regular argument over the past few weeks, you felt like your responses were scripted. But today, he seemed to have had enough.

“You seem to think you can just get through life with a pretty face and no work Y/N but it doesn’t work that way. I won’t let you laze around here and waste our parents money on a course you don’t even seem to care about”

“What are you talking about? I already studied today. I’ve done all my homework”

Seonghwa grabbed your laptop out of your lap and closed it forcefully.

“This look likes you’re working really hard. Really practising well” he chided.

You glared at him.

“Look Seonghwa, I don’t know what your problem is…”

“My problem? I’m just trying to look out for you. You sit around here all day, wasting time on your phone, watching TV. This isn’t a holiday Y/N. Anyone would think you don’t even want to be successful and employed. If you’re not careful, you’re going to fail this course just like you failed high-school.”

You threw your blanket off your knees, stood up and shoved him. A painful lump rose in your throat, which you held in place, determined not to let him see you cry.

“I had pneumonia you asshole. You were there. How dare you stand there all high and mighty when you did absolutely fuck all with your high-school degree. I’m so sick of you pretending like you’re better than me when all you do is prance around in tight pants on stage.”

His face was like stone as he stood motionless in front of you.

“I know the real you Park Seonghwa and I can see straight through this facade you put up for your fans. You and your fake superiority can get fucked”

You stormed out and slammed the front door behind you with one goal in your mind. You had to get away from him. The lump in your throat became suffocating and tears peeked at the corners of your eyes. Your face felt hot but the hairs on your arms prickled and in that moment you wished you had had enough sense to grab your phone or a jacket on the way out. You walked aimlessly down the road, staring up at the dusty sky, willing your tears to suck back in so the passersby with their dogs would stop looking at you. You replayed his words in your head and saw his constant disapproving face, wondering what had happened to that soft and kind brother that had taken you for lunch those weeks ago. Your brother had always been a bit criticising, but never this cruel. You felt the sudden urge to hurt him, the need to see his face in shock, for once unable to predict you. But how? He had always been the stronger one, the smarter one, always two steps ahead.

You found yourself outside the dance practise building the boys often visited after hours. The lights were still on so you let yourself in, shivering and rubbing your arms. You wandered down the hallway, looking in each of the little square windows when you noticed a familiar brunette in a practise room by himself, music blaring. You slipped past the door and sat on the couch to watch Wooyoung dance, still oblivious to your presence. You had never seen him like this before; wearing a tank top and grey sweatpants, leg muscles straining against the fabric. You watched wide eyed as the bass of the music surged through your chest, playing your heart like a drum, captivated by his lunges that shook the floorboards, the intricate patterns he drew with his body and facial expressions that made you feel all kinds of things in your lower half. He almost jumped out of his skin when he noticed you.

“Fuck Y/N!” He said, running to pause the music on his phone. “You scared me half to death”

“I’m sorry. I just saw you dancing and I…” you trailed off, acutely aware of how flustered and tearful you must still look, trying to hide your face with your hair.

The smile on his face fell as he approached you.

“What happened? Are you ok?” He dipped his head to look into your eyes, softly touching your shoulders, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Was it Seonghwa again? I swear to god if he’s been on at you again I’ll…” he paused and reconsidered. “I mean I probably won’t do anything…but I will if you want me to”

“I really don’t want to talk about it”

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. He smelt like sweat and deodorant which you inhaled deeply, leaning into his embrace.

“Do you want to get some food?” He asked, stroking your hair.

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“What do you want to do?”

A momentary idea popped into your head. “Could you teach me to dance?”

Wooyoung pulled away far enough to look at your face, a hint of concern and uncertainty in his eyes.

“To dance?”

“It would take my mind off things…teach me the part you were practising”

He laughed nervously but when he saw you were serious, he nodded. You followed him to the middle of the dance floor and he stood just in front of you, legs in a wide stance.

“Okay, so first you go like this…”

Wooyoung showed you sequence and then broke it down into steps. You were shaky at first, but with his help you started to get it, dancing the choreography almost to speed once he turned the music on. You quickly forgot the fight, laughing whenever you got it wrong and Wooyoung playfully yelled at you for not listening to him.

“You’re not low enough. Squat lower! Yes like that. Now thrust your hips. More. Make it bigger. You’re still not doing it right!”

Wooyoung ran over to pause the music and you sighed loudly.

“The hip thrusts are embarrassing” you whined, fanning your hot skin with your hands.

“They are not. Confidence is sexy. You are sexy. Now come on, your form isn’t right”

You caught your breath as he came behind you and ran his fingertips lightly down your sides before settling them on your hips. You felt your body stiffen and skin prickle in anticipation, desperate for him to either slide his hands lower or to put a metre of distance between you.

He did neither, instead putting pressure on the juncture of your thighs to make you squat lower and lean slightly right, his chest flush against your back, sweaty shirt pressing against you. You could feel his hair tickling your neck as his hands slid down your arms to grab your hands and raise them above your head. It took everything you had to stop your thighs from shaking, body completely new to such a low squat position. You didn’t dare move as he analysed you in the mirror, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“Just like that” he said dryly as his hands came back to rest on your waist, dark eyes fixed on yours, unconsciously licking his bottom lip

You looked away, at anything other than his intense stare. Were you reading this right? Or did all dancers guide each other with such alluring invasion of personal space? His body shifted and you felt the light press of his bulge against your ass, shattering any notions that this was a normal dance lesson. His breath fanned your shoulder and you thought you should move away, pull his hands off of you, tell him off, anything to remove yourself from the precipice of turning your relationship into something else.

But your hips took a mind of their own and you felt yourself gently grind back against him, drawing an involuntary groan from deep in his throat. You craned your neck to look at him over your shoulder, frozen in the painful squat your mind paid no more attention to. Time stood still as his gaze flicked to your parted lips and you slightly inclined your head in a permissive nod. Before you realised you had moved, he had flipped you around and pressed you hard up against the mirror, licking into your mouth and hands roaming over every inch of your clothed chest. His hips bucked against yours and you reached down to the outside of his sweatpants to palm him, drawing a another long groan from him against your lips.

“Please don’t stop” he panted, planting breathy kisses along your jaw to your collarbone, pausing to inhale your scent and pulling down your t-shirt collar to grant him further access to your skin.

“Can I…” he started to ask, but his hands were way ahead of him, travelling up your shirt, kneading your breasts through the fabric of your bra, forehead pressed into the crux of your neck.

You fingers played on the edge of his pants as you briefly questioned yourself again before diving down to take hold of his hot length, earning a simultaneous groan from both of you. You held tightly but didn’t move, causing him to shamelessly buck up into your hand, his touch abandoning your chest in search of your core, which at this point was embarrassingly wet.

You knew there would be no going back the moment his hand slid down the front of your panties. His middle finger swiped up your slit, flooding warmth into you and you instinctively clenched your walls to feel some friction.

“Holy shit” he breathed, mostly to himself as he inched two fingers deep inside you to curl against your spot, causing you to shudder helplessly beneath him. You were insatiable, weeks of pent up curiosity, fantasises and late night masturbation in the shower caused by living in a house of 7 gorgeous men. It was wrong, it was forbidden and you were intent on riding it straight to hell.

“Please fuck me Wooyoung” you whimpered to the ceiling, shaking at the intensity of which he fingered you, tongue pressing into your neck, drinking you in.

He growled into your skin and captured your lips again with both hands holding your face, the fingers which he had just had inside of you rubbing your own juices on your cheek. You suppressed a laugh at his eagerness and pulled his sweatpants down to his thighs as he pulled your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra and burying his head between your breasts, sucking and grabbing at your flesh.

“Fuck I want you so bad” he said, muffled into your nipple, pulling it between his teeth.

In the space of a breath, he hoisted your leg onto his hip, bunched your skirt up around your waist, pulled your panties to the side and entered you in one swift motion that had you both gasping out.

Time stopped again as he bottomed out, pausing with his forehead pushed against yours, inhaling deeply, fingers digging into your thigh. Your walls were screaming with the sudden stretch and you suppressed a painful sound when he tentatively pulled all the way out and pressed back in. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself upright and balanced on your one standing leg. He tested a few more erratic thrusts and the pain began to mix with pleasure and an overwhelming desire to be pounded into the mirror but Wooyoung paused his movements.

“I don’t know if I can control myself” he mumbled with shuddering breaths, hair hanging in his eyes.

“Then don’t”

He snaked his arm around the small of your back and jerked your hips closer to his, your head leaning on back the mirror like a rag doll in his hold. He drew his cock back again and you felt every ridge of him before he thrust up into you, setting a bruising pace that made you gasp for air.

“Fuck, I’ve imagined this so many times” he kissed below your ear, bouncing your body with every thrust and your hands fell back flat onto the mirror to hold on for dear life. “You walking around the dorm in your cute sundresses like you don’t know what you do to me.”

Pleasure started to rise from your core to your stomach and you wrapped your leg tighter around his hips, chasing the promise of your release. You leaned back in to capture his lips in a kiss, deeper than you had all night. He held you in that kiss until the pleasure became too much and you had to pull away, sucking in a desperate breath.

“God you’re so fucking perfect. Tell me-ugh…tell me how good it feels”

You moan as the pressure builds, pleasure sparking in multiple directions, but the pain of your wobbly standing leg starts to pull you away. As if reading your mind, Wooyoung pulls out and turns you to face the mirror, spreading your legs with his feet and pulling your hips back onto his cock. You cry out as he reaches deep inside you, igniting a fire as your walls clamp down on him and your hand automatically drops to rub your clit.

“I’m not going to last” he says, inhaling your hair. “Are you close?”

You moan again as if that is a response and rub your clit faster, knowing your release was within reach, just over that figurative hill, if he could just…

“There, a-ah fuck Y/N, I’m there. God-fucking-yesyesyes”

Wooyoung stands on his toes, boosting the angle of his cock to rub directly on your back wall and pound erratically into your spot. Like the crack of a whip, you inhale suddenly, almost choking on air as he hurtles you towards your orgasm, cock twitching as he cums deep inside you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop” you pleaded, reaching back to hold the back of his thighs in case he dared to pull away from you or reduce his blinding pace.

Your torso was almost completely horizontal now, back arching, thrusting yourself back onto his cock, his cum dripping down your thighs. Your release hit you like a series of waves breaking, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream as your walls convulsed erratically, spreading a wet warmth throughout your core. Wooyoung continued to pound you, fingers coming down to press on your own, rubbing harder into your clit.

Riding you down from heaven, stars and colours swirling behind your eyes, Wooyoung began to slow. Your knees gave way and you threw your hands out in front of you to stop yourself hitting the wooden floor too hard. Wooyoung wrapped his arms around your stomach and dropped to his knees with you in an attempt to keep his softening cock buried inside of you. His chest heaved against your back but you were both quiet, letting the sound of the squeaky fan and creaks of the building fill the silence.

“Fuck, Y/N I should have asked if I could come in you”

“It’s fine, I’m on the pill”

“Even so” he mumbled, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades and slowly removing himself from you.

You remained awkwardly on your hands and knees, panting at the floor as your senses returned and the reality of what you had done clicked from blurry to sharp in your mind. Wooyoung handed you a towel and you wiped the cum from your thighs, gazing in disbelief up at your smudged handprints on the mirror. Wooyoung was speaking, possibly to you, but you couldn’t focus on his words, caught in a state of ecstasy that wasn’t just post orgasm bliss. As you both got dressed, he tried to catch your gaze, but you barely noticed him, focused on the incredible feeling rising in your chest.

“Hey-where are you going?”

You were halfway out the door when you turned to look at him and forced a smile.

“I have to go back”

You left Wooyoung dumbfounded behind you, revelling in the complete elation of having just done something that would make Seonghwa burst a blood vessel if he knew. You emerged into the night air again, cold wind soothing your red, sweaty face. You felt bulletproof, like there was nothing more Seonghwa could hold over you. Not when you had such an ultimate secret over him.

You heard low voices when you reached the dorm and opened the door to find Hongjoong and Seonghwa sitting at the table, several empty bottles of Soju between them. Something about the way your brother looked at you, eyes glazed over and swaying slightly, told you that the drinking had been one sided.

“There you…I was so…worry” Seonghwa mumbled, standing up to give you a hug though he ended up almost pushing you over and Hongjoong had to step in and hold him up.

“It’s ok, I’m fine” you said, patting him on the back and mouthing a thank you to Hongjoong, who shrugged a smile. You looked up at your brothers’ flushed and puffy face and in this moment you pitied him, a pang of guilt stabbing you somewhere in the gut.

“I wish I…I shouldn’t have-“ he started but you cut him off.

“Let’s get you to bed”

It was a short but slow stumble from the kitchen to your shared room.

“I’m such a screw up” Seonghwa whined, head lolling backwards before you and Hongjoong dropped him on his bed.

“Go to sleep now” you said, smiling to yourself at your brothers complete inability to hold his liquor.

“You’re my sister and I…always…” he trailed off, squeezing your hand, eyes fluttering shut. Hongjoong turned off the light, leaving you sitting on top of Seonghwas quilt in the dark room, listening to his breathing as he started to drift off. You bit your bottom lip, wondering if maybe you had gone too far with Wooyoung tonight.

But your guilt was fleeting as the next morning, a hungover and humiliated Seonghwa berated you over breakfast for leaving the house without your phone.

“What the hell is wrong with you Y/N? What if something had happened to you? It just baffles me how you can be so damn stupid sometimes”

You sat at the table, staring ahead and calmly eating your cereal as he brought up more reasons and memories where you had been what he considered irresponsible. But you didn’t take the bait this time. You felt above that now, addicted to the power of what Seonghwa didn’t know, of how Wooyoung had melted at your touch, and how mere centimetres from your brothers disapproving face, you plotted your next pursuit.

[iam93percentstardust]

@ad1thi submitted: okay so this next one includes a link - hence submission instead of an ask.

insp by this link(and honestly this whole blog basically): buckytony NSFW AU where Tony is an escort for hire and Bucky's an extremely rich man who's looking for some company. loosely a Pretty Woman AU but instead of picking Tony up off the street, he hires Tony off his exclusive website (whether or not you want to factor in the public appearances aspect of the film is up to you but i was thinking more of a strictly sexual relationship that develops over time) (sort of like a sugar daddy AU)

so the link doesn’t work anymore (i think the blog might have been shadow banned) but i still think this will work for you :) check below the cut for the rest of the story (cause it got super long) and for the bingo details for @starkbucksbingo

also on ao3 here

~

There’s only one bed in the room when Tony gets inside. He pauses, looking warily at the bed like it’s going to attack him. It’s nice, huge, possibly bigger than the entire bedroom in Tony’s last apartment. He bets it has expensive sheets, the kind that are always slippery and you’re afraid to get messy on them. Bucky always pays for rooms with expensive sheets. Yeah, it’s not that there’s really a problem with the bed per se; it’s just that—

Well, one bed means sex.

One bed means sex and two means Bucky needs an escort to whatever event he’s attending and when Bucky had offered to fly him all the way out to fucking Paris for the weekend, he’d just kind of assumed that this was supposed to be an event like a conference or something.

He glances down at his suitcase. He prepares for everything of course, so when he’d logged in to the agency’s website a few days ago to see that his weekend had been blocked, he had made sure to grab not just a couple suits but also some of his best lingerie and Bucky’s favorite toys. Security must have had a field day when they scanned his luggage at the airport. He chuckles, imagining the priceless looks on their faces, and gets to work.

The bathroom is his first stop. Tony is already shaved and waxed, just the way his clients prefer, on the offset chance that Bucky would already be in the room by the time he arrived even though he’d already been told that Bucky wouldn’t be there until dinner, but he smells like airplane and stale peanuts and possibly a little bit like the old man sitting next to him in first class who had drunk his weight in liquor by the time the plane landed.

The bathtub is large enough for at least five people to comfortably sit and the tap has a temperature setting that he sets to just barely on the too much side of hot. He pours in a little lavender oil and wanders back out into the bedroom while he waits for the bath to fill.

Suits go hanging up in the closet. Lingerie goes in one drawer and toys go in the one below it, organized by type and then by color. He doesn’t have anything casual other than loungewear because Bucky’s never once taken him anywhere casual and usually he takes him to places that will provide a suit if you don’t show up wearing one.

He goes back into the bathroom, cleans himself up, spends a little bit extra time in the bath relaxing—even if Bucky pays him well enough to afford a new, nicer apartment and first class plane tickets, he still doesn’t make enough to afford a bathtub like this—and climbs out before he gets pruney.

Tony has a couple clients that prefer to see him completely dolled up—makeup, matching lingerie sets, all of it. Bucky, on the other hand, prefers something a little simpler so after he’s dry, Tony pulls on ice blue lace panties, a pair of sheer stockings—no garter, as per Bucky’s instructions so he’ll need to be sure to smooth them out before Bucky arrives—and a small black leather collar. He’ll never admit it but the collar is his favorite part. Bucky, in a fit of possessiveness, had bought it for him after finding out that Tony’s other collars had all been used before by his other clients.

Tony still remembers the first time Bucky had put it on him, the way he’d slid a finger under the collar to check how tight it was, how his eyes had gone dark and wanting before he purred, “Now you look like you’re mine,” and used his grip on the collar to tug Tony into a demanding kiss.

He shivers, thinking about it, and runs a thoughtful finger around the edge of the collar. There have been…times throughout the months they’ve been doing this where he’s wondered if Bucky would want to make this a more permanent arrangement, not quite a kept boy but something rather more intimate. Of course, he’d still need to make a living somehow since Howard has made sure he’s not allowed to use the Stark name but…he wouldn’t exactly object to being Bucky’s more often than once a month.

His watch—another gift from Bucky—beeps at him from where he’s laid it on the dresser and he checks it. Still another few hours to go before Bucky will be back but he should probably get a move on.

He places an order for room service for later that night, calls up for an expensive bottle of champagne that he knows Bucky likes though he can’t stand the taste himself. While he waits, he puts on a pale pink robe and stretches out across the giant bed to doze off the little bit of jet lag he has, which has the added benefit of mussing the sheets just enough to catch Bucky’s attention.

There’s a knock on the door, waking him from his nap, and he greets the astonished delivery boy, who can’t take his eyes off of him, with a cheeky wink and a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of his ass peeking out from the hem of the robe as he turns away.

The champagne goes in an ice bucket to chill and Tony checks the time again before deciding to change into his loungewear. He knows that Bucky likes the silk robe but he likes watching Tony strip for him more and besides, they’ve got all weekend for the robe. There’s only one bed in the room; he’ll be lucky if Bucky lets him up from it at all, let alone into actual clothes.

There’s still an hour or so before Bucky comes and he thinks about going out on the balcony but it looks like there might be a storm coming in. He scowls and drags a chair over to the balcony doors, deciding that he can at least look out over the city, even if he can’t be outside. He reads for a bit until the storm arrives and it gets too dark to read by the natural light and then he gets up to turn on the lamps, which is of course when Bucky walks through the door.

Tony pauses by the bedside lamp, taking in Bucky’s wet hair and the way he’s shaking raindrops off his coat. “You could take a shower first,” he suggests.

“Hmm,” Bucky hums, dragging his gaze slowly over Tony’s body. It’s not even like he’s in anything sexy, just sweatpants and an oversized sweater and his stockinged feet but Bucky’s eyes go dark anyway. It’s gratifying that Bucky gets that choked expression on his face even when Tony is fully dressed and maybe that’s why he crosses the room instead of waiting for Bucky to come to him. Maybe that’s why he slides his hands up Bucky’s wet shirt to hook around his neck and bring him down for a kiss.

Bucky’s hands flutter at his side before he brings them to settle on Tony’s waist. “Don’t want to get you wet,” he mumbles into the kiss.

Tony licks kittenishly at the seam of his lips, teasing them open so he can slide his tongue inside. He curls his tongue around Bucky’s once before pulling back just enough to say, “Does it look like I care about that?”

“No,” Bucky admits and Tony smiles but then Bucky sets him a little bit apart from him. “But I don’t want to do it anyway. Let me get cleaned up, kitten, and we’ll see about dinner, yeah?”

Tony’s a little disappointed; he’d thought that kiss was building up to something, but he gamely smiles and says, “Sure thing, Bucky Babe.”

Bucky brushes another kiss over his forehead, tugs just enough at the collar to get Tony to gasp, and then ducks into the bathroom. Tony calls the concierge to bring up their dinner as he hears the shower turn on. He putters around the suite, making sure that the lighting is romantic, doublechecking that the balcony doors are closed, and pulling the champagne out of the ice bucket so it has time to warm up a little. By the time their meal has arrived, fragrant and steaming hot, Bucky is stepping out of the shower so Tony goes over to the bathroom to let him know their food is ready.

His gaze lingers on Bucky’s naked body, always incredible. Bucky takes care of himself and that shows in his muscular arms and toned stomach that always get Tony a little hot under the belt. Bucky is toweling off his hair when Tony opens the door and he grins at the mirror at the way Tony falters when he sees him.

“Something I can do for you, kitten?” he asks.

Tony shakes himself out of his reverie, pulling his eyes back to Bucky’s face. “Wanted to tell you food’s here.”

“What did you get for us this time?”

“Chicken and asparagus.”

“No steak?”

“I’m watching your health.”

Bucky drops the towel on the counter and stalks toward him, snagging him around the waist for a quick kiss before he continues on in to the bedroom. He tugs on a pair of sweatpants, much nicer than Tony’s own, but forgoes the shirt in favor of reaching for the bottle of champagne to pour it into two glasses.

Tony follows him and dishes up their plates as Bucky sets the glasses out, moving around him in a well-practiced dance they’ve done many times before. Tony is a good escort, he knows he is, and that means he knows what to do for each client, not that he’s had many since taking Bucky on. Hammer wants him smiling vapidly and singing his praises to anyone who’ll listen at one of his galas, Stone wants him wearing a plug the size of his fist before he even shows up at his penthouse, and Bucky wants him to take care of their food while he handles the drinks.

Dinner is a quick affair, filled with light, easy conversation about Bucky’s conference in Paris and how Tony’s flight had been. He doesn’t bother asking what Bucky’s expectations for the weekend are; Bucky will tell him eventually and—he glances toward the bedroom where he can see one of the bedposts on the bed—he already has a pretty good idea.

“So doll,” Bucky says eventually, putting his napkin down. Tony has already finished eating and has been taking small sips of champagne for the last ten minutes. “I was here for this conference and how I’ve got this incredible view that I don’t even get to look at that much and I was thinking about how nice it would be to share it with someone. And then I checked your website and wouldn’t you know it, you’re free this weekend.”

“So you hired me to stare at the view while you’re busy at a conference,” Tony deadpans.

Bucky throws him a fondly annoyed look, a feeling that Tony seems to inspire in a lot of people. “I hired you to stare at the view with me because my conference ended today.”

Oh.

He thinks again about that possessive streak of Bucky’s, the way he just casually buys him things because he knew Tony would like them and “Why wouldn’t I want to spend the money on you, kitten?” Maybe, he thinks to himself, just maybe.

“Well then,” he says lightly, trying to hide the way his chest feels hot at the very thought of Bucky making him his, “if you’re going to spend all that money just to fly me out here.”

“Worth every penny,” Bucky swears. His grey eyes are going dark again as they drop to the neckline of Tony’s sweater, his voice a low growl when he says, “Take it off for me.”

Tony shivers. So they’ve reached that part of the night then. He stands, hands going for the hem of his sweater. He toys with the hem for a moment before slowly drawing it up his body and over his head, reaching back behind his neck to make sure that the fabric doesn’t catch on the buckle of his collar.

“That’s it, Tony, baby,” Bucky croons as Tony drops his hands to the waistband of his pants. “All of it.”

Tony keeps his gaze fixed on Bucky’s as he shimmies the pants down off his hips and to the floor, stepping out of them when they puddle around his feet. Bucky catches sight of the stockings and he groans lowly, making Tony bite back a smile. He’s never worn the stockings before but he had thought Bucky would like them. He seems to really like Tony in lacy things.

“Come here,” Bucky urges him, reaching for his hips. “Let me see you.”

And Tony goes. He stands in between Bucky’s spread legs, letting him run his hands up and down the stockings, the material catching on his legs and lighting up his sensitive skin. Bucky ducks his head to run his tongue along the line of Tony’s panties. He catches them between his teeth and tugs on them, pulling them away from Tony’s body just an inch.

“I like these. Did I buy them for you?”

“Mmhmm,” Tony says breathily. He runs his hand through Bucky’s hair, marveling again at how soft it is. Bucky’s hair is like silk. He wants to spend all day running his fingers through it, see if he could make Bucky make that purring sound he sometimes makes when he’s content.

“Pretty color,” Bucky mutters and pulls the panties down over his hips enough that he can breathe warm air over Tony’s dick, which immediately perks up like it knows it’s going to get some attention (not that that’s a shock; he’s been half-hard since Bucky walked into the room). “Pretty cock. Pretty Tony.”

Tony moans at the compliment, sinking into Bucky’s lap when he’s tugged down and straddling him. “Bucky—please kiss me.”

And Bucky does, hard and biting and demanding the way only he does. Tony’s had clients who like to kiss him before—not many but some—and not a single one of them has ever kissed him like Bucky does. Bucky kisses him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do and it’s the only thing he’ll ever want to do, like he’s oxygen and Bucky is suffocating. He kisses him like—like he loves him, only Tony doesn’t let himself think about that too much.

And Bucky tells him sweet things in between kisses, tells him that he’s beautiful as Tony winds his hands in his hair, tells him that he’s the prettiest thing Bucky’s ever taken to his bed as he mouths wet kisses down Tony’s neck, tells him that he’s being so good for him as he puts his mouth over Tony’s nipple and sucks.

Tony shouts, hands tightening in Bucky’s hair, rocking his hips into Bucky’s. Bucky sucks again, mouth pulling hard on Tony’s chest, and then he bites and Tony thinks he should be used to this but he doesn’t know how he could ever get used to something like this.

“Being awfully loud there, kitten,” Bucky murmurs.

“Like you didn’t pay for the quietest room there is,” Tony quips back, brain still working even through the miracle that is Bucky’s finger twisting his other nipple.

Bucky scoffs dismissively and slides two of his fingers inside Tony’s mouth, shoving them to the back where he nearly gags on them before he gets with the program and sucks.

“That’s better,” Bucky says and Tony rolls his eyes because he knows that Bucky likes it when he talks. “Hey, no sass out of you.” He taps Tony’s lips sharply before driving his fingers in again. Tony flicks his tongue between Bucky’s fingers, twisting and curling around them to get them as wet as possible so that when Bucky finally removes them from his mouth, they’re practically dripping. He slips wet fingers inside Tony’s panties and parts his cheeks to slide a finger inside his hole, rolling the tip of his pointer finger around his rim as it loosens

Tony uses his grip on Bucky’s hair to direct him back to his mouth and he’s so glad that Bucky lets him because he knows that he’s not the strong one in this relationship. He knows that Bucky owns some kind of tech company but he has no idea what else Bucky does—because there must be something else for him to be so strong.

“Bucky,” he whispers into his mouth, trying to shift back further on Bucky’s finger and completely fails to do so.

“Shh, kitten,” Bucky says. “Let me make you feel good.”

And he raises Tony up on his knees just with the grip he has on Tony’s hip so he can slide his panties off. Tony raises one leg to slide it off but Bucky kisses him again before he can kick the panties off completely so they dangle from his ankle, a flag of his personal surrender. He reaches for something on the table that Tony hadn’t noticed before and when he comes back, his lube-wet fingers slide in slowly, two at a time because Bucky’s never gone the easy route if he can help it.

Tony groans, thrusting back on his fingers as they press into his prostate. Bucky just smiles and whispers into his ear, “Gripping me so tight, babe. Gonna feel so good on my cock.”

“I always feel good on your cock,” Tony snarks because he is a gift and Bucky had better not forget that.

Bucky chuckles and drives his fingers in harder, shoving them into Tony’s body to make space for his cock. “That’s true. Hold onto me.”

Tony barely manages to grab his shoulders before Bucky lets go of his hips to dig into his pocket. He wants to watch, wants to know what Bucky’s looking for, but the fingers of his other hand are still curling in Tony’s body and he can’t help but close his eyes as his head drops back and he whines.

He hears a soft clink and then the collar suddenly gets heavier. A leash. Bucky’s put a leash on him. That’s—oh that’s hot.

Bucky yanks on the leash, pulling his head back to face him and pairing it with a vicious twist of his fingers in Tony’s hole, and Tony cries out again. “Bucky, please,” he begs. “Please fuck me, please, just—”

“I’ve gotcha,” Bucky says. He pulls his fingers out and sharply slaps Tony’s ass once. “Get up.”

Tony thinks about whining, thinks about asking why he has to get up when his legs feel so wobbly, he’s sure he’ll collapse if he tries to stand. Then Bucky slaps his ass again, harder this time, and he squeals before jumping up. He can’t go far. Bucky still has a grip on the leash, wrapped around his hand, and he uses it to make sure Tony goes only as far as he wants him. With one hand, Bucky slides his sweatpants down, just enough to lift his dick out.

Tony’s breath catches in his throat. In his line of work, he doesn’t see many beautiful cocks but Bucky’s—Bucky’s is a work of art: long and thick and a dark olive that flushes as he strokes it. There’s a drop of precum beading up from the tip of his cut cock that Tony wants to get his mouth on and lick up.

“Come here,” Bucky orders. Tony straddles him, Bucky’s right hand immediately going back to his hip like it belongs there, the leash rubbing against his oversensitive skin. His left hand strokes up and down his cock, lubing himself up, letting out tiny groans. Tony wants to turn around and watch but the blissed expression on Bucky’s face is almost as good. He leans up as best as he can to kiss the little furrow between Bucky’s brows and when he pulls away, Bucky is watching him with this wondrous, dazed look in his eyes.

“How are you real, kitten?” Bucky murmurs. It doesn’t sound like he’s expecting an answer so Tony just kisses him again as Bucky pulls his hand away from his cock to hold his cheeks open as he positions Tony.

He’s lowered slowly—oh so slowly—until Bucky’s thick cock is splitting him open. He keens, unable to toss his head back the way he wants because of Bucky’s grip on the leash, breaking off into a soft “Oh!” as he settles Tony in his lap, all of his cock tucked away inside Tony’s body. He always thinks that Bucky is too big for him, that this time he won’t fit, but no—Bucky is just as big as he needs to be, Tony is just as open as he needs to be but with his cheeks settled against Bucky’s thighs, mouth open and panting, Bucky feels bigger than ever.

His fat head is pressed against Tony’s prostate, dragging against the sensitive nerves, and Tony whimpers as every little move lights him up from the inside out. His cock is drooling against Bucky’s stomach, smearing wet against his toned abs.

“Feel good?” Bucky hisses into his ear. Tony nods desperately. He does, he feels amazing. “Cause you sure feel good around me, squeezing me so tight.”

He starts to drag Tony up and Tony cries out, clenching down in a futile attempt to keep Bucky inside him. Bucky moans and drops him again, slamming into his prostate.

“Bucky!”

“If you don’t want me to drop you, you shouldn’t do things like that,” Bucky chuckles.

“If you don’t want me to do things like that,” Tony shoots back at him, “you shouldn’t try to pull out.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “No? What do you want me to do, kitten? Thought you wanted to be fucked.”

“You telling me you can’t figure out a way to fuck me like this?”

It’s a challenge, one that he knows Bucky will rise to. He always does. So he sits there, primly perched on his lap with Bucky’s cock hard as steel inside him as he waits for him to decide what to do. And when he thinks Bucky has almost figured it out, he squirms, just a little, as much as he can with the leash still gripping him tight.

“So that’s what you want, is it,” Bucky murmurs, eyes lighting up. His hand slides around to the small of Tony’s back, pressing him down as he grinds up. “Not a thrust but—” His hips twist and his cock jerks and Tony moans. “Yeah, that’s it, baby.”

He does it again and again and Tony swears he can feel Bucky’s cock in his fucking throat, he’s so deep inside him. Bucky croons to him, soft words about how good Tony looks writhing on his cock, challenging him to come untouched. Tony thinks he could do it; he’s never managed it before but he wants so badly to be perfect for Bucky that he thinks he can do it this time. Heat is coiling in the base of his stomach, winding him tighter like a coiled spring.

“Bucky,” he gasps. “Bucky—oh—please.”

“Please what?”

He doesn’t even know.

“Just—ah—please!”

And Bucky smirks at him, that filthy, devil-may-care smirk that promises bad things for Tony’s future, before bending Tony back over his arm. His cock presses in new ways inside him and he wails—and that’s when Bucky fits his teeth around Tony’s nipple and pulls—and Tony comes screaming, cock pulsing as he shoots white ropes up Bucky’s chest.

Bucky jerks him upright then, grinds into him twice more, and then comes, spilling deep inside his body. He’s the only one of Tony’s clients that he lets fuck him without a condom and it’s entirely because he thinks he might actually die if he couldn’t have this feeling of Bucky filling him. And maybe that’s melodramatic but Tony’s never been accused of being stoic.

“Arms up, kitten,” Bucky pants into his hair, pressing little, urgent kisses against his damp curls. They’re both sweat-soaked, definitely going to need a bath or at least a washcloth, but when Tony wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, he’s carried not to the bathroom but to the bed where Bucky sets him down gently before sliding out of him.

Tony watches through half-closed eyes as Bucky walks naked as the day he was born back through the suite and into the bathroom, emerging clean and with a washcloth for Tony. He’s wiped down and rolled onto his side for Bucky to cuddle up behind.

Bucky pets his rim gently, soothingly. “May I?” he asks quietly.

He knows what Bucky is asking. They’ve done it before and always it brings a little thrill to Tony’s mind. He nods sleepily and waits until Bucky’s cock has slid back into its place inside him. Sometimes, he thinks that Bucky’s cock fits so well inside his hole that he must have carved out a permanent place for himself. Oh sure, he tells himself with a little snort, because that’s romantic.

Bucky’s arm wraps around his waist to pull him even tighter into his body, his nose burrowing into Tony’s throat. Tony reaches down to link his fingers through Bucky’s, humming contentedly.

“Tell me about your day?” he asks quietly.

Bucky presses a swift kiss to his nape and then starts to tell him about the worst speaker he’s ever heard at one of these things. It sounds funny but Tony’s exhausted and since he knows that Bucky doesn’t mind if he dozes, he drifts off to sleep, lulled by the sound of Bucky’s voice.

Title: Begging for More Collaborator Name: iam93percentstardust Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25914820 Square Filled: O4 - Only One Bed Ship/Main Pairing: Winteriron Rating: E Major Tags & Triggers: Sex work; explicit sexual content Word Count: 4.3k

[mult1tude]

TWO STARS ✰ AN ETHAN NESTOR STORY — CHAPTER 1

story synopsis: adele belanger, an upcoming star begins to fall in love with a man named ethan nestor after doing a press junket to promote her upcoming series that’s going to push her fame further than she expected. will problems arise?

word count: 3k triggers: none

     adele belanger - the name spoke few and far on the dazzling and glamorous world of hollywood. celebrated for her roles in roles in indie films produced and created in canada, where she was born and raised, she is soon due a big break as she was in the process of getting ready for the rest of the world to know she was starring in netflix’s latest series.

saying the heat resonating from beneath her laptop was hot was an understatement, she didn’t dare to budge or move it in the slightest as she restlessly refreshed the youtube page waiting for the trailer to pop up, almost wearing out the button on her keyboard. the sable black strands at the nape of her neck that had evaded her grasp as she hurriedly tied a ponytail began to itch at her skin but she didn’t have time to fix it, not until the trailer was posted.

after what felt like a lifetime, her eyes were quick to notice a new thumbnail appear on the page and she reactively clicked it, pressing the mousepad button-down slightly too hard out of excitement. the entire video played, a beaming smile was plastered across her face, her dimples displayed prominently as she approached the end of the video. the young actress felt like a firework in a glass jar, so much excitement contained inside of her as she brushed the laptop from her lap, jolted from her rumpled bed and clenched her fists as she excitedly hopped around her tiny apartment and squealed. adele rushed to the dust speckled mirror that was hung near her front door that had a few dozen, in a hyperbolic sense, of her unused coats after moving from canada. she deeply exhaled as she examined her face, noticing her own excitement couldn’t even contain itself as a smile sidled upon her lips as she delicately let out a few words. “i’m going to be famous.”

her emotions shot off again like fireworks, her chest fluttering and her palms tingling and red from the nails she didn’t realise she had dug so deep into her own skin. but it didn’t matter, adele was finally making the biggest leap possible into her career - it was everything she ever wanted.

“ok, i need some water.” she softly spoke to herself, taking another deep breath as she headed towards her apartment’s small open-planned kitchen. her shaky hands picked up a bottle of water from the fridge; she vowed that she would never drink l.a’s tap water after hearing an endless conglomeration of negative things from acquaintances and friends after moving only 6 months ago.

swigging it back and almost completing most of the bottle, she slapped it onto the counter whilst letting out a satisfied gasp for air. a few drops making wet patches on her eggshell coloured sweatshirt that may or may not have a few foundation marks around the neckline. a sudden change of thought, she remembered she needed to send the link to all of her friends and family if they already hadn’t seen it. adele slid the phone from her sweatpants noticing she was already getting congratulatory messages from some of her friends and even people that she hadn’t spoken to in a while. moreso, a lot of the messages from her friends were them completely fangirling over the fact that she had in fact worked with henry cavill.

adele replied to and messaged everyone she needed to before opening twitter and the rest of her social media to find that they were starting to blow up, multiple people talking about how cool the show looked and how excited they were. a lot of them were generic but few mentioned how intricate and interesting adele’s sidekick companion character seemed which made her stomach twirl once more and she felt like she had her ego stroked enough it would last the rest of the week. she put aside her phone and began to practice her bedtime routine before throwing herself back onto her bed where she only was an hour ago. her head smacking her pillow must have activated a switch because adele immediately felt her eyes involuntarily shutter closed and before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

                                                         ✰

today was the first day of recording stuff for the press. needless to say, adele was super excited. from what the actress was able to gather from her manager jenna, since henry cavill was known to be such a huge gamer online, buzzfeed had organised the cast to play the game version of the new netflix series with a few special guests. it was undeniably going to be a great day and a great way to start the press junket as it progressively and eventually got more tiring and mind-numbing. plus, she had gamed a bit before so it would be funny if she were able to show up a few of her cast members, especially henry.

at 8am sharp, the assigned makeup and hairstylist, and wardrobe stylist arrived at her apartment. she was so giddy with excitement that she wanted to run around and shout and tell everyone but she had to sit silently for the meantime as the makeup artist worked on her face. edging elation bubbled through her every vein as they talked about varying outfits to wear, expensive designer brands she was allowed to borrow. she felt like a proper celebrity.

finally, the crew decided on a casual look for today. her slate black, silken hair was bundled in a half-up loose french plait whilst the rest of it waved down just below her shoulders, the front strands falling in front of her face. light and delicate makeup that made her eyes shine and sparkle like a glossy nephrite stone; the minimal makeup also allowed her ubiquitous, chocolate freckles to proudly be displayed on her face. polished, golden dangle geometric earrings to frame her heart-shaped face and overall elevate the look from simple to elegant. an ivory laced-back milkmaid top with puffed long sleeves, high-waisted, sun-bleached skinny jeans with a few sparse rips and shreds, tattered white thread entwined between the tears and loosely hanging like vines. to finish off the look was some pearly white stilettos and few rings as well as a similarly styled necklace to match the earrings.

“i feel, amazing.” adele faltered in disbelief as she longingly stared at herself in the mirror, turning to the crew exhibiting an approving smile. “thank you.” she softly spoke before squeaking with excitement as she danced on the spot causing her team to giggle in response. “time to get going!” she excitedly commanded herself as she made a poor attempt at trying to control her out of rhythm breathing. the exhilaration and eagerness began to convolute into a ball of anxiousness and fret. it was something new and different which was scary but she didn’t want it to hold her back. another deep breath and she made her way to the contemporary, modern lobby of her apartment block where she spotted the black suv through the towering glass front doors in which her chauffeur was waiting for her.

“per jenna’s request,” the chauffeur nodded towards the coffee in the cupholder. adele wrapped her hand around the starbucks cup — still hot. “vanilla oat milk latte?” she asked as she brought the almost searing coffee to her lips, the steam floating upwards and brushing past her skin. the chauffeur nodded as he put the vehicle into gear and started to head towards the destination. effortlessly, the sweet drink passed her lips as she took a few sips before she threw her head back in a satisfied manor. surely the coffee would help with the nerves and just overall elevate her mood. she scoured her social media for a short while, taking breaks to finish the rest of her drink before they arrived. it’s l.a, so it was always bound to take a while even if it just was a few blocks over.

discreetly, the car pulled into the back entrance where she was able to enter without getting noticed and was directed to a very bright and lively reception where the young actress signed in. her heels clicking against the laminated wooden flooring as she followed the operations manager who was indistinctively talking through the black earpiece attached to her ear and was clutching a clipboard to her stomach. a few corridors later they had arrived, the manager twisted the handle to the door and entered, allowing adele to trail behind her.

almost blinding, the room was filled with numerous studio lights. littering the floor almost completely, cables and all different sorts of leads and plugs lay disorganised on the floor. a huge monitor was placed in front of the white screen which was the focus of all the beaming lights. “hey adele!” vocalised the director as he approached her, also bearing a black earpiece. “so the premise of today’s shoot is quite simple. you’re going to be playing the game with our two guests over here,” he briefly motioned towards two gentlemen sat in the corner of the room chatting and chuckling between themselves clearly in a world of their own, “and we’ve paired you with henry because we only have two controllers and we want to get everyone to be involved so the others are being shot later. does that sound good?” he queried, concluded his speech.

“of course.” she eagerly spoke with a grin. “great,” the director spoke as he adjusted his wire-frame glasses, “let me introduce you to the guests. they’re going to be guiding you along with the game,” he spoke, leading adele over towards the boisterous men who were still conversing right up until adele and the director were stood only a few metres away.

“mark?” adele apprehensively suspected as she reached her hand out to his, inviting the suave gentleman to shake hands. “yes!” he answered in a shocked yet pleased tone as he stood to be polite and accepted the handshake with a beaming grin. “i think i watched a bit of your stuff a while back,” adele admitted before briefly catching eyes with the other guy who was staring up at her with gleaming eyes and a dopey yet adorable smile. “i’m honoured,” mark softly spoke before looking down at the other guy who was now standing to follow suit. “this is my friend ethan,” mark continued, placing a firm grip on his pal's shoulder.

“hi, nice to meet you.” ethan spoke in a much more gentle manner than mark did as he reached his hand out to replicate the greeting. “nice to meet you too,” she replied, reciprocating the greeting. “have you watched my stuff too?” ethan asked with a bashful smile as he ruffled his hair with his painted black fingernails. adele hesitantly shook her head not wanting to hurt his feelings, “no, but if it’s anything like mark’s stuff i’m certain it’s great.” she stated looking back at mark who had an affirming smirk on his face as he looked down at his younger friend who’s face had started to flush pink.

“henry is meant to be here right now, but he isn’t,” the director addressed somewhat annoyingly, “i’ll go and have a word to see where he is you can just stay here and talk to each other.” the director stated before hurriedly making his way to the door which adele entered through. she sat down in one of the spare seats that sat opposite the boys as they sat down once more.

“can i just say i watched the trailer this morning and i can’t wait to watch it.” he admitted as he began to pull at the strings of his coal-black hoodie. “thank you, it really means a lot,” adele’s cheeks blushed as she began to fiddle with the rings on her fingers yet still keeping her eyes on the boys. “seriously. we’re not just saying this it looks fantastic,” mark chirped in enthusiastically as he leaned forward in the seat, “i’m never usually this excited about a new series. so congrats!” he admitted with a deep chuckle, looking towards ethan who was nodding in agreement.

the conversation was silenced when a huge figure walked through the door followed by the director and operations manager. the director hastily wagged his fingers at adele and the boys who obediently made their way over. “adele!” henry happily bellowed in his charming english accent as he pulled her into a gentle hug, remembering he probably was over two times her size. “long time no see,” she affirmed as she hugged him back before breaking their embrace. her eyes involuntarily wandered over to ethan as the director began briefing henry. ethan quickly darted his eyes to the director as if he just hadn’t been gazing at her causing adele to grin to herself as she put her concentration back to the director.

“great, so follow me and i’ll seat you.” the director asserted as he walked towards the chairs in front of the white screen, two at the front and two at the back yet not parallel to each other. the front seats were more centred whilst the back two were offset so nobody would be getting in the way of each other when seated.

“adele if you sit in the front left seat, henry in the right.” he requested as he took a step behind the camera and watched the monitor to see if it was what he had envisioned. adele and henry sat which the director reacted with a thumbs up. “okay, ethan if you sit on the left and mark on the right please.” the director concluded as he continued to watch the monitor. the boys did as they were told before mark immediately remarked. “gosh it’s bright behind here,” he joked shielding his eyes as he laughed, eliciting a few giggles from everyone as the director adjusted some of the studio light placement with a few apprentices.

after everything was adjusted to the directors liking, they were ready to roll. the director placed his 3 fingers up as he counted down whilst mouthing the numbers. the thumb was up, which meant everyone introduced themselves and surprisingly it didn’t need multiple takes. “today, adele and i are going to be playing the symbols of shadows game which is very similar to the new series on netflix september 4th.” henry beamed, clutching the xbox controller in his hand as he looked over towards adele. “and i’m going to win. i’m going to beat henry.”

henry scoffed, dismissing adele’s statement as mark and ethan giggled behind them. “we’re also going to try to help, but it looks like they’re gaming experts,” mark spoke, wavering his tone with the last two words as he jokingly mocked adele and henry. “well, there’s only one way to find out.” ethan spoke energetically in a slightly goofier voice than what he was speaking in before. ethan looked at mark before they both turned towards the camera with a raised eyebrow. “okay great. we’ll cut there. let’s load the game up.” the director approved, leaning back in his chair, fixing his corduroy jacket as one of the apprentices loaded the game up and set up the first level. “we just want you to complete the first level so don’t try and rush.” the apprentice handed back the controller to adele as he quickly rushed out of view.

the camera began to roll again and the pair began to get a grasp of the controls and the setting of the game as they intentionally tried to set each other up in the game: pushing one another of the map, friendly fire, stealing points and collectables, and deliberately annoying each other which resulted in many laughs around the room. matter-of-factly, ethan and mark didn’t really do anything to help, however, they did make for a great commentary and supplied multiple belly-aching jokes.

the screen faded to black as they’d finished the first level; mark and ethan clapped and congratulated the pair in between giggles as adele and henry carried on the bit and refused to display any means of sportsmanship. “guys, i don’t know about you but i definitely won.” henry retaliated as adele shook her head and rolled her eyes. mark and ethan were laughing so hard it was almost silent. “this was a team game,” mark giggled as the pitch in his voice heightened. “let us know in the comments who you think won. because it was moi.” adele stated confidently, trying to hide the smile that wanted to appear on her lips so badly. the pair promoted their netflix series as they wrapped up filming. “okay, great. that’s everything. thanks, guys.” the director spoke as he picked up his macbook from the desk and began typing away. “if you just wait here until someone comes and collects you,” the director struggled to speak as he was too busy multitasking. he pressed the side of his earpiece and spoke to himself as he called for the cast to be escorted.

“you’re really good, i was impressed.” ethan spoke to adele softly, as everyone got out of their seats. “you really like to flatter me don’t you.” she joked which caused ethan to halter in his thoughts for a moment. “it’s not a bad thing,” she reassured him, “it’s really nice to hear. especially coming from you.” delicately spoke, eyes quickly moving over to see if anyone was listening but mark and henry were engulfed in their own conversation. ethan’s cheeks flushed pink again as he displayed a meek grin.

he was about to respond when the door re-opened and the manager stepped through, immediately grabbing everyone else’s attention. ethan bit at his lip as anguish washed over his face as he realised the conversation was over. adele was disinclined for a moment, lingering for a few more seconds as the butterflies in her stomach began to fade. “it was nice talking to you. talk soon?” she asked which brightened up ethan’s face as he nodded, “of course. see you soon.” he timorously spoke with a contemptuous smile as he waved goodbye, for now.

[selfmadesuperhero]

i’m very much not okay 

and i’ll probably take very long for me to explain why

i don’t know how to write this. i don’t know where to even start. i’m here because i just don’t have anywhere else to go. i can’t afford therapy. i no longer have any close friends other than Mabu (gf).

it’s getting pretty bad inside my head

i know most people’s lives are hell this year and i’m not special. i know that. to me, this year is feeling like the last nail in my coffin because 2019 had already chewed me up and spit me out. 

i kept my last job for eight years. after my first year there, another developer came in, and we became friends. we worked side by side less than 4 feet apart for six years. our hours were flexible but we always agreed upon our schedule just so work would be more bearable, because we both hated it and often had to team up against our boss’ downright abuse. it was a very small company (at its biggest we were only 7 employees). we were also going to graduate at the same time from the same school (different majors), so we had a bit of a pact to leave our shitty boss once we’d graduated and start developing our own, way less shitty games.

at the start of 2019, he got an excellent job offer. i was thrilled for him and told him to of course get out of that hellhole we hated so much, we were only there because the pay was decent and the hours were flexible so we could get our degree, you know? it stung, but i was happy for him. on the last day i gave him a ride home (which is also something i did almost daily), he surprised me by hugging me and telling me i was like a brother to him and our plans weren’t going to change. 

i believed him, and went back to work. he was soon replaced, obviously, by a junior developer because that’s how capitalism works. but suddenly, i no longer had someone to take a stand with me against my boss - there was no one left that i knew, everyone had resigned or been fired and i was the oldest employee. you’d think that’d earn me something, after eight years being dedicated to the same company, right? 

(shortly after, my grandma passed, after years and years of agonizing in a wheelchair. we lived together)

fuck that

the first months were fine. i was being the senior developer and teaching the junior constantly, so my boss stayed out of my way. but see, this is where he started to get ansty. the more the junior stopped being a junior and was actually useful for something, the more that piece of gigantic ass just started thinking only about our salaries. i started in that company in 2012 making little more than 3 bucks/hour (remember i live in a third world country, but it was still specialized work), but by 2019, my salary was pretty much double of what the junior was making, and every penny extra i got during those years was a CONQUEST. i also worked six hours while he worked eight, so.

my boss basically started treating me even more like shit. he wasn’t nice to be around before, but he was bearable in small amounts. suddenly it was obvious to everyone that he was really fixating on me and my performance, and to me it was obvious he just wanted me to walk away too so he could replace me with TWO junior developers instead of just one measly charlie. 

then, the nationals elections began. oh boy.

this probably wouldn’t read as news to anyone, but i’m a huge leftie, obviously. if you’re at all interested in politics, read about what socialist policies have done for uruguay during the past 15 years and how they turned us into AT LEAST a developing country, but i digress. 

the people that sat in my office even shared my political views or whatever, but my boss is actually part of the conservative party and started actively campaigning. every time something involving politics happened, he made a point to come barging in the office and telling me and specifically me about it like i was personally running against his party. i actually recorded him once to have proof of him at least screaming at me, so i could check if i was crazy for thinking he had something against me. he frequently called me communist and just mocked my views. if you’re wondering, yes, this is illegal, but nothing happened. 

then, two big things happened at once: we lost the election, and my recently adopted puppy was diagnosed with distemper. yes, it happened on the same that and it’s a day i’ll never forget. 

my girlfriend and i had talked about getting a puppy once we moved in together. we’d named him like two years before it actually happened. we moved in together on may 2019 and on september i found the most precious boy for adoption on facebook and i was innocently all like “oh i’ve had to put rescue dogs for adoption before, let’s give back!”. 

on october 27th, he had a seizure and the vet told us it was likely we’d have to put him down because only 20% of dogs survived, and it was even less for puppies. 

when i went to work, i had to put up with my boss laughing and mocking me for winning the election “against me”. i guess i missed my running for anything?

this post is already too long for me to get into details about my dog’s disease. for months, every day we looked after him constantly. i read everything there was to BE READ about distemper online, spent thousands of pesos on medicine and treatments just in case he had a chance. good news is he did! this is the only positive note in this post. 

it still wasn’t easy. he made us cry at least three times a day. we really thought he was dying, and we’d made the mistake of naming him 2 years before he was even born. we’d taken PERFECT care of him while he was unvaccinated, but the vet told us it was most likely he was already infected before he came home to us. i’d never seen such a small puppy so sick. he hallucinated constantly. if you don’t know, distemper is a neuro/digestive/skin/bone/HELL disease that’s really nasty. he’d have seizures almost daily and poop and pee himself. he stopped being able to control his body other than his two front legs, which he didn’t even have full control of. when he stopped being able to walk, he started crying constantly, it really tore the heart out of my chest

we called another vet, a dog physical therapist, so she’d tell us how we could help him. she told us to make him stand as long as possible, so every time he had a meal, i’d bend down with him and hold his hips - so he’d be able to stand, and slowly gain back some muscle mobility. every day we massaged his legs and flexed his joints, even his tiny toes, so he’d avoid atrophy. and we did it!! as i’m writing this, he’s one year old now, he’s no longer sick even if he’ll carry with him plenty of lifelong sequels, and he walks and runs and barks like the best of them ♥ i wasn’t going to plug anything but if you wanna see his progress, it’s on instagram @hamiltonthefighter

okay, i guess i ended up talking at length about his disease in the end, sorry. his walking again had a price to pay for me: my own back. for two or three months i was bent over this dog, you know? i still can’t get out of bed without help sometimes lol around december it got really bad but i just kept popping pills because joy oh joy, i was doing my thesis and i didn’t really have time or money for anything else. my job was basically paying for our rent, my university classes including the thesis course which was ridiculously expensive, and our dog had given me credit card debt out of desperation (we even had to buy those rubber things used for yoga to place on our floors so he’d have something to use his nails against instead of constantly slipping on the floor, we tried every medication that might help, we gave him CBD oils, all kinds of vitamins, constant vet visits where during the first two weeks he got like three different shots every day, etc)

i’m rambling, and i’m sorry, but i don’t really think anyone will read this. i started this post crying my eyes out and writing about my dog at least has been calming, because even if he’s a drooling mess now, he’s still the same he ever was and i love him very much and he’s sleeping soundly next to me and he’s finally close to fine. 

remember the friend i talked about like half an hour ago? the one that worked with me for six years? nothing changed between us during the first months. for my thesis, i was going to develop a videogame with Mabu, but we were allowed to have external coding help because it was about GameDev, not the actual coding. i knew how to code, obviously, but Nico (the friend, guess we’ll give him a name) was also part of our project so he was gonna help us code so i had more time to focus on art and 3D modelling. the idea was kill two birds with one stone, make something we all liked, mabu and I were going to graduate with it and then we’d keep working on it during 2020 as we’d always always talked about.

by december, even if nico and i still talked regularly, i could tell he had just moved on with his life. he’d said he’d help us, but he was doing his own thesis, so i told him not to worry at that time, our final due date was in february. he asked us to forgive him during december and promised us he’d come back in january to DEVOTE himself to the project. i started coding the project besides working on the art and i was thankfully able to meet all the deadlines, so it was really fine, of course i understood where he was coming from. 

then, on january 7th, Mabu’s grandma passed away. she was scheduled for a heart surgery that supposedly only had 1% risk, and she passed on the table because of a doctor’s mistake. the surgery was here in the capital, but Mabu’s family lives five hours away. she comes from a very big, very loving family, and her grandma (being the mother of five children) was very much the center of it. i also loved her. she’d replaced my grandma the second she passed and every time i saw her she hugged me like i was a lost grandson. 

when my girlfriend called me during her surgery, i immediately left work because i just knew she would be crying if things were okay. this was a nightmare come alive for a family of 20+ people, and most of them were 5 hours away from their own house. my mother in law was (and still is) devastated by the lost of her mother because she was the one to encourage the surgery and she still thinks she killed her. i drove my her, my girlfriend, her sister and her sister’s boyfriend on my mother’s in law van for five hours while they all cried or slept and i had to really, really pinch myself because i was EXHAUSTED but what else could i do? 

logically i missed work the next day. LOGICALLY. i had the service to attend and i was 5 hours away from the office and i didn’t even have my own car with me. i told my boss to discount the day, since i wasn’t entitled to the mourning day by law because it wasn’t my grandma. he didn’t even reply - he almost never talked to me by this point unless it was to berate me for something. i went back to work the day after the service.

now, remember we were doing our thesis and it was due in february? it really wasn’t great timing for anyone to die, but i was trusting Nico’s promise that he’d have more free time and he’d make up for not helping us code sooner. i told him the news about Mabu’s grandma, and then basically had to tell him to say something to her for her loss because he was supposed to be her friend, what the fuck, why aren’t you at least sending her a text.

let’s just say, january wasn’t a great month for Mabu and myself. two weeks after the passing, we still hadn’t had news from Nico. Mabu didn’t even have time to properly mourn because we had to turn our thesis in like, little over a month. i wrote to nico just downright ASKING if he was gonna be able to help us or WHAT, to which he said to me...

he’d never promised anything because he was really busy with his own stuff and he didn’t want to bring it up sooner because he knew Mabu was mourning and things were hard for us at the moment? 

like that’s great pal, thanks for telling me at the last POSSIBLE second you were just dropping out altogether, what the actual fuck? it still baffles me that someone can be so thick headed, but he kept saying he had made no promises and both Mabu and I knew that was a lie and i honestly just couldn’t deal with someone so selfish he couldn’t at least give a heads up sooner

the icing on the cake during the beginning of this year is someone i haven’t even mentined: MY PIECE OF SHIT BROTHER. talking about him may deserve another post, because this is already so long and convoluted and i haven’t even talked about his involvement in my misery during 2019-2020. i’ll try to make the story short if anyone’s still reading this far: 

a lot of years ago, our maternal grandmother moved to uruguay from russia and bought a tiny shitty house here next to my mother’s. my mother still hasn’t talked to me since 2013 because i’m trans, but that’s neither here nor there. i tried to keep in touch with my brother (we don’t share dads so he was no relation with my side of the family), and around 2017 i finally succeeded in making friends with him. or so i thought, clearly. 

that grandmother passed... sometime. i don’t really know because they cut me off. she didn’t speak to me either, she was literally a crazy old nasty woman and i didn’t even care when i heard she’d died, to be honest. she was such a nasty woman, she’d put her tiny shitty house to my and my brother’s name just to keep her own daughter out of the inheritance when she bought it. 

that also meant i was inheriting something for the first time ever, even if it was shitty. BUT my brother had his own fake grandma (the woman who looked after him his whole life instead of our mother) who was very old and frail and asked me if he could house her there. i said yes because again, i didn’t give a shit about the inheritance or the house or anything regarding my mother’s side of the family (other than him obviously), so for years this woman occupied the house. my brother basically took all existing furniture and appliances because he was moving in with a girlfriend and i even loaded up my shitty car with his stuff. all i wanted to inherit was the couch set, which had come all the way from russia and everyone had promised me since i was a wee lad, but he started whining about his fake-grandma not having a living room set and nowhere to sit and i didn’t even live by myself yet so i let them have the fucking couches, too. 

oh boy this is already too long but now i’m too lazy to make a separate post

anyway, sometime during 2019, the woman moved out to an old folks home because she could no longer take care of herself. i immediately asked about the couch set with hope in my heart that it could finally be mine, but my brother told me our mother didn’t want me to have it. 

he wanted to rent the house to make a profit, which sounded good to me because of that dog related credit card debt i talked about. and here’s where you might think i’m not that there in the head, but all my life i didn’t want anything to do with that house until my mother was in the ground - not out of hate but because i thought it was a shitty thing her own mother had done to her, and the inheritance should have been hers. she doesn’t have a degree or a stable job because she’s a russian translator so hey, whatever, they needed it more than i did. but then my brother starting getting ideas about improving the house so we’d make more money, and how we should do it together, and... i think i might have mentioned already why i didn’t exactly have time to redo a house? i was doing my thesis? about to graduate? my boss was constantly on my case? my dog was about to die? 

i helped as much as i could at first, but then december came, and then january, and my brother just kept nagging me about the house like i was purposefuly sitting on my ass doing nothing, because oh every day it’s not rented it’s money lost. no amount of explaining how stretched thin i was seemed to suffice, not even when mabu’s grandma died and nico left us hanging with the thesis and i had less than a month left to code the whole project by myself while ALSO taking care of the art. 

by the end of january, i was so stressed, i called a doctor after a panic attack. he gave me a weeks rest because of my back, because i wasn’t even able to get up without help at that time. it wasn’t much of a rest because i still used that time to sit at the computer and code 15 hours a day at LEAST, but hey. 

it was the first time in 8 years i’d taken medical leave of ANY kind. i didn’t even get medical leave when i got my chest surgery. it happened on a friday and i was back to work the next monday. i’d never skipped more than 2 days of work at best when i had a bad case of the flu or something, but that was it. 

when i went back to work, my boss immediatelly called me to his office. he started berating me about my performance again, bringing graphs comparing the amount of lines of code i’d written next to my coworkers. i didn’t mention this, but the graphic designer had also quit during 2019, so i was also covering that workload and no, that didn’t exactly translate to lines of code. i also had to spend HOURS every day tutoring the junior because he was too much of a cheap shit (didn’t use those words) to hire an experienced developer. i’d even WORKED AS A GRAPHIC DESIGNER FOR MEDIA CONTENT FOR HIS POLITICAL CAREER, EVEN IF IT WAS AGAINST MY BELIEFS AND NOT AT ALL RELATED TO MY JOB. he denied everything. EVERYTHING. he stuck to the narrative that i was just lazy and the proof was i’d just taken AN ENTIRE WEEK because “my back just hurt a little” and i had the audacity to skip work for someone else’s grandmother dying

i’m not exaggerating, i swear to anyone who might be reading this. that day was brutal and i’m still not over it half a year later, i don’t care if that makes me sound like a wuss. i worked eight years of my life in this fucking place. 

this argument lasted for hours, but i kept my head down because i couldn’t afford to lose the job, specially not then. i even apologized for any loss in performance and tried to explain my point of view and what i was going through (which i’d already done to another superior weeks ago anyway). but just when i thought i’d MAYBE be able to keep my head above water, he told me he was denying my the request i’d made to take two weeks of holiday days before the thesis final due date. 

i had already explained everything to him. everything, even nico dropping the team and my having to do everything by myself. i broke down and i told him he was forcing me to leave my job, i’d just have been certified by a doctor and i was asking for leave for SCHOOL (all things that are protected by law here), but he just kept repeating i could either walk away from my job or show up during those two weeks. he just wanted me gone, but he couldn’t fire me right away without having to pay me THOUSANDS because of my seniority (by law). he knew what he was doing to me and he didn’t care about it. he didn’t even let me TOUCH MY COMPUTER, he told me he wasn’t the one pushing me away, that i was doing this to myself, and he’d ask for a lawyer to check my computer for any “inconsistencies in my activity”, even. i really have a hard time just thinking about that day and how utterly humilliating it was. i lost a lot of personal files, because i sat at that desk for eight years and of course i had personal files because sometimes i stayed after hours before going to class. 

imagine for a second a sixty year old man, rich as shit, political candidate, standing in front of a computer, disconnecting the mouse and keyboard so i couldn’t touch it, yelling at me i was doing this to myself and i was losing my job because i had the audacity to ask for two weeks leave to finish my fucking school thesis. 

and yeah, i lawyered up. i didn’t have actual money to AFFORD a lawyer, but mabu’s cousin’s girlfriend was a lawyer and lived one block away and i immediatelly told her everything there was to tell. she brought me to the firm she worked in and they guaranteed me i had a pretty strong case and i was at least gonna be able to walk away with something.

that put things in hold for a while because the “trial” or whatever wasn’t gonna be held until after the thesis, so i tried to forget about it. my boss even owed me my untaken paid vacation days, which i told the lawyers because i was pretty sure he’d just forgot, but i wanted to know if it made a better case against him. they agreed, and i left it at that. 

but you know who was still making my life miserable even when february began and i had less than three weeks to finish our project right? MY SWEET BABY BRO. he was constantly nagging me about having to do all the work himself, like I’D ASKED ANYTHING FROM THAT HOUSE TO BEGIN WITH. but see, the nastier he started getting, the more apparent his lies began to appear. he got nasty to the level where ON THE DAY I WAS TURNING THE PROJECT IN he kept calling me demanding MONEY for stuff he’d paid for the house without checking in with me. i was honestly baffled by his level of selfishness, i was already sleeping three hours a day tops and he expected me to what, paint walls? he was FIERCELY against having to wait for my project to be done even if it was two weeks away and he was asking and asking for money when i’d just told him i’d lost my job without a penny to show for it. nice guy, really. 

suddenly, the following lies became clear: 

 my mother didn’t care if i took the couch set, he told me that because he was moving again and he was planning on taking the couches himself. (he ended up doing just so, too). he lied to me with the thing that hurts me most in the world: my mother hating me. he had even made a joke about it, because my mother had bought a new couch not long ago, and he didn’t “get” why she “didn’t want me to have anything”

 years ago he’d told me he had refinanced a tax debt the house had, and i gave him money for it. now that the house was about to be put up for rent, he pretended that had never happened and suddenly started talking about how we needed to take care of that

 he wasn’t planning on splitting the rent three ways between him, our mother and i. he was gonna keep two thirds, and i later even found out my own mother had given him the idea. 

 then poor mabu confessed to me once, two years ago, she’d wore a skirt one time visiting my brother and his then girlfriend, and he had told her nasty stuff to her year upon saying goodbye and she had never said anything because didn’t want to hurt our sibling relationship 

talk about final nail huh? 

i confronted him and he denied everything, obviously, he instantly played the victim card, how dare i think that way about him, how dare i break his dreams of reuniting the family again. he said things to me i’ll also never forget like, apparently, it shows that i’m a shit person because i have no friends and no one wants me around, unlike him that has so many. he told me i thought the world owed me when i was shit and i believed anything anyone told me before believing him. no one told me any of his lies, i caught them all by myself, but whatever. he cursed me and told me he never wanted anything to do with me because i was rotten and i only cared about money and i was so so selfish. this must have been around march and i still don’t know anything from him, or care.

what do i have to do for that side of the family to leave me alone, i wonder? all i ever wanted to do was be his friend

the “trial” against my boss came and suddenly every lawyer that worked at that firm was taking a fucking holiday except for the one that was supposedly leading my case - except suddenly, i didn’t have much of a case at all. i walked away with less than 2 thousand dollars and that was WITH the vacation days i hadn’t taken. the agreement was the lawyers were gonna keep 25% of however much i made but THAT vacation money wasn’t supposed to count because it didn’t come out of the “trial” thing, you know? 

well, it did. the lawyer screwed me over too. but hey, at least he’d gotten me unemployment for a couple of months (you only apply for unemployment if you’re fired, not if you walk away from a job, and my having been fired or not was what was being contested), i still tried to be optimistic, i had a few months to figure things out while i looked for another job, and at least i was able to finish paying for school with that money.

yeah, this was late february, beginning of march. joke’s on me for being optimistic at all

my own brother plotting with my own mother against me has done a number for my mental health. i already had baggage aplenty, like every trans dude or girl whose parents would rather see them dead than be a dyke/fag (my mother’s own words, ladies and gents)

my boss of eight years kicking me to the curve at the worst moment in my life in the most humilliating of ways while blaming me for it has left me feeling so worthless to people in general. i’m getting better with time, i think, but i’m still all not there. i have a really hard time thinking my work is worth anything at all.

i keep thinking my brother was right, and i’m a shitty friend, and i don’t deserve anyone around. my only real friend at the moment is my girlfriend, which makes it really hard to have any arguments because i start feeling like my life is ending because she’s pretty much all i have left and she’s the most important thing in the world to me because i wouldn’t have survived all this shit i’m writing without her by my side. i would walk to hell and back for her. but nico also left me behind without a second thought, after telling me i was like a brother to him, no matter how many times i invited him to hang out or anything to keep in touch. i’ve been a shitty friend to a lot of people, but not him, and he still didn’t care about me at all, so i just stopped trying. 

but now social distancing has got me all fucked up. i can’t trust people. i can’t go outside. everything is scary to me, i have at least two or three panic attacks per WEEK and they get nastier and longer every time. i know i need help, but i can’t even afford rent, let alone therapy. Uruguay has the worst unemployment rates since 2006 now thanks to our baby-Trump right now. i look for jobs daily even if the notion of having a job even SIMILAR to the one i had before gives me the shakes. programming isn’t as hard as some people may think, but the workplaces are usually VERY toxic because you’re valued by the amount of lines of code you write, and i’m so so tired. i’m still looking because I NEED. TO. PAY. RENT. but not because it’s something i want in life, at all. i’d much rather be poor and just do freelance work instead, but i’m failing.

i thank the people that have helped me or commissioned me these past few months from the bottom of my heart. i’m sorry i’m not more active, i’m sorry i’m still rusty and can’t draw faster, i’m sorry i sometimes spend half a day crying my eyes out because i just don’t know how to move forward. i have a week left, i still haven’t made enough for rent, let alone the bills or food. mabu used to get plenty of art commissions on etsy, but she hasn’t sold anything since march either and she’s younger than me so our financial struggles have an even deeper impact on her

i’m just so, so tired. i’m lucky to have mabu, and that is about it. i honestly don’t think i could have survived this year without her. for months the future has looked like a black screen to me. i can’t even trust the vegetable market in front of my fucking house because some piece of shit spread the rumor that i’m trans and now i can’t even open the door to my front house without getting stares sometimes, it’s ridiculous. i wish i could trust more than one person in the world so that everything wasn’t on her shoulders.

i’m not okay. we’re not okay.

that’s about it. i’m sorry i can’t end this on a more positive note. at least we graduated with an excellent score. not that we had a graduation, obviously. thanks corona.

thank you for reading if you read this far ♥

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 13: A Minor Case of Major Brain Damage

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: In which Thomas takes a trip through the past.

Chapter Warnings: Unethical Experimentation, Non-Consenting Test Subjects, Semi-Suicidal Ideation

Falling.

You don’t know for how long you’ve been falling, but it feels like far longer than a person should be able to fall, and when you look down you still can’t see the bottom. The elevator shaft is just small enough that you could probably brush your fingers on either side if you stretched your arms out, but unlike last time no plastic tubing appears to whisk you off to somewhere else Occasionally you pass an open floor, but they whizz by too quickly for you to see much of anything.

Just like your previous fall down this shaft, below you is obscured in darkness, the true depth of the shaft a mystery. You guess you’ll finally get to see what’s at the bottom, one way or another.

You close your eyes and steady your breathing for what could be seconds or minutes, trying not to think about what’s coming. Then there’s a jolt accompanied by a massive crash, and your world tilts and goes black.

Groaning, you blink your eyes open as the world gradually fades into focus. Above you, a vertical tunnel stretches into infinity, broken boards hanging off the edges from where you apparently broke through. The metal elevator shaft is not embedded in a wall or ceiling as you would expect but rather hanging down into open air; the actual ceiling of this room is so far above you, you can’t even see it. Instead, the distance above you looks hazy, almost like you’re outside on a cloudy day.

You sit up, checking yourself over and finding no visible wounds, though your body feels like one massive bruise. The Portal Gun is lying next to you and you pick it up, turning it over in your hands and finding no indication that it’s broken.

So, the good news is you’ve officially survived the fall intact. The bad news is, you’re trapped in the bowels of a facility that’s about to self-destruct, and by the look of this elevator shaft you’re not likely to find transportation back up.

The area surrounding you couldn’t be more different from the rest of the Aperture Science facility if it tried. Where the test chambers were sleek and sophisticated, this looks almost like a junkyard, all twisted metal and crumbled stone. If this place is even part of the actual facility, it hasn’t been used for a long time.

You couldn’t have picked a better place to really make you realize how truly alone you now are.

You’ve felt alone before. It can be hard to remember, now that you’ve become used to one of not many friends peering over your shoulder, giving advice and making jokes at your- or each others’- expense, but when you first woke up here it was to large, empty chambers with no company other than a distant Voice. You remember how relieved you were when you first met Logan, how worried you were every time he or the others left, terrified that this time they wouldn’t come back.

And yet, during all that time you never were as alone as you thought you were. Janus was watching you the whole time, giving his sarcastic two cents even as he tried to pretend to be distant and robotic, and the others never even considered abandoning you like you feared.

Now, you’re much too far away for Janus to see you, even if he was still in a position to be able to do so. Not that he would want anything more to do with you anyways, not after you betrayed the trust he so rarely gives in the first place. And as for the others, well. They were always going to side with Patton over you, weren’t they?

God, Patton. It’s hard to believe your optimistic, friendly companion could have become the nightmarish entity that just tried to take your freedom once again. You should have had him taken out of there at the first sign of trouble, should have done something to help him instead of just watching as your friend was subsumed by whatever malignant consciousness exists in this place. But you didn’t do anything when he needed you most, and now it’s too late. Too late for him, and too late for you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to lie back down, try to sleep and forget until the facility blows up and comes crashing down on top of you. Or, failing that, until you die of hypothermia or thirst. Why bother trying to find your way out of here, when all your previous attempts only hastened your inevitable demise? Can’t you just rest, for once in your short post-cryosleep life?

But even as you consider the thought, something in you rejects it, some deep survival instinct that refuses to let you just lay down and die. You owe it to the others, owe it to Patton, to see this through, even if the inevitable end is your death.

Sighing, you tentatively push yourself to your feet as your legs groan in protest and, not sure what else to do, begin picking your way through it, looking for a way out, or at least forward.

You make your way through the rubble, navigating your way around walls, fences and pits using carefully placed portals. The ground slopes gradually down, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the facility, and as you continue to descend you start to pass signs, saying ominous things like Keep Out and Do Not Enter.

You probably should be at least a little concerned about that, but you can’t muster up the energy to really care. Your feet stamp out a regular rhythm on the ground, right-left-right-left, and you lose yourself in the monotony of walking as you move further downward. Eventually, you come to a metal door, similarly marked with warning stickers, and with some carefully placed portals through broken windows are able to move past it, into what's hidden behind.

Walking through the final door, you find yourself entering what appears to be some kind of waiting room, faded and decayed with age. As you watch, a large metal piece falls off a large iron sign hanging above the room, a piece you belatedly realize is the shape of the Aperture Science logo.

A voice suddenly sounds from the speakers, making you jump.

Welcome, gentlemen, to Aperture Science. Astronauts, war heroes, Olympians- you’re here because we want the best, and you are it. So: Who is ready to make some science?

The voice chuckles, and you glance around yourself, confused. It doesn’t sound like anyone you've spoken with during the time you've been awake, and has a different quality to it than the announcements you’re used to hearing- tinny and faded, like an old-timey radio announcer, but despite all that it still twinges a recognition deep within you, like this is someone you used to know.

Now, you already met one another on the limo ride over, so let me introduce myself. I’m Cave Johnson. I own the place.

There’s a thousand tests performed every day here in our enrichment spheres. I can’t personally oversee every one of them, so these pre-recorded messages’ll cover any questions you might have, and respond to any incidents that may occur in the course of your science adventure. Those of you helping us test the repulsion gel today, just follow the blue line on the floor. Those of you who brought in your pets for behavior therapy, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that they definitely won’t be chewing your shoes anymore. The bad news is it’s because they don’t really have teeth. Or mouths. Or head. Very well behaved, though! Anyways, so long for now, and happy testing!

You wait for a few more moments, but the recording- if it is actually that, and not another AI trying to trick you- seems to have stopped.

You look around again at the old waiting room surrounding you- a piece of history, Aperture Science when it was run by humans and their recorded announcements rather than the AIs who populate otherwise abandoned test chambers. You guess it makes sense that there must have been humans in this place once- the abandoned offices are proof enough of that, and Logan mentioned that he and the others were made by and from humans.

Your heart twinges, and you shove down thoughts of the others. You're on your own now, might as well make the best of it and push forwards.

The doors leading forward are high in the walls and the catwalks used to reach them have fallen away with age, but you’re able to finagle your way to them anyways by riding an elevator in the center of the room upwards and then using the momentum from jumping down the shaft to fling yourself over. It’s so weird to think that you used to be afraid of a simple one-story fall.

The old recording whirrs back to life as you enter the next chamber. Welcome to our next test on the Repulsion Gel, Cave Johnson’s voice says. Now, the boys over at Medical told me we should be giving testers regular drink breaks and not carrying out testing for more than four hours at a time. Well I think I speak for all you fine fellas when I say we’re not going to let a buncha namby-pamby whitecoat bigwigs get in the way of our science! If you pass out, we’ll send a retrieval bot to pick you up and carry you off to the nursery with the other babies. Now let’s get going!

In front of you is a test chamber. It’s older, with walls made out of metal and concrete rather than the sleek, moveable tiles that made the test chambers you’re familiar with, but still recognizable.

You start laughing, hard enough that you need to sit down. Even down here, even with no one else around, you’re still testing. Playing the good little lab rat, solving puzzles while you wait for the scientist to pull the plug. That’s all you’ve ever done here, isn’t it?

You take some big, whooping breaths, trying to calm yourself. You’re not sure how you know to do it, but you start counting breaths: in for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight. It takes a bit of time, but eventually you are able to get yourself to calm down, your aching abdomen the only sign that you lost control of your emotions.

Looking at the test chamber in front of you again, you notice that it’s astonishingly easy- jumping and then bouncing off the blue gel to get to the other side of a gap. You breathe deep again, closing your eyes and steeling yourself. You’ve done test chambers where you flung yourself across giant rooms filled with toxic sludge while turrets shot at you in the air; you can handle a few antique ones down here. Then you open your eyes and take a running jump.

Welcome to the Enrichment Center, Cave Johnson’s tired voice says. As you’ve made your way through the abandoned offices and test chambers that make up this old place, you’ve listened to his recordings become less enthusiastic, more run down, listened to him start talking about things like stolen inventions and bankruptcy and being forced to recruit new testers from the streets for practical pocket change. But you’ve never heard him sound quite like this- so raspy and worn he almost seems half-dead.

Since making test participation mandatory for all employees, the quality of our test subjects has risen dramatically. Employee retention, however, has not. He coughs, a harsh, rattling sound that sounds like it must tear at his throat. As a result, you may have heard we're gonna phase out human testing. There's still a few things left to wrap up, though. First up, conversion gel.

The bean counters told me we literally could not afford to buy seven dollars worth of moon rocks, much less seventy million. Bought 'em anyway. Ground 'em up, mixed ‘em into a gel. And guess what? Ground up moon rocks are pure poison- I am deathly ill. Great portal conductors, though. So now we're gonna see if jumping in and out of these new portals can somehow leech the lunar poison out of a man's bloodstream. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. He coughs again, harder. Let's all stay positive and do some science.

The recording clicks off, and you wince. You don’t really like Cave Johnson- he sounds like a bit of a jerk, honestly, and you can’t help but feel he’s at least indirectly responsible for the situation you’re in now- but hearing him like that, sad, hopeless, and slowly dying, is just painful. You find yourself wishing he did manage to get better, though you know that he’s likely long dead by now either way.

Focusing again on the task at hand, you make your way through the abandoned office and out a back door, coming out in old maintenance hallways, all smooth concrete walls striped with metal pipes. You come to a large, round vertical shaft, and while the walls themselves won’t hold portals, there’s enough scaffolding and smooth platforms to let you pick your way up with strategically-placed portals and the careful use of flinging.

Cave Johnson’s voice again fills the shaft when you’re about halfway up. He seems to be… ranting about lemons? And lemon-related weapons that burn people’s houses down? It’s kind of hard to follow when you’re so focused on the task at hand, though you almost find yourself wishing Remus was around- you’re pretty sure he’d get a kick out of it. Remus would enjoy a lot of the stuff down here, actually. The thought is slightly horrifying.

Johnson has collected himself by the time you reach the top, and this time you stop to listen.

The point is: If we can store music on a compact disc, why can't we store a man's intelligence and personality on one? So I have the engineers figuring that out now.

Brain Mapping. Artificial Intelligence. We should have been working on it thirty years ago.

The recording ends. You stand there for a bit, feeling like you’ve been hit over the head with a metal pipe. Artificial Intelligence. He’s talking about creating the program that made the others. Talking about using the program to download his own personality into an AI. Logan had mentioned that he and the others were developed from a human man’s personality, but you hadn’t ever stopped to think about what exactly that meant- that they are all aspects of someone who was a living, breathing person. Someone who was the head of this facility, no less.

Could you see the others in him? Remus, definitely, with his love of weird and dangerous science. Roman, maybe, in how dramatic Johnson seemed to have been, and Janus with his disregard for people he saw as beneath his notice. Logan and Patton are harder sells; Cave Johnson didn’t seem all that intelligent- rather anti-intellectual, actually- and he certainly wasn’t empathetic or kind. And he definitely wasn’t careful or restrained, either, so Virgil is right out. Maybe extracting certain parts of his brain exaggerated those aspects of his personality?

But then, if Cave Johnson’s goal was to be immortal, why split his personality into component parts in the first place? Why not just download his personality wholesale? Or did that turn out to be impossible?

By now the mystery has dug its claws into you, and you find yourself itching for more answers, more context on how exactly this came about. It’s a nice distraction, at least, from your imminent demise and the fact that none of the people you’re learning about actually want anything to do with you anymore.

And yeah, not thinking about that right now. You shake your head as if it could dispel the painful thoughts, and keep moving.

This time, when you find another stretch of abandoned offices you don’t immediately head back behind them, but instead move within the halls of the facility, using portals to traverse places that are locked or where the floor has fallen in. You move on instinct, maneuvering these hallways like you’ve done it a thousand times. You don’t consciously choose your destination, but aren’t terribly surprised when your steps take you up to an office door, the words CAVE JOHNSON, CEO engraved on a golden plaque at eye level.

The office is locked, so you smash the small office window, then shoot a portal through it to the opposite wall. The office is large but stripped almost bare, with an old computer desk and several file shelves all that remain. There are rectangles on the walls and floor, places where fancy furniture and paintings presumably used to be, and everything is covered with such a thick layer of dust you’re a little afraid if you disturb anything too much you’ll start coughing and not stop.

You move over to the computer, an old, boxy model, and start it up. Miraculously, it still works, and you’re soon greeted with an old DOS screen, black with white lettering asking you to input commands. You sift through Cave Johnson’s file cabinets, sifting through a pile of floppy disks before pulling one out with a victorious cry.

You slip the disk labeled PRE-RECORDED MESSAGES into the computer, then type in the appropriate command and start going through files.

Not having the time or patience to go through every single audio file, you scroll down to the last one and open it, intending to start from the latest created files and go back. You open it and the sound of an old audio recording once again fills the room.

Hello, sir, you wanted to see me?

Your head shoots up. That voice feels intensely familiar, in a way that tickles the back of your mind, but you can’t quite-

Thomas, my boy!

Your breath catches in your throat.

Come in, come in. Take a seat, make yourself at home. Have some tea, if you want.

No thank you, the second voice- YOUR voice- says, I’m more of a coffee person.

Probably a good idea, the last batch was exposed to radiation from Lab C and well, long story short we’re still not certain if it’ll give you bowel cancer. But enough about the unimportant things! I’ve been looking over your files, and I must say I’m impressed- you seem to be quite the renaissance man! A degree in chemical engineering, a relatively successful career in the theatrical arts, a damn near spotless record in our part-time development team, and it looks like you’ve been making quite a stir in the media department’s new short video program. What was it called, Stem? Ivy? No no, don’t tell me, I’ll get it eventually. I doubt that sort of thing will ever catch on anyways. But the point is it shows initiative, which is something I like to see in my employees!

Thank you, sir?

You are quite welcome, you’ve earned it! Now the folks in our tech department have been telling me they want someone with a well-rounded mind for the initial AI development tests, and I think you fit the bill. And you’re not a vital employee, which is good because we’re still not quite sure what being copied into a computer does to your brain. Best case scenario, you wake up from cryosleep in a few weeks with one heck of a headache, worst case scenario is brain death. But hey, chances are at least part of you will get to be immortal, so I’d say that’s a gamble worth taking!

Whoa whoa whoa, hold up. Cryosleep? Brain death?! I didn’t sign up for anything like that. I’m not even a tester!

Now, now, no one’s ever won at life by playing it safe. The AI initiative is our most high profile development right now, being selected to test it is quite the honor! And testing is mandatory for all staff as of last week, so don’t worry about being in the wrong department.

I- It’s not that I’m not honored or anything. But I really just want to go back to my desk. I’m sure you can find someone else, right? Surely someone is better suited to this than me.

I appreciate your humility, Sport, but I’m afraid it wasn’t a request. You’ll thank us eventually. Assuming that you, you know, wake up. Good luck!

Wait, wait no, let go of me! your voice screams, desperate and terrified. Please, please I don’t want this, I don’t want this, WAIT-

The recording fizzles out mid-scream. After a moment, it whirrs back to life.

Right, so you boys should probably edit some of that out in post, Cave Johnson's tired voice says. Every experiment needs initial trials, right? Like a taste tester, but for your brain. Anyways, you've got your subject, so get to work, alright? We- he breaks off into a coughing fit- we don't have much time left. Let me know when things are ready for me. Until then, this is Cave Johnson, signing out.

There’s a few more seconds of white noise, and then a click as the recording comes to a stop, leaving you in silence once more.

Your legs give out from under you and you sit down, hard. Your mind is whirling, the echoes of your own screams still sounding in your head.

How could they do that? How could they just do that? Take you away from everything you’ve ever known, without even leaving you memories of what you’d lost, and for what? So a CEO could get his immortality?

The thought that you had a life before this, that you had a family before this, had occurred to you before- how could it not?- but it always felt distant, unreal, like a dream. But it wasn’t. You had a degree, a career, a life outside of this place. What did the people from that life think when you disappeared? Did Aperture Science tell them you’d died, or just let them wonder what happened to you? Are they still out there, missing you?

You shake your head, forcibly reeling your thoughts in. You’re going to destroy yourself if you keep going like this. You need to pull yourself together.

And once your thoughts stop reeling quite so much, a new thought occurs to you. Johnson said that you were being taken for the AI program- that they were going to copy you into a machine. The Cores said they were made from a human man, and you assumed based on the previous recordings that human man had been Cave Johnson. And maybe they were- Johnson told you they were using you for preliminary testing. Wouldn’t they have moved on to him once they were done with you?

And yet, all sorts of little things are adding up in your brain, things you had noticed but never bothered to linger on- never thought to connect to each other. Singing and performing a theater song with Roman, your voices perfectly in sync. Trading silly puns with Patton. The way your heart would always leap into your throat at the exact time Virgil started giving you trouble. And most painfully, Janus’s parting words: you may act the part of an innocent little lamb, but deep down you’re every bit as devious and cutthroat as I am.

Could the others… be made from you?

Your heart pounds in your chest. You need to find out more. You need to know if this is real, or just wishful thinking. You fish through Johnson’s files, half-frantic, but can’t find anything on the subject.

Then, finally, you find in the paper files a report from the development Project JANUS. It’s short, with no information you didn’t already know, but it does include a scientist’s name and office number in the signature.

A few minutes of searching later, you’re in the scientist’s room, tearing apart their files, until you finally find a file folder labeled TOP SECRET. You flip open to the first page, heart pounding.

The top of the page reads, “Project JANUS”. It’s a diagram of a human brain, with specific sections highlighted, though you don’t know enough about the human brain to figure out their relevance. What really draws your eye, however, is what is written below the diagram.

Subject Name: Thomas Sanders.

The name rings like a bell in your head, something deep inside saying, me. Thomas Sanders. Your name is Thomas Sanders.

Your name is Thomas Sanders, and Janus was created from you.

Hastily, you flip through the next few pages of data charts and diagrams, until you come to the next blueprint, then the next, then the next, growing in speed and excitement as you go.

Project PATHOS, Subject Name: Thomas Sanders. Project LOGOS, Subject Name: Thomas Sanders. Project REMUS, Project ROMULUS, Project VIRGILIUS. Subject Name Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders.

You sit down heavily in the office chair, putting your hands to your face. They’re you. All of them. God, you should have known. You think part of you did know, all along.

Part of you. That’s what they really are, isn’t it? Not you, not exactly, but parts of you. Created from different segments of your brain, different aspects of your personality.

The concept bounces around in your brain, the idea of something meaningful, some other revelation, hovering at the edge of your mind, just out of reach. Something about being parts, aspects of a person’s personality.

Aspects of a person, but not the whole. Self-preservation without the understanding that sometimes other people matter, too. Morality without the practicality to back it up. Creativity without the necessary restraints.

Oh god, you’ve been going about this all wrong. No wonder your plans didn’t work, the very premise was flawed. And wow, that was such a Logan thought, how did you not realize the connection sooner?

You need to get back to the others, right now.

After gathering the file and safely securing it in the folds of your jumpsuit, you take a quick trip back to Cave Johnson’s office with one intention in mind: his PA system. You don’t know if the announcement systems from down here will reach to where the others are, but you have to try. You press the button, ignoring the anxiety churning in your stomach, and speak.

“Hey, everyone. It’s Thomas. I know that some of you are confused and don’t know who you should be siding with right now. I know that for some of you, I have a lot to apologize for. All I ask, is if you ever trusted me at all, to come meet me at the place you introduced me to Remus. Because I have a lot I need to say to you guys, and because I’ve figured it out.”

You take a deep breath, and focus on projecting as much certainty with your voice as you can.

“I know how we can fix this. For good.”