#an almost indecent camera angle

[david-tennant-in-chairs]

Where can I get a 6'1" Scottish cat seeking cuddles?

[deelavis]

asking 13 & 14 for mello/mellonear :) !!!

13. See below the cut for this one because I may have um... gotten a bit carried away.

14.Romance Headcanon

AHhh I'm so happy you asked this one. When is comes to romance I think under all of the anger and walls he puts up, Mello is an incredibly tender and thoughtful person. With his tendency to want to be in control of things and his deep desire to be needed, I think he shows love by taking care of people. From the outside it would still be couched in snark and rudeness, but I think he would do small, everyday things for Near constantly. He'd call Near an idiot for not closing his jacket in the cold, while buttoning it up for him. Berate him for not eating regularly the entire time he's cooking one of the handful of meals that doesn't set off Near's sensory issues. Mello peels the skin off a clementine, carefully picking all the white stringy pith off before handing Near the small sections one by one, and if anyone points out the action he scoffs and say how useless Near is at doing anything for himself. Near knows how bad Mello is at saying how he feels, but it doesn't really matter to him when Mello detangles the knots in his hair so gently and so patiently that it makes Near's heart ache. Near knows what he means.

Even though you asked for Mello, I do have to add that I think that Near is also SO accidently romantic. He remembers very small details about people and also very matter-of-factly states how he feels. So sometimes he just casually drops what he thinks is a normal observation but sounds more like a love poem. Things like "Oh, your meeting went well. When you smiled at me you tucked your hair behind your ear and your eyes crinkled at the edges. It's the smile you give when you accomplish something important." and "There's no one more important to me than you." He doesn't see how he's being romantic when he just stating facts.

*nsft below the cut*

13.Sex Headcanon

I have so many of these at this point I feel like I should start a word of the day style calendar for them lol. I think Mello loves to take photos. Photos of himself, expertly posed in the mirror in a barely there scrap of lingerie that he can e-mail to Near at the least appropriate moments. Photos of Near underneath him, skin all pink and glowing white under the camera's flash. As he takes them he talks about what a shame it would be if they happened to get sent to everyone Near knows, then they would see who he really is. How Mello wants everyone to know that only he can reduce the all mighty Near to a thoroughly fucked, stupid, writhing, mess. But Mello's favorite pictures are the ones of both of them together. He has large ornate mirrors all over his bedroom that are perfect for getting every angle. He loves seeing the contrast of their skin as they press together, watching Near watching him. But instead of looking into Mello's eyes he stares straight at the lens in the reflection, knowing that when Mello looks back at the photos he'll be staring right at him. If he's feeling extra ambitious he might even set up the tripod for a video or two. They do make the distance so much easier when either of them has to go on a business trip without the other. And with canon there's the added risk to it. They have to be so careful to not let their faces get out that the danger of it that feels so indecent. They shouldn't take the risk, but Mello just can't help himself. OH GOD, now I'm just thinking of a scenario where Light almost gets his hands on a photo of them (ALMOST, we don't like sad endings in this house), but it's their homemade porn.

[littleliteraturersj]

Group Photo of the Slashers in Vegas~ (God, I wish I could draw this. HoH:DC)

-Oh man...He'd forgotten all about that.

Forgotten all about the group photo they had taken from the boys' trip. It was the same image that looked back at him now, and the very same he had saved to be his background before they had all gotten locked up in Hell. It showed a literal shoulder-to-shoulder line-up of everyone that had been there, himself and the leprechaun included. A flashy billboard above their heads in the dark pronounced exactly where the photo had been taken, and every one of them had their backs to the flash of the camera capturing the moment:

Michael Myers, himself, the fuckin’ leprechaun they had met, Freddy Krueger wearing his human glamour, and the Creeper-

All lined up in that order, posing in front of a tall fountain. Standing in the yellow and pink wash of light from the large sign above them, every bright bulb exclaimed; ~The Hideaway~

And vividly showcased in the flash? Amidst the glare of the motel sign they had been staying at? The real jewel of the snapshot? Save for Creeper, was every single one of their bare asses.

Jason Voorhees had been almost out of frame, far too shy and indignant to participate in the wildly inappropriate pose they had agreed to; Keeping his distance from the potential sprays of the fountain and their brazen, intentionally indecent display. The rest of ‘em though? Drunk off their balls, the rest of them had been convinced it seemed like the best idea that they had had all night. A memento. Something to capture such an incredibly rare occasion. Thus, the last stop of their night.

Michael’s head appeared leaned back at an almost lazy angle, one dark eyehole catching the imaginary photo taker just in time, the hair of his mask hopelessly fucked and ruffled. The majority of his overalls had been pushed under the swell of his ass, with its sleeves tied around his waist.

Chucky, as his usual classy self, had elected a classic double middle finger to the camera with a broad sneer to match. The denim overalls had been unbuttoned from the top and left to hang.

Basil, the clover-hating fuck, had gone with widened eyes and a single hand to his mouth; As if to exclaim ‘whoops!’, while his own pants crowded his striped ankles.

Freddy’s arm showed extended, one hand clutched in the fabric of his slacks while the other had his fedora in hand to wave it around like a yee-hawing son of a bitch.

Then as the last of their photogenic group, Creeper had chosen to plant himself off to the far right side of the still. Outside of Jason, he was the only other one without his ass in view. Instead he had elected to crouch behind Freddy with his eyes staring back, somehow managing a grin with an open mouth hovering over the skin of Freddy’s right ass cheek as if he were intending on taking a big ol’ bite.-

[sherrysicle]

Excerpts from my report on Mugler exploring the brand's marketing.

Muses

Who is the Mugler woman?

Mugler’s history is full of muses and celebrities, “it” girls who have donned Mugler’s work. From Diana Ross and Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal, to the supermodels like Naomi Campbell, Kate Moss, and Cindy Crawford. 

“I want to dress the people who inspire me, and for them to be equally inspired by the brand.”   - Casey Cadweller

Walking down the runway swinging their hips and posing dramatically, these women exude attitude and confidence. They never look less than perfect, not a hair out of place, with makeup always done. They are always the center of attention, and they always get what they want.

Casey Cadweller has continued the tradition with the castings in his fashion shows and campaigns, people like Bella Hadid, Dominique Jackson, Lourdes Leon, Arca, and Megan Thee Stallion. Another interesting thing is that Casey often brings back models from different campaigns, which creates almost a mythology of muses.

This strategically builds upon celebrity culture, as well as diva culture, to craft an image of the Mugler customer, and having a consistent cast of collaborators also strengthens brand identity.

To wear Mugler is not just to wear clothes, it’s an entire attitude and lifestyle. It’s to be the Mugler woman (or man, or non-binaries, because that’s what Mugler is about too).

Inclusivity 

Even when Thierry Mugler was the creative director in the 80s, when fashion was exclusively cisgender white models, he championed diversity, with models of different ages and races, as well as drag queens, pornstars, and transgender women. His designs themselves are also largely inspired by gay culture.

“I want Mugler to be for many different types of women, of all ages, sizes, colours, and for any moment of the day.” - Casey Cadwaller

Today, Casey Cadwaller continues the brand’s history of inclusivity with his castings in his campaigns. Although the industry has become more diverse with more models of different races, it still remains very exclusionary.

Casey does not just cast a token plus-size model and a few people of colour, he takes it a step further, working with models of all sizes, ages, and gender. People like Hunter Schafer, trans actress, Shalom Harlow who is almost 50, basketball player Liz Cambage who is over 2 meters tall, Megan Thee Stallion, who is much curvier than most runway models, and Paralympic Medalist Madison de Rozario. This shows Mugler’s commitment to promoting diversity of all kinds.

However, the range of sizing on their actual garments is very small, only ranging from 34-44 French, so no one over a size large can fit in their clothes. The small size range might be due to the larger costs of a more inclusive one (Mcall, 2018) but when a large part of the brand identity is centered around creating clothes for every person they should try. This shows a lack of sincerity and a disconnect between what the brand presents and what they actually sell. This makes their brand appear inauthentic and undermines their supposed values.

Viral Fashion Shows

Although fashion shows are a physical touchpoint, Mugler’s shows are held in a way that’s specifically designed for them to go viral, and they do.

Their latest fashion show had big, heavy equipment and dolly cameras specifically there just to film the models, moving with them, capturing them at every angle imaginable. These clips are all edited together with trap music, sped up and slowed, zooming in and out. These clips are sliced together with fast transitions, providing different and new shots every second, which helps keep the viewer’s interest even with the ever-shortening attention spans (2019) which is essential in today’s attention economy of algorithms that value viewer retention (Kastrenakes, 2021).

Beyond the technical reasons, their shows are also very theatrical, sometimes even more akin to a performance than a runway, which translates very well to short-form video, the new big thing in social media (Kastenholz, 2022), making them especially prone to going viral. It is impossible to escape from clips of Arca snatching a bag from the front row and Dominique Jackson dancing downstairs on the for you page (Note: other brands like Coperni and (Di)vision have also done similar things, it’s becoming increasingly prevalent in fashion (Dazed, 2022)).

All this work has translated into many viral moments.

An example of this is in their Instagram reels of the shows, which do much better than both their feed posts and other non-fashion-show reels do, most achieving millions of views, with around 100-200k likes.

There’s also word-of-mouth and earned media contributing to increased exposure. There’s a lot of coverage from online commentators and reviewers, reuploads of clips from the fashion show (eg. i-D posted many) from other accounts, and even fan edits.

All this has paid off tremendously, and the numbers (SocialBlade, 2023) reflect this. They have reached a new peak in follower growth this past month, when many reels of their latest collections were posted, with 90k new followers. Other major peaks have been the second week of June 2022 and the first week of April 2021, which coincides with their fashion shows, held on June 8th and March 31st respectively.

Fashion shows have always been fashion houses’ biggest marketing event, but gone are the days of fashion shows being exclusive, held for journalists and buyers with a ticket, now anyone anywhere can tune in to watch them. 

It’s no longer enough to just have a fashion show, and Mugler understands that. They have planned the event to essentially be one giant photo op/hype machine.

Personal Tiktok

TikTok is the fastest-growing app (Koyak, 2021), and is especially popular with Gen Z, which makes up 60% of its users according to Forbes (Muliadi, 2022). Mugler is also a relatively early adopter of the platform, posting their first video in October 2020 and regularly posting since March 2021, considering how some big fashion houses like Chanel don’t have a page even to this day, and the ones that do not post consistently.

Other than the typical content also on their reels, most of their TikToks give a behind-the-scenes look to their photoshoots and fashion shows. 

The photoshoots themselves are very unique, with models falling back, voguing, or taking selfies on motorcycles, which will interest the viewers as they are intrigued.

The models are also scantily clad in skin-tight Mugler catsuits, or leotards with extreme cutouts, posing provocatively, kissing, and at the end of the day sex sells. Their most popular videos also feature famous celebrities and models like Rina Sawayama and Sora Choi.

Alex Consani brings viewers backstage while yelling slang like “cunt” and “slay”. They do plenty of transition videos, a staple of the platform, and participate in TikTok trends, like “Are you in Paris? Oui'' and the model walk trend, which is often seen in non-fashion brand pages but is less common in the luxury fashion brand space.

This is unlike other social media pages by luxury houses (even Mugler’s own Instagram page), which are far more serious, and feature extremely polished and professional videos. Their more organic approach appeals to the Gen Z audience, who values authenticity, (Schmidt, 2023). They’re speaking their language, listening to their music, and using their platform.

Their TikTok page does not feel like a brand pushing product, it feels personal and more organic. It has a voice of its own and speaks to the consumer as a friend.

Non-Fungible Tokens

Mugler has partnered with Marc Tudisco, a German 3D and digital artist, to create a set of digital collectibles called “We Are All Angel”. 

They have a profiler where people can answer questions about their personality to find their “Angel crew”. The animations are dynamic and 3D, however, this is more of a promotional tool as it does not have any effect on which collectible people receive. The collectibles were sold on OpenSea on 7th February 2023, and are assigned randomly. The collectible buyers received will be revealed on the 10th. They will also receive a metal print of the collectible.

Non-Fungible Tokens (NFTs) have a reputation for being cash grabs, but this foray into the metaverse is in line with their brand identity of always looking at the future, and they mention how Thierry Mugler himself has said that “the real world is not enough” to justify this project, writing “it's all about moving to the metaverse—a limitless virtual playground; a space to dream, escape, transform”. 

However, these words ring hollow in the face of the fact that the collectibles are just that- pieces to view, and they do not connect to any digital world. Their promise of empowering “all human beings to sculpt their own identity” is undermined by the random assignment of the collectibles. 

These concerns might leave a bad case in the consumer’s mouth, and turn people off from the brand. Perhaps due to people not liking NFTs, there has been little promotion on their social media beyond YouTube and Twitter (where NFTs are more acceptable), although it is all over their website where people cannot leave disapproving comments. The use of the phrase “digital collectible” instead of “NFT” also suggests a wish to distance the brand from its bad reputation.

In any case, the collaboration was successful, with all 300 collectibles selling out on the same day it was released. Sold at 0.2 ETH each, it has made close to 100k USD.

[jcmarchi]

Indika Review - Rewarding Faith - Game Informer

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/indika-review-rewarding-faith-game-informer/

Indika Review - Rewarding Faith - Game Informer

Indika is bizarre, surprising, and captivating. It made me question its reality almost as often as its titular protagonist, a young nun tormented by the Devil, doubts her faith. This odd adventure from its aptly named developer Odd Meter may lack some design polish, but the fascinating tale at its core instilled enough faith in me to see it through to the end. 

The game unfolds in early 19th-century Russia. Indika is treated as an outcast at her monastery, and, for some reason, she’s regularly taunted by the voice of Satan himself. The story doesn’t delve into how this sacrilegious relationship began, and that’s fine. The Devil is more of a storytelling device; a symbol of Indika’s desire to be a good person, contrasted by her growing skepticism and pragmatism in the church’s rigid viewpoints on morality and sin. This conflict comes to a head when Indika finds herself in an unlikely partnership with Ilya, an escaped prisoner with his own strong religious beliefs. 

[embedded content]

As the pair bond over seeking a divine cure for their respective ailments – Indika’s demonic presence and IIya’s wounded arm – the third-person adventure sees them trek through locations such as deserted factories and frozen wilds. Along the way, players solve environmental puzzles and, on very rare occasions, evade threats. The obstacles themselves are respectably designed and varied, often centered on Indika inexplicably operating heavy machinery like a lift to move and stack giant cans or manipulating the massive gears of an industrial elevator. Less enjoyable moments, such as fleeing a pursuing wolf in an annoying trial-and-error escape sequence, appear rarely, thankfully. 

The gameplay becomes most interesting when the Devil’s influence overwhelms Indika to the point the world around her turns hellish red, and the environment is ripped apart into a distorted version of itself. This leads to relatively simple but thematically interesting navigation puzzles as players switch between this hellscape and reality by hitting a “pray” button to find the proper path. These are neat segments that I wish occurred more often than the small handful of times they do.  

Poking around environments leads to hidden collectibles, from religious artifacts to “indecent” publications, that reward points, which manifest as literal giant pixelated gems that appear in front of Indika. This bizarre visual flourish is a wild contrast to the otherwise realistic art direction, and these points level up Indika via a two-pronged skill tree of point modifiers (themed on ideas like Shame, Guilt, and Repentance) that impact the story less literally than it appears. 

This is just an example of Indika’s strangeness. Overt video game-y elements such as quirky, chiptune melodies and flashbacks that unfold as playable 16-bit platforming sequences are sprinkled throughout the experience. Whether or not this approach has any thematic significance is unclear (perhaps symbolizing the comparative simplicity of Indika’s childhood), but, at the very least, it gives Indika a surreal and playful charm.

Everything in the game, from the strange people you meet to the weird camera angles to its wild intro cutscene I won’t spoil, gives the game a potent dose of absurdity that oddly works. Indika feels like a black comedy at points, and perhaps that’s the intent. It swings for the fences, and that delightful boldness is combined with poignant commentary about the struggle of maintaining unwavering faith in a harsh, unjust world. Indika’s engaging and, at times, emotional personal journey of self-discovery pulled me to a powerful conclusion that, like most everything else, leaves its interpretation up to the player. 

The result is an adventure that feels thoughtfully conceived, humorous, and depressing all at once, as well as “off” in the right ways. Indika is one of the year’s most affecting and memorable adventures, and its themes will stick with me as I continue to ponder their meanings.

[fckher]

there are comments she's ignoring, donations she can see pinging on her phone as her audience try to garner her attention, eager to get back to the show now that the initial shock of an unexpected interruption has worn off-- she smiles down at the camera, apologetic as she is teasing, as if to promise them something extra special if they just wait. it's brief, a quick flash of her blue eyes taken from william before they return as he assures her. "right-- of course you're not." she's heard bree's moaning through the walls of their apartment on late nights when zoe has snuck home ... ( bree doesn't like to fuck with her on the other side of the wall, which is hilarious to zo considering she's almost positive her roommate has masturbated to a video or two of hers. but to each their own. ) ... so she knows conservative is the absolute last thing she would associate with her roommate's boyfriend.

she breathes laughter that stifles in her throat as her smile stifles with the sudden addressing of her exposure-- not out of discomfort, but at the sudden flare of warmth in her stomach, her horny peak returning tenfold at his playful taunt. zoe's outright ignoring her viewers now as the notifications fly on her phone-- the angle has shifted slightly, lifted up to properly frame her face now and just the hint of her breasts. the blonde laughed. "pity you weren't five minutes later ... could've walked in on more than that, huh." an attempt at lightheartedness is tainted by the heat of her stare meeting the intensity of his, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth before she shook her head. there's nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting, is there? bree wouldn't mind, she's sure. "oh, uh-- for a glimpse? no, you can get that for free online." so nonchalant about her own indecency, zoe threw a wink down at her phone to remind her fans she hasn't forgotten about them entirely. "i hate to do this, but i really need to ... you know," she's trying to be polite, rather than tell him she needs to fuck herself stupid to sate that need between her legs.

the predator flashes the whites of his hands in another attempt to appear like prey , even manages to tuck his head some , make the swath of his frame appear smaller , less confrontational , take his towering stature and transform it into something more digestible . all it will take is one opportunity . and , yet , the opportunism is bit back by the angled phone ; he needs to see what's on it . it affects those well-crafted plans , and depending on who she's facetiming , showing off what's rightfully his ( he's waited a year for christ's sake ) , his next steps have to be chosen more carefully than he had intended . supposes a tainted cloth to her nose and mouth wouldn't quite scream innocent to her viewer . —- oh , she cams . well , fuck , he'd have to punish himself ( a handful of lashings with a nine tails to the swath of his scarred back ) for the clear oversight . that meant viewer was viewers . easier . simpler than a family member or acquaintance . the corner of william's lips quirks up in an off-putting smile ; he looks sated .

" no , please , i don’t mind . " palms settle back into the front pockets of his denim . " i’m not conservative . " a step forward into a pristine bedroom where her peeling attire is the only thing disheveled . " i thought she might've been here — imagine my surprise when i saw a strip of your bare cunt instead . " the ease of his laugh seems discordant with the filth he so easily rolled off of his tongue , threading naturally it tricked the ear into normalcy . blue eyes are firm on her glassy , doey hues . " do i owe you a subscription fee now ? "

[totallynotanannetesimp]

Overview: Quandale Dingle is an African-American man aged 20-25, most well-known for various unlikely and even seemingly impossible appearances throughout the entire universe, including virtual spaces. Another important piece of controversy regarding him is his imprisonment and eventual escape with the help of his friend Juandale Pringle.

Unique Facial Features: Quandale has an abnormally shaped nose, having a large size and pointing forward. His face is slanted downwards at an extreme angle, this being accentuated by his large lower lip.

Crimes and Imprisonment: After his incarceration, for battering on a police officer, grand theft, declaring war on Italy, and public indecency he publicly stated that on March 28th he will be escaping prison and has plans to "take over the world". Shockingly, even after this statement, he was still able to escape on the specified date due to the prison staff's negligence.

Escape from Prison: On March 28 2018, Quandale Dingle escaped prison and went into hiding at his friend Juandale Pringle's house. While he was running from police, he fell and accidentally scraped some foreskin off from his genitalia. Armed forces were later sent to Juandale's house, who was arrested and later killed. Quandale esecaped and is now staying at Aden Dookie's crib with Quindavious Gooch.

Family: It is known that Quandale Dingle has an autistic son as well as a "baby mama" named Sheniqua Anderson. His son's name is currently unknown. Quandale has stated that he supposedly gave away his son to "creepy old guys" due to his refusal to pay child support, although it is unknown if this is true. He has also stated that he trapped his son's hand in an air fryer. His relationship with his father is described as abusive by Quandale, who says he was "given a sucker punch full force" and was "smacked in the back of the head with a steering wheel" Quanlingling Dingle is Quandale's asian brother. At one point he placed illegal substances in Quandale's meal as a supposed assassination attempt or a misguided prank, which almost killed Quandale. Quandale's cousin, Henry Bartholomew Dinglenut was also arrested, for planting 2.5 Kilograms of TNT in a daycare center. Also putting a camera in president Joe Biden’s bathroom to watch him take a poo. His relationship with his mother, Quandlisha Dingleberry, is not in a good state, with her being the original founder of the AQTF, an organization with the goal of combating his devious activities.

Appearances: - Union city, New Jersey - New Batman movie (as "The Dingler") - Los Angeles - The lost city of Atlantis - The White House - Plushtrap Room (Five Nights at Freddy's 4) - "Prison Break" Roblox game - Lil Minion's mansion - Robbery of Goofy Ahh Jersey bank - Fortnite - Tilted Towers - Hitler’s Grave - etc.

Criminal history: Quandale Dingle has committed many crimes including: - Murder - Theft - Assault - Selling illegal substances - Using chemical weapons - Using nuclear weapons - Killing a president - Arson - Kidnapping - Rape - Tax evasion - Reviving Hitler - Starting a war - Treason - Genocide - Terrorism - War crimes - Hate Crimes - Child labor - Declaring War on Italy - Battery On A Police Officer - Public Indecency

Trivia:

Quandale was bent over in the prison showers by someone named Garfield Jenson.

Quandale almost drowned in his bathtub when he was 15 years old.

Quandale put percs in Vladimir Putin's drink and "he went to bed for a really long time".

[dilfsugaaa]

for you | k.th

summary: tae is sure a hot piece of meat. so hot you’ll do anything for him.

pairing: dom!taehyung x female reader

rating: explicit | 🔞

word count: 0.8k

genre/au: drabble, no plot | established relationship au

warnings: not smutty but dirty (I really don’t know how I’m gonna explain that without spoiling this drabble), consensual sharing of nudes!, masturbation (f.), sexual fantasies mentioned, no dicks involved, taehyung is hawt no cap

a/n: first of all, a very happy 2022 y’allz!

secondly, let me tell you that this is a repost. I accidentally deleted it the first time I posted it (heheh).

please only share private photographs with the person whom you love, and trust.

ao3 | wattpad

“Baby, I want you to do something for me…”

The longing in his voice mixed with the tonal quality of dripping honey tingled its way from the earpiece to your neck, resulting in a chill that went down your spine and straight to your core that ached with passion.

You could barely manage to stifle a moan. Looking around swiftly to check if there were any eavesdroppers lurking behind, you breathed. “Yes, daddy. Tell me what you want from me.”

“I miss you so much…” His voice spilled out from the device as you strutted briskly out of the red brick coffee shop. “And I want your presence with me. Right here, and right now.”

The air outside was freezing cold, but miraculously you were already too hot. Burning, almost. Even though most of it was desire and you knew it. You waited for him to place his request, nay, order, for you to fulfill. You were his most favorite baby girl, after all. And not to mention, subservient.

“Click a picture of your pussy…” He paused, maybe for effect, or maybe for he was imagining what it would look like as he spoke, pictures flashing in his mind, making him muse over how huge a mess you would be down there, and how deliciously pink it would be.

You swore you could hear a groan. You could vouch for it. And that sure did make you smile. After all, we are all acquainted with how juicy and sultry guys’ moans sound. It helped settle the nervousness a bit.

You breathed out a response. “Anything for your pleasure, daddy.” The dirty talk was really getting inside your core. You just needed to ease the tension building like an uncomfortably tight knot in the pit of your stomach.

And with the outline of a mission forming inside your head, you stuffed your phone into your jeans pocket and made your way to a forgotten corner of the city. Stepping into a rather dark alleyway that was narrowly sandwiched between two abandoned, vintage looking buildings, you panted heavily. Quivering partly with lust, and partly with the excitement of doing something as indecent as this in public. You could be caught so easily, and then the loads of embarrassment that would follow…and what if some perverted soul filmed you?

Uff!

You looked around briskly, and the furrow on your forehead seemed to ease a little when you realized there was no living soul in sight.

The first piece of garment off was your beloved red scarf, and then your beige coat. You dug into the pockets of your jeans and fished your damned phone out, gulping in slow motion.

Your fingers tapped haphazardly at the screen and you opened the Camera. Then you slipped a hand inside your panties, probing your way to your pussy, feeling the wetness, the warmth that almost drenched your digits.

This is it, you breathed. It was so quiet you could clearly hear the drumming your madly beating heart played.

Parting your folds in deft movements with a hand, and positioning the lens of the phone camera at the correct angle with the other, you took a careful snapshot. And then, pulling the phone out of your panties, the other hand still down there rubbing on your clit, your eyes pored over the picture.

And you stood there in an awkward, sandwiched position for around ten more minutes, touching yourself to the photo of your pussy.

Your head clouded up with fantasies of Taehyung, eating you out in a frenzy like he did on the first night, moaning about how good you taste, and how good you make him feel.

You imagined him palming his cock from the outside of his pants, mouth salivating at the sight of your delicious pink pussy, wanting you more than ever by the time you reach home.

So much so, that he fucks you in the shower. And it is followed by hot sex on the bed. Whatever the result, it is going to be fun. Satisfying.

His groans, the expression he would have on his face when he comes...the last picture blew your mind, and you came, spilling the warm liquid over your slender fingers, dirtying them.

The euphoria. It came out in a whisper. “Tae, you don’t know how much I crave you…”

You sent him the said picture, and immediately shut your phone off. By the time your post-orgasmic pleasure subsided, you were feeling incredibly cold, and you dressed back up. As soon as you were done, he called.

“Hope you enjoyed that little semi-public masturbation session, baby. I always knew you were a slut…” He paused, letting his words sink in as you gasped. “My slut.”

“H-how did you-” Your heart raced again as you looked around frantically. Where was he all this time?

Taehyung cut you off. “And should I add, the picture is lovely. Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.”

[og-danny-dorito]

Twisted Wonderland : Some Pomfiore Headcanons

bitcH hhhh- I fucking HATE D*sney but these BOYS- I'm starting with Vil because uhhhh istanhim

{ Vil Schoenheit }

♛ Rich Blonde Bitch Energy™

♛ like that's not even an insult he literally looks like a mean girl and i cannot explain how happy that makes me

♛ cause like,,, there’s no way he’s NOT rich you know what i mean???

♛ like he’s literally a model and an actor by profession and has a fuckton of followers on MagiCam (5MIL exactly, i looked that shit up) not to mention i’m CONVINCED this thot has a youtube channel

♛ yes, it’s a makeup channel

♛ he does some other stuff like vlogs and story times where he talks about drama he heard in the hallways earlier that day and promotes his cosmetic brand because he likes that Coint

♛ he also gives tips for good makeup techniques and how to not fuck up your whole face for certain situations because he likes to flex his skills while also (and he probably wouldn’t admit it out loud) helping people get better at something he personally enjoys

♛ he is a part of the beauty commity as someone who both makes cosmetics and wears them regularly himself and makes a shitton of money from that because he’s pretty and knows that shit

♛ his subscribers/followers make memes of him making weird faces to get certain angles of his face like this and he highkey gets mad that they would sabatoge his good angles like that but says it in the most passive-aggressive way ever

♛ like they have a Q&A video or whatever and they send him something like this and he just looks at the camera and goes “I love your selfie, maybe try to look a little less crusty next time though. Maybe it’s the lighting?” and moves on like he didn’t just end their career, take all their money and snatch their wig with one sentence

♛ that means that his morning/evening routine is like, unfairly complicated. like HEINOUSLY complicated.

♛ he applies like 3 different moisturizers before actually putting his makeup on and because he grows some amount of facial hair be has to put color correctors down, and then he has to use this weird primer from like France or something-

♛ it's super complicated and takes him like an hour but he's the God of Self Care and beauty and if you ask him nicely he'll reccoment beauty products for you (albeit with some underlying insults here and there such as suggesting products for the acne you didn't say you wanted help with and so forth)

♛ also i’m convinced that he’s androgynous/gender fluid since he canonically presents as a man but uses feminine pronouns to refer to himself so like let’s make a petition to officiate that Vil Is Trans 2020

{ Rook Hunt }

♛ big art nerd right here

♛ like, as an art nerd myself you can usually TELL that someone is an art nerd too just by the way that they act and the Vibe they radiate, and this man screams “I will talk for hours about ‘The Last Supper’ and how i’m fairly certain that Leonardo DaVinci was gay”

♛ it’s also canon that his best subject is art and that he likes photography and stage play so like,,, not only is he an art nerd he’s a theatre nerd- ehem -i mean ✨thespian✨

♛ i don’t wanna go so far as to say that he’s one of those theatre kids that ONLY like musicals but like,,, he knows every score to “Phatom of the Opera” (listens to this shit religiously) and has like 5 Playbills for different plays sitting on a shelf that he takes care of religiously

♛ probably hums said musical scores to himself a lot while he’s doing things, mostly cleaning or cooking, to which the latter he does regularly

♛ you see there’s a certain way that he likes his food cause he’s a Picky Eater™ so he just makes a lot of it himself to satisfy his specifics

♛ it’s almost annoying because certain textures and flavors throw his whole food experience off

♛ he likes things that are easy to digest like soups or (his canonically favorite food) Liver Pâté and dislikes things that are too crunchy or hard to chew through like hard candy and fried foods

♛ like,,, not only is having to eat something hard gross cause he has to hear the sound of it in his skull but also because it makes him look sloppy when he eats it so he just avoids crunchy/crispy/overal messy foods altogether

♛ he’s a pretty decent cook even though he barely cooks for other people. the only time he really does cook for other people is when his house is doing a potluck or he has to go to an event where he needs to bring food and most of his share is gone within like 10 seconds because it’s so good

♛ don’t let him bake though. fist fighting god would be easier than helping rook bake and God Save You if you tell him he can’t do it because he WILL do it out of spite and seriously fuck up your kitchen

{ Epel Felmier }

♛ he’s,,, he’s baby

♛ no like fr tho he’s baby, i love him

♛ his whole complex of not feeling masculine enough seriously hits me hard too cause like same, and i feel like he probably does some of the things i did to make myself seem more masculine when i felt like i wasn’t

♛ he probably wears clothes a bit too large for him outside of his uniform, which always tends to make him look smaller than he actually is and kinda counteracts his efforts to look less like a doll

♛ like it genuinely bothers him when someone calls him “pretty” or “beautiful” cause he views it as him possessing more feminine qualities and being seen as more delicate and fragile than he’s supposed to be

♛ he doesn’t realize yet that he doesn’t need to be more physically masculine to still be considered just as manly as a 6’3” bodybuilder with big muscles and a beard, but he’s still 16 so i’m sure he’d pick it up eventually

♛ genuinely feels joy when someone tells him that he looks “handsome” or “very dominant and regal” tho since it gives him confidence and a sense of self-validation

♛ and, even though he’s not very good with words, he’ll try his best to give them a compliment back even though it comes out as a bit stuttered and meek since he’s not used to giving compliments like that

♛ he probably swears a lot though. dude is a quote unquote “brash country boy” who grew up in the middle of god knows where with what i’m assuming is a vast collection of old men to teach that cute little innocent boy how to say every cuss word in the book

♛ for real, his mouth is filthy and it catches most people off guard. in fact, when rook told him he looked a little bit like a porcelain doll at some point he high key looked him in the eye and went “fuck off” quietly enough so that only he could hear

♛ and no one believed him when he said that Epel, the sweetest and most fragile boy in the whole school, told him to fuck. right. off.

♛ needless to say epel made sure to do it more, albeit a little quietly cause he doesn’t wanna cross the line of being indecent

♛ Make Epel Feral 2020

{ ~Thanks For Reading!~ }

[jadekitty777]

Snapshot Aesthetics

OKAY BUT FG WEEKEND? WHO’S CRAZY IDEA WAS THAT.

You better know I want to participate though xD I didn’t plan to have an entry for today but, well, things change lol

Day 1: Outfits

Rating: K

Words: 2.2k

Summary: Clover's job was simple: Get the model to pose properly, smile, and take the shot. But the new hire, Qrow, was about to throw a wrench into that simplicity... in more ways than one. [Fashion Model AU]

Ao3 Link: Snapshot Aesthetics

~

Snap!

The sound of his camera shutter going off was almost inaudible under the early morning hustle that had overtaken the studio. Clover inspected the shot of Elm displaying back on his LCD screen. He shook his head, calling to the stagehand, “Lower the forelights! There’s too much washout!”

“You got it boss.” She saluted, stepping off the scene to go tinker with the fluorescents.

Th telltale sound of stilettos had his head turning, seeing Willow striding over, lips pursed with annoyance. “Are we ready yet?”

“Almost.” He assured, showing her the picture. “Just a bit more tweaking on the lights and we’ll be good to go.”

She placed a hand on her hip, scanning the team critically. “Good.”

“Everything alright? You look…” He mulled over all his safe adjective options, “Unhappy.”

She sighed exasperatedly. “Qrow is causing a bit of a ruckus back in dress. Won’t let Kali even do his makeup.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what I was thinking, listening to Taiyang.”

“It’s probably because the new guy’s pretty.” And related to Raven, he thought but didn’t dare utter the runway model’s name aloud. If he did, then it would make his manager think of her ex-husband and Raven’s agent, Jacques Schnee. That was a nasty pandora’s box he’d rather keep closed.

Nevertheless, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she hired someone simply based on an affiliation they had to someone in Jacques’ team, thinking it as some retroactive way of getting back at him. Taiyang himself was one such decision, also ironically due his connection with Raven. Though, he’d heard the two’s relationship had been more… carnal in nature.

The plus was, Taiyang had worked out great. He was handsome and jovial and easy to direct on set. Clover’s only hope when he learned of the new hire was that the same could be said for Qrow; but, it was sounding like he had his twin sister’s notorious diva-like personality, if Willow’s frustration was anything to go by. Which meant he was in for a long day.

“Light check!” Elm called, flexing both arms proudly like a muscle builder.

He snapped the shot, then nodded at the quality. “Perfect!”

Willow swiveled, heading for the door. “Let’s get started then.”

~

Over the course of the seven years Clover had worked for Trendy magazine, he’d discovered that each fashion designer had a specific ‘taste’ they were going for when it came to showing off their line-up and he’d learned to pose the models accordingly to keep their clients happy and coming back for each issue. So, he kept certain things in mind with each designer’s desires, like how Sienna preferred her poses to be as dynamic and wild as possible and Camilla wanted proper posture and a bit of elegance.

Unfortunately, today’s clothing line was from Roman and Neo. Which meant balancing the two designers’ conflicting requirements of flamboyance and subtlety into one picture. It tended to lead to a lot of small changes for limb placement and expression before he ever even rose his camera.

So, it tended to be a relief when the snap sounded off and he said, “Alright, you’re done!”

“Oh, thank god!” Tai slumped over immediately, rolling out his shoulders. “I think my neck has a crick in it.”

Clover snorted. “Alright drama king. Go take a break.” He turned towards the doorway, calling, “Who’s next up?”

He heard Kali’s faint, “Get in there. And stop messing with your hair!”

A gruff voice he didn’t recognize replied, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Before Qrow Branwen walked into the room and stole his breath away.

Though he’d joked before, Clover hadn’t actually known what the man had looked like. He rarely did see new models before their first shoot. But now that he was, it had to be said that maybe Willow had indeed hired Qrow simply for his beauty. In almost every way, he was like a softer version of his sister. Where her skin was striking alabaster white, his had more of a welcoming ivory tone. Where her eyes were bright scarlet, his were a gentle vermillion. And where her hair was an ink black, his held streaks of dusty grey that somehow was just enough to make him appear refined, but not old.

Combine that with Roman and Neo’s classy “modern early-1900’s” style, and he looked absolutely dazzling. It was one of their simpler pieces, but dress had made sure he wore it well, especially with the plain, long-sleeved, white dress shirt that someone had decided to undo the top few buttons off to frame a cross necklace hanging sideways. Pulled over that and adding some muted color was a double-layered vest that buttoned from the bottom of the ribs down. The inner layer was a slate grey while the outer layer was a deep charcoal and had a tasteful embroidery design flowing down the sides. The matching dark grey slacks were fairly standard but nicely fitting to the man’s ridiculously long legs. Completing the picture were some shiny cap-toed black dress shoes.

“So uh, how do you want me?” Qrow asked, fidgeting with the cross-shaped cufflinks of his shirt.

Splayed across my bed. Clover shook himself of any indecent thoughts, nodding towards the set that mimicked an old parlor room. “Center stage, leaning back on the table.”

He nodded, crossing the room.

As they passed each other, Tai offered a thumb’s up and a cheery, “Good luck!”

The little half-grin Qrow offered his friend left Clover floating.

Not that the other man was going to need any well wishes, as he’d decided on something fairly simplistic. As Qrow took position, he directed, “Alright, I want you to rest your hands on the table, in view. Keep your fingers spread out.”

“Like this?” He settled them by his hips.

“Mm no. Spread your arms further apart. Position your hands the other way, pointing opposite directions. Yeah – like that! A little more for the right hand. Relax your shoulders more. No, no not that much.” And on and on it went, as Clover altered each little angle and body part until he had the exact position in mind. Yet, despite the ease of what he was asking for, Qrow’s inexperience meant he had to spend twice as long getting things just right.

It quickly became clear by his 60th order that the older man was growing a bit exasperated.

Clover eyed him up and down. Hummed thoughtfully at the position of where his ankles crossed, the toe of one dress shoe pointed down. “Okay, tilt your left heel just a bit more.”

“Is all this really necessary?” Qrow grumbled, trying not to move anything else but his foot.

“When the client is picky, yeah. And stop clawing your fingers. Keep them flat.”

The other man breathed in and out slowly, carefully resting down his hands.

He gave him another once over. Frowned.

The tension he could easily see doubled as Qrow demanded, “What now?”

“Maybe we should try something different.” He considered.

The words were met with Qrow groaning out, “You got to be kidding me.”

And Willow cutting in, “Go with it. We got to get this shoot done before noon!”

He glanced at his wristwatch. Shit, was it really almost eleven? He still had four other designs to go. “Yeah, alright. Qrow, just try to relax your muscles a bit.” He rose his camera. “Alright, now smile.”

He did, stretching it as big as he could.

Clover looked at him over the lens, raising a brow. “I said smile, not look like you’re trying to imitate clown make-up.” Ignoring the other’s sarcastic laughter, he mulled it over, then snapped his fingers. “Ah, I know! Give me the same one you gave to Tai when you first walked in.”

He could tell it wasn’t quite right when it didn’t have the same cloud nine effect on him as before, but with the clock ticking in his head, he took the shot.

“Alright, that’ll do.” Clover said.

“We’re done?” Qrow asked, not moving an inch, as if worried he’d change his mind.

“Yep. You’re free as a bird.”

That earned him a real laugh. “That was awful!”

For the hell of it, he took another shot.

~

There was always such a sense of relief when Clover submitted the photos to processing. From there the team would do whatever touch ups were necessary before it went in for print. Normally, the rest of his day was done, but he had another engagement at a rally across town that would keep him busy well into the evening. So, he found himself stepping into the break room, intent on grabbing a cup of coffee and heading on his way.

He was surprised to find Qrow there, huddled in one of the corner tables. He was dressed down, back in his casuals, but still managed to make a t-shirt and some slacks look like runway material. They met gazes briefly, before the elder man’s eyes dropped back to his phone, not saying a word.

Already short on time, Clover was content to leave it like that, but as he finished mixing his coffee together, guilt seeped in. If they were going to be working together, then one of them had to take the first step and it was much harder for the new guy to take it.

“You did good today.” He spoke.

Qrow scoffed. “You kidding? I was a disaster.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll be lucky if they ask me to come back.”

Ah. So, he wasn’t a snob - he was insecure. Clover could work with that.

“Ah come on. It wasn’t that bad.” He crossed the room, turning the opposite chair sideways and falling into it. “You’re just a little stiff. A few more of these and you’ll relax.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and take it a little easy on the people in dress.”

“They were trying to poke my eye out! Whoever invented eyeliner is a demon.”

He guffawed heartily. “It’s not that bad.”

Qrow sighed, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Still, I don’t know what I was thinking, letting Tai convince me to take this job.”

Seemed Tai was doing a lot of that lately.

“I’m not a model. That’s my sister’s gig. And…” Qrow gestured to himself. “I mean, look at me.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it must get tiring getting all those calls from Mr. Universe asking you to come reclaim your crown.” He countered.

“Tch, if anyone’s got a crown to go reclaim, it’s probably you.” A second later, he seemed to realize what he said and hid his face in his hand. “Oh my god, I didn’t just- I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

Clover couldn’t stop grinning. “Relax gorgeous. You’re in the right business to be making comments like that.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t feel so bad, either. You’re not the only one self-conscious around here. Winter? Breaks out before every shoot. James? Has a scar right here.” He ran a finger above the line of his right eyebrow. “And by now, we’ve got to be giving Tai a complex with how much gets altered in processing.”

“He certainly had a lot to say about last month’s issue.”

“Well, you know, we gotta follow those trends and freckles are in.” He was sure there was a lot of talk on the questionable ethics of digitally changing people’s appearances to portray an unobtainable beauty, but it was a topic he wasn’t too interested in engaging with. In the end, it all just came down to the paycheck and keeping people’s jobs. Because if a model couldn’t sell the clothes they were wearing, then they weren’t going to get to keep modeling them.

Qrow leant back, crossing his arms. “Wonder how much they’ll change about me.”

“Well, they’ll definitely take out those cute wrinkles you get around your eyes when you laugh.”

“I wasn’t laughing?”

“Not in the first shot. But I may have…” He shrugged sheepishly. “Taken another one, right at the end? You looked more natural.”

Qrow blinked. “Well. Alright then. Guess that’s why you’re the expert.” His gaze drifted past Clover’s shoulder at about the same time he heard the footsteps. “Hey Tai. All done?”

“Yeah.” The blond replied as he stopped at their table, eyeing him suspiciously. “Hopefully the company flirt wasn’t giving you trouble.”

“Oh sunshine,” Clover drawled, playing it up as he bat his eyelashes at the other man. “I hope you know you’re my one and only.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Save it for the guys actually swinging your way.” He nodded to his friend. “Come on, we better get moving if we want to get the girls on time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow stood. “It was nice meeting you Clover.”

“Same here. Looking forward to working with you.” He replied sincerely. A pleasant little warmth tingled through him when the sentiment earned him an adorable smile.

As he watched him go, Clover cast his earlier worries aside and decided that this truly was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

[starshinegoblin]

Kiss Your Live Like I Do

Prompt: A kiss out of Spite  Notes: * SunRain is a fake restaurant name I made up. *Chad Hardgrove is an oc that is a fellow gamer and has an obvious crush on Jin Ling that Jin Ling doesn’t see. 

Key Terms: Bàba - Dad Bóbo - Father’s Older Brother, Referencing Meng Yao Jiujiu - Mother’s Younger Brother, Referencing Jiang Cheng; in my AU, Jin Ling calls Wei Wuxian, Uncle Ying.  Wàipó - Mother’s Mother, Referencing Madam Yu

----

“I’ll be right back, babe.”Jin Ling says to him as his phone starts vibrating between them. Jingyi’s eyes flicker down at the phone seeing that it’s his beloved jiujiu. He nods in understanding earning a kiss to his cheek before Jin Ling picks up his phone, leaving the table to talk to his uncle. 

After he leaves, that's when their servers come with refills and everyone's dinner. Jingyi’s mouth waters at the sight of his dinner. He looks over checking that Jin Ling’s is alright before the servers leave. 

“You know that his video was trending.” Jingyi hears Jin Chan says as he’s about to take a bite of his shrimp salad. He’s been craving it for the past week since Jin Ling had taken him here on their date night. Jingyi looks up wondering who he is speaking too because Jin Chan didn’t continue on like he normally would. That’s when he sees that the man is looking at him. His brow arched with a frustrated pointed look at him. 

“Oh, you’re talking to me?” Jingyi asked confused noticing that everyone else was focused on other conversations. 

“Who else do you think I was talking to?” Jin Chan sighed taking a bite of his steak. 

Jingyi repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the man. The only reason they were all at SunRain together was because Jin Ling and his friends wanted to meet up and catch up from where they’d all been so busy for the last month and a half after a new release. He did however pointedly look around the table. Most of them were fellow gaming youtubers except for Lan Sizhui and Wang Shu. Thankfully, Hardgrove* wasn’t able to be here tonight. 

“Was there a point to telling me that he was trending? He is my boyfriend.” Jingyi asked sarcastically, after Jin Chan huffed. Of course the man would start something when Jin Ling isn’t sitting here beside him. Of all of Jin Ling’s friends, Jin Chan is the one who acts like he can tell him what he can’t and can do in their relationship. Like he isn’t aware that his boyfriend is a celebrity.

“Did you see the part where his viewers could see your hands?” Jin Chan asked as he took a drink of his soda. Jingyi’s right eye twitched in annoyance. Of course he’d seen the video. One, the video was on the trending pages of Youtube for the last week. Two, Jingyi always watches his boyfriend’s videos. Especially since he was out of town when it was uploaded. He’d been nestled on his hotel bed watching the video waiting for Jin Ling to get up for the day since he’d been in Los Angeles with his cousin and Wei Wuxian. 

“And?” Jingyi retorted, tone sharp, making Lan Sizhui turn his head to look at him. He sat back in his seat eyeing his boyfriend’s friend. The video was good and Jin Ling’s reactions were golden for his fans. It was filmed a week earlier than the release date. So, Jingyi was home. He’d come into his boyfriend’s game room wearing sweats, a henley, and a face mask. Something that was normal even when filming. His fans have come accustomed to seeing him in occasional videos. In this video though he’d gotten to sit behind Jin Ling after setting down the snacks he’d brought for them. The latter had leaned back against him playing happily. Just out of habit from doing this so much, he’d wrapped an arm around Jin Ling’s waist. His hand slipping slightly under his shirt rubbing soothing circles on the sun kissed skin as he messed with his phone from time to time. There was nothing sexual about it and the angle of the camera had allowed the audience to barely see it. 

“You should be more careful. I just worry that something will happen and you don’t want-” Jin Chan started but Jingyi stopped him. 

“What? If there was anything indecent about the video it would never have gone up. I assure you underneath his bóbo’s management and his wàipó’s careful eyes on his reputation that nothing was missed prior to being posted. So keep your advice to yourself.” Jingyi stated, annoyed. His appetite leaving him. He let out a sigh setting his fork down. 

“A-Yi.” Lan Sizhui called his name. His tone and expression filled with concern. 

“Is something wrong?” Jin Ling asked, sitting down. The smile on his face slipping feeling the tension and seeing the fake smiles his boyfriend and friend put on their faces.

“Nope.” Jingyi answered, leveling a glare at Jin Chan, daring the man to open his mouth. His dinner might be spoiled but he wasn’t going to let the other spoil Jin Ling’s. Apparently, the man had some sense and kept his big mouth shut. 

“Then why aren’t you eating your salad?” Jin Ling asked, reaching over to steal one of Jingyi’s shrimp. 

“Waiting for you.” Jingyi said pinching his boyfriend’s leg playfully. 

“Well, I’m here. So eat.” Jin Ling replied, his smile brightening at the genuine smile now on his boyfriend’s face. He didn’t need Uncle Wangji’s sixth sense for knowing when someone was lying to know that his boyfriend had just fibbed. Jin Ling decided that he’d wait till later to find out what had happened even if he had to get it from Lan Sizhui- who was looking worried. 

When he found out later that night after some rather delicious interrogating, Jin Ling was annoyed and ready to smack his friend upside his head. How dare he say anything? He wanted to say something but he promised Jingyi he wouldn’t. Jingyi had said that he’d handled it and to just to please let it go. So, like the good boyfriend that he is, he did! Well, sort of…

Jin Ling found the perfect opportunity almost two weeks later. Jingyi was home because Lan Wangji had cancelled his performance in Thailand after his Uncle Ying had accidentally gotten a head injury involving some avocados. Shaking his head in confusion after getting the call from his bàba and Lan Sizhui. He didn’t understand it fully but welcomed a hundred percent that his boyfriend wasn’t flying out of the country for two weeks.  

The two of them were currently in his game room doing a q and a live. A request that his fans have been wanting since his video was trending. After Jingyi agreed to join him, Jin Ling had happily taken to his twitter announcing it. They’d gotten some rather good questions about Jin Ling’s career, games, advice, and more than one about his relationship with Jingyi. There had been questions about Jingyi’s job but respectfully informed them that he wanted his job to be private. The two of them only answering the appropriate ones and genuinely praising each other. While filming, his friend’s chat group started blowing up on his phone about his live. In the mix of all their texts he notices some of the notifications are  from Jin Chan. 

At the same time, Jingyi’s own phone goes off with a few rapid fire texts. That must be coming from Lan Qiren because of the slump in his shoulders. So he knows that it's work related. Jingyi turns giving him the “Sorry I have to take care of this” look. Jin Ling decides to use the opportunity to get his revenge on Jin Chan before his boyfriend leaves. 

“Sorry, guys but this is where my beloved bunny leaves us, guys.” He says smirking as Jingyi leans in to scold him for the nickname. He reaches up tugging down the face mask Jingyi has been wearing the whole time, before leaning forward to press a teasing kiss to his lips. Grinning like the cheshire cat when Jingyi at first tries to chase the kiss when they part. Jin Ling stops him though, putting the mask back on.

“Bye, bye, Bunny.” Jin Ling taunts as a blush spreads from Jingyi’s cheeks down his neck. 

“Brat.” is all Jingyi can muster before he leaves in a blushing mess to handle his call. Jin Ling chuckles looking back at his audience giving them a wink before continuing on with the live. He pointedly ignores all the following group text notifications from his friends. 

[manggojooz]

Pick A Side (Part 6)

pairing: Taehyung x reader

word count: approx. 2,900 

genre: university!au; angst; romance; slice of life stuff

warnings: references to school bullying; references to voyeuristic behaviour

previous part: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

taglist: @destiel1597 @mila271 @hopetookmysoul @ximaginx @honeyursosweet @coffeecupyoongs @bangtanbaesstuff

“So you see, although it’s so tiny, it’s actually really good and the colours turn out really nice and saturated. You can even use it on a GoPro mount, a drone or a normal tripod. Oh wait, I have one aerial photo I took not long ago, let me show it to you...”, Haejoong digs out his phone to exhibit an aerial shot of a sunset, which he took using the tiny camera he was introducing to you.  

“Wow, that is beautiful! Guess I need to save up money to buy one of these little things. How can they be so small yet so expensive”, you pouted.  

As the two of you browsed the camera shop filled with a myriad of photographing equipment, someone called you on your phone. You always hesitated picking up unknown numbers but Haejoong was looking at you peculiarly so you decided to just pick it up.  

“Is this Y/N?”, the caller enquired in a stiff tone.  

“Yes, speaking”, at least you were able to conclude it was not a spam call.  

“I’m Helen from the Student Office, we need to speak to you about something urgently, is it convenient to drop by before close of business?”

You were puzzled as to why you were required to attend, and to be honest, a little scared. It must have been apparent on your face.  

“Who was that? Are you alright?”, Haejoong was concerned from seeing your expression.  

“It was the Student Office, they told me to go over before end of the day. I’m not sure what it’s about either, but she sounded really serious”, you said as you realised he was looking at you quizzically.  

“If you are worried I can go with you...”

“It’s ok, I...”, the worry on your face was growing proportionately to the number of worst case scenarios that you were imagining.  

“Y/N, remember what I said... you don’t have to do this alone, I’m on your side now”, he said as his voice radiated a sense of reassurance.  

---

You sat across from the lady known as Helen. Her forehead was all wrinkled up and her face was as stiff and angular as her voice.  

“Ms. Y/N, are you sure you want your friend to stay here instead of have him wait outside?”, Helen warned, “It’s going to be a difficult conversation to sit through.”  

Haejoong looks at you, waiting for your cue, as to whether he should stay or leave. You had no idea what got into you, whether it was trust you had in him or just your fear of facing the unknown alone. You just knew that you would rather he stayed. While there was a foreboding feeling, you haven’t done anything you had to hide, at least not after you entered this university.

“Yes, I'm sure, Ms. Helen, he can stay.”  

“Ok, if you say so, take a seat then, both of you...”. She takes a slow deep breath as though she was preparing herself for what was to come. The randomness of this intense situation that befell you is increasingly generating waves of anxiety within you.  

“It has come to our attention that someone has been circulating salacious photos of one of our students in a university-related forum. Some of these photos were taken from within the girls’ hostel and based on our preliminary investigations there appears to be some speculations... and I stress that, at this moment they are just pure speculations... that the person who took and uploaded the photographs is you, Ms. Y/N.”  

You had absolutely no idea what she was talking about and stared at her in confusion and horror, mainly confusion, from trying to understand what she just explained. She turns her computer screen to face you so that Haejoong and you could see what was reflected on it.  

The face of the victim was blurred out in the photographs, but from the clothing, the posture, the likeness, it was not difficult to identify her. It was Jihyun.  

Your hands snatched up the computer mouse, scrolling through the “evidence” to confirm your own speculation. There was no doubt it was her.  

The photos were voyeuristic to say the least. One showed her walking up a flight of stairs in a skirt, taken from below and was angled just enough to not fall into the category of indecent exposure but with ample room for suggestiveness. Who would do such a thing? Another series was zoomed closely into various parts of her body. Why were all of the photos of Jihyun? And then the most disturbing collection were taken of her in her room, through her window. There was even a video; although the curtains were drawn, her silhouette was cast on the curtains, and anyone would be able to tell that it was a video of her changing. What... why... how... And the speculations were that you did this?  

“This is really absurd. Why would Y/N do this? She’s not someone who would do something like this. There must be a misunderstanding”, Haejoong jumps in impatiently as he watches your speechless form frowning and gaping at the screen.  

“I know it now all sounds absurd, but as the issue has been reported by a few students and the victim is also aware of the matter, we have to conduct investigations. We just have to speak to anyone who may be involved in any way...”, Helen reaffirms that this was just part of the due process.  

You hastily scrolled down the forum page and the comments were as ludicrous as you thought the whole situation to be:  

“Isn’t that Kim Jih**n from the arts faculty? Woah she has a good body~”  

“Kekeke heard she stole someone’s boyfriend not long ago, is this how love rivals take revenge nowadays?”  

“Must have been taken by someone who has access to the girls’ dormitory, and wow look at that video!”

“Karmaaaa’s a bitch for her! Didn’t she steal Y*/N’s boyfriend recently? Heard Y*/N joined the photography club, lol. Didn’t you guys see her carrying around a huge camera with those paparazzi-like lenses?”

Yes, your dorm room was located in the block opposite from Jihyun’s and you stayed just one floor above her but...  

It feels all too familiar again, where do you even begin to defend yourself? And then you saw another comment that had received a tonne of upvotes:  

“Y*/N was a bully in high school too. People are just so consistent, look at how she’s bullying her ex-boyfriend's girlfriend now...”  

Your chest clenches tightly and so did your hands, your breathing was visibly heavier and the bridge of your nose seared, before tears welled up in your eyes. 

Haejoong darts across the room to where the tissue box was, bringing it back for you in a split second, and then fussing over you, “Y/N, stop reading those things.” He proceeds to snatch the mouse away from you to close the browser.  

Helen couldn’t help but sigh, “I’m sorry I had to call you here, but you know how such things are. It’s always very sensitive and if we didn’t even call you in for a talk like this, it will be difficult to explain ourselves. What more when there is no other lead, and your name keeps popping up in-”

“So you are just going to use her as a scapegoat?! All these are just speculations, rumours!”, Haejoong was starting to raise his voice and through your sniffling, you grabbed onto his arm, indicating for him to calm down.  

---

The ordeal was eventually over and you were only told to lie low, until they finish the investigations. You walked out of the Student Office in a daze, Haejoong following close beside you.  

“Y/N was a bully in high school too...” The words devoured you in every way possible.  

“Y/N”, a suppressed voice rang in your ears. “Y/N!”, a sharp tug, you were spun around and your face came an inch away from a vast whiteness. You snapped out of your daze and realise your nose was almost buried in Haejoong’s shirt-covered chest. You turn to look behind you and sees that you were just a hair’s breadth away from the edge of a flight of stairs.  

“You could have hurt yourself, walking like that”, your reliable companion chided. 

“You don’t seem to think it is possible that I was the one who did it. Why?”, you asked abruptly, your face tilting up to look at him, and your eyes peering into his. 

“What do you mean why? You wouldn’t do something like that.”  

“Something like what? How long do you even know me? How do you know what I’m capable of doing or not? I could have been a bully in high school like they said, and I could have done those things! How would you know that I didn’t!”, you felt like you were taking out your frustrations on him.  

“Fair enough, I don’t know you for very long. But I know that you are not a bully, and you definitely did not do those things to Jihyun”, he sounded like he was preaching your infallibility.  

“Why? Why are you taking my side so unconditionally? What if my side is the wrong side?”, you rebuked.  

“Then, I’ll stand with you on the wrong side, and we can make it the right one”, the speed of his words fast, the timbre of his voice strong.  

That is... not what you would want.  

“Why would you do that for me?”, you glowered.  

“Because I like you...”, he utters a weirdly-timed confession.  

That is... not right.

“... even if it really were you, you must have a reason for doing it. It takes two hands to clap, knowing Jihyun, she must have-”, he sounded more determined than ever.  

That is... a reasoning that will kill the victim twice.  

“Stop!”, you voice shook with outrage. “This is wrong. You are wrong... I must have made a mistake...”, you scoffed, more so to yourself.  

“About what?”, his forehead tightens to a frown of befuddlement.  

“About us.”

You spun around to run down the stairs without another word. He shouted after you but you ran away. From him. From yourself. From everything.  

---

The remaining days of the week saw you cooped up in your dorm room. Hiding from everyone. Hiding from yourself. Hiding from everything.  

It was eerily silent, even though on hindsight, there must have been various distantly annoying noises – knocking of the door, voices calling out to you or the ringing of your phone. Even if there were, you probably couldn’t hear it. Even if you had shed tears, you probably wouldn’t remember. The only capacity you had in those few days was overly occupied, by the past, and by your guilt for ever wanting to have anybody on your side.  

It is natural to think that your are always on the right side. It is natural to want people to take your side. It is natural to think that someone you like cannot be on the wrong side. But natural does not mean it is right.  

Yes, you have always wanted someone to choose your side. But no, if you are wrong then you don’t deserve anyone on your side. People who make mistakes do not deserve anyone on their side.  

Finally on one of the nights, the loud banging and shouting noises outside your door reached a decibel that was able to travel to your ears.  

Your unfocused eyes gazed toward the door, seeing it shake a little from whatever was banging on it. You strained your ears to try to hear what was going on, but all your senses were still a bit dulled. 

“Y/N! Y/N!”, a low male voice constantly booming through.  

“You can’t just come into the girls’ dorm like that! Do you hear me?”, a girl’s voice shrilly cuts through the sound barrier.  

“Y/N! Are you inside? If you are inside, will you just reply me?”, you finally recognises that it is Taehyung’s voice.  

You dragged your soulless body out of the bed and lugged it towards the door, not entirely in the state to bother about the whole fiasco happening outside.  

“Stop it now and get out, otherwise I have to call the security!”, the female counterpart threatened.  

“Y/N!”, he was still banging on the door constantly and right as he is about to land his fist on it again, you pull the door open, his fist almost landing on your face.  

---

“Are you okay? You are scaring me so much... Why do you look like this? Let’s go see a doctor...”, he rattles off, both of you now standing on the ground level outside the entrance to the dorm. But for the freezing wind blowing past you feeling slightly colder than your own body, you might have thought you were still asleep. 

“You must know why, has it not spread across the entire school yet? Why did you come looking for me?”

“I’m worried... you didn’t come to class and I asked around and nobody seems to have seen you for days. And all I thought about is what if something happened to you?”, his deep voice resonated with worry. 

“Does it matter? I did those bad things and you still care if something bad happens to me?”, you spat.  

“I don’t see how you would have done such a thing...”

Here we go again.  

“Kim Taehyung, stop it, you know nothing. How can you say that? Do you know how Jihyun would feel if she heard what you just said?”, you weakly glared at him through your fatigue.  

“If you really did it, why will you be here looking like you are on the verge of dying?”  

A scoff escapes your lips. “Are you going to just take my side now too? I have always wanted you to... only... not this time. Just go away, leave me alone. For all you know, it could all be true... what they say about me...”, your words stumbling.   

“I want to hear it from you. Is it true?”, he asks, the words echoing within his chest.  

“What if it is? Can you still stand on my side, even if it is wrong?”, you challenged. 

“I don’t want to stand on your side, Y/N, I want to stand by your side. I’m not here trying to pick the side that is wrong or right. Everyone makes mistakes. I just... don’t want you to be alone.

     If you really did those things... I guess then we will need to right the wrong, so let’s do it together. And... and if it can’t be fixed, then let’s suffer the consequences together. If you have to apologise, I'll apologise with you. If the world throws stones at you, I’ll get hit together.”  

He takes one step closer to you but you back away with three. So he stops where he is.

He watches as you struggle to come to terms with what exactly you wanted from anyone now. You didn’t feel like you were deserving of any support but if you really ended up with none... how long more can you survive?  

From amidst the concentration that he expended to observe you, Taehyung catches some ruffling noises coming from the second floor. He glances up towards the empty corridor and sees someone peeping out from behind the railings, the figure disappearing instantly. The next thing he knew, a pail is being tipped over right above you.  

“Y/N!”, he bellows. With two big strides, he dashes toward you, enveloping you into his slightly larger form.  

You heard a loud thud, the pail dropping onto the ground next to both of you. The icy cold water splashes onto your pants, biting slowly into your legs.  

Taehyung looks up sharply, attempting to catch a glimpse of whoever it was and yelling for someone to catch the rascal. Water was dripping down his completely drenched hair and coat onto your face.  

“Are you okay?”, he asks and you wonder what luxury he had to be worrying about you.  

“You are the one that’s all drenched! Did the pail hit you?” The days of reclusion have led to a very much delayed reaction from you but when you finally grasped the situation, you were horrified to see Taehyung’s current state.  

“I’m ok, it didn’t hit me anywhere”, he was still busy trying to wipe off all the water that had fallen onto your hair and face.  

In your head you heard your own voice saying:  

I have made mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. People who make mistakes don’t deserve anyone to stand with them. We must all be lonely people.  

And then you hear his mellow voice say to you:  

No. Everyone makes mistakes. And the world is allowed to punish us. But whatever the world throws at you... let's get drenched in it together. I pick your side, not because it is right, not because my love for you makes it right... but because I don’t want to let you face your mistakes alone.  

---

The sun was shining again in the morning. At the bottom of the staircase landing, you notice the not very large metal letterbox that was marked with your room number was stuffed to the brim. You took out your keys and unlocked it, sweeping all the mail and spam into your arms.  

As you sorted through them to see if anything required urgent attention, a piece of paper slips from somewhere within the pile and floats to the ground. You bent down to pick it up, flipping it over, and scribbled in the scrawly handwriting were the following words:  

“Please don't say anything Reach my hand out to cover the mouth But in the end, spring will come someday The ice will melt and flow away”

[17caratfics]

13 Days of Sin-Mas - Day 8: One New Message

Warning: Explicit Content

Day 8: Sexting

He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Your mouth fell open as you moved to slide your phone into your lap. From the corner of your eye you saw your boss give a tiny frown at your sudden motion. Your hands shook slightly as paranoia rose. You glanced right, left and saw that nobody was looking at the device you were desperately trying to hide. Instead, they were looking at you with curious faces.

           “Sorry, I just realized I forgot to call my doctor.” It was a lame excuse but it seemed to work because all of a sudden the attention turned away from you and back to the presentation.

           [10:31 a.m.] Jun: Baby, I can’t get last Saturday out of my mind.

           It was a simple sentence but one loaded with enough meaning to have your face flushed. Last Saturday was also the last night you spent with your boyfriend before you went overseas for a work conference for the next fifteen days. The two of you already barely saw each other, with his busy schedule and your work, so he had made sure to make it memorable.

           [10:35 a.m] Me: Wen Junhui, I’m at work.

           [10:35 a.m.] Jun: So? I’m at an awards show. Doesn’t stop me from remembering how good you feel around me, clenching around my cock, breath heavy in my ears as I fuck up into you.

           You glanced up. Luckily, you only had one other person next to you and he was absorbed deeply into the game of solitaire he was playing on his laptop as he pretended to take notes. You pulled your notepad closer to you in semblance of recording the riveting information but used it to create a shadow over your phone’s dimmed screen.

           [10:37 a.m.] Me: Don’t you have awards to win? Why are you texting me when there are so many of your colleagues around?

           [10:37 a.m.] Jun: It’s just performances right now. *yawn* It’s much more entertaining picturing your boobs in my face.

           [10:38 a.m.] Me: Stop.

           [10:38 a.m.] Jun: Funny, that’s not what you were saying to me the other night.

           [10:38 a.m.] Jun: Baby don’t stop, I recall you begging me.

           You swallowed hard and decided, two could play at this game. You angled your body so that you were facing the whiteboard and the presentation screen and used your shoulders to block the Solitaire playing neighbor from potentially peeking.

           [10:39 a.m.] Me: Then don’t. Tell me what you would do to me when you see me in ten days.

           [10:39 a.m.] Jun: I think I’ll take you in the living room, in front of the window. I’ll have you pressed against it, nude for everyone below to see, and I’d fuck you hard from behind.

           [10:40 a.m.] Jun: I know you like it like that. Maybe I’ll make you wear a collar so that everyone will know who you belong to.

           [10:42 a.m.] Me: Will you let me cum?

           You could picture his smirk. Whenever you asked that question, it instantly switched on his dominant side. His eyes must be dark with lust now and you swallowed thickly. It would be a lie to say that you weren’t throbbing with need. You had given up even trying to be discreet. Your eyes were completely on your lap.

           [10:43 a.m.] Jun: Of course not. You’re going to have to beg for it. I want to feel your pussy clenching around my cock and your ass pushing into me. You don’t know how much of a little slut you turn into when you’re desperate.

           The tiny words on your screen translated into soft caresses in your ear. You pulsed and tried to stifle a moan. You quickly turned off the screen to give yourself room to breathe. It wouldn’t do to be this horny in the middle of a meeting with your boyfriend thousands of miles away.

           [10:45 a.m.] Jun: Fuck, I just want to grab your hair and have your mouth around my dick.

           [10:45 a.m.] Jun: Tell me you want my dick.

           The words stopped and instead an image popped up. An indistinguishable picture appeared on your screen. You rested your hot cheek against the glass table. At a closer look, it was evident that he had snapped a photo of his bulge straining against his suit pants. Another flash of your notification and this time it was a video. His hand was palming his erection and you nearly drooled.

           “Excuse me,” you announced to no one in particular. You stood and made your way to the restroom.

           After a cursory glance underneath the stalls to make sure you were alone, you lowered the lid and carefully hiked up your skirt. You angled the camera to capture the wet spot in the middle of your underwear and hit send.

           You waited nervously until the message turned to ‘read’ and then dots as a reply began to come.

           [10:53 a.m.] Jun: Fuck baby. I almost came in my pants.

           [10:53 a.m.] Jun: Touch yourself and imagine it’s my tongue.

           You obediently slipped two fingers in, knowing you were wet enough for it to not be too much of a stretch. Your thumb rubbed furiously on your clit as you let out muffled moans.

           [10:54 a.m.] Jun: Add another finger. Then touch your nipples. Close your eyes and think of me.

           His commands were unnecessary. You were already imagining Junhui in his suit, between your legs, rutting into you. Your arm ached as you bent it, seeking for the soft spongy bundle inside of you. Your breath came out in short pants as you saw your phone flash again.

           [10:56 a.m.] Jun: Rub yourself through your underwear so you would have to smell the sweet scent all day. Cum all over your pants and then lick your mouth clean. Then I want to see your fucked out face.

           Reluctantly, you pulled your fingers out and began to rub desperately on your clit. The fabric bunched under your frantic movements, creating the rough friction you needed. Your hips ground against your fingers for a few more seconds and then you were shaking.

           You aimed your phone at your lips as you stuck your three fingers between them. The moment you sent the picture, you felt a relief course through your veins. The heady euphoria heightened when you saw his reply.

           He must have gotten up to go to the restroom because anywhere else would have been indecent for the image that graced your eyes. From the angle, you saw Jun’s lips furled into a satisfied smile and the downward shot captured his hand covered in milky, white cum. Underneath that message was a heart and then

           [11:01 a.m.] Jun: Come back soon, baby. I miss you.

[boogiewrites]

Reports and Repertoire Pt. 4

Characters: Eddie Brock x Candace Miller (OFC)

Word Count:  6700+

Summary: *NSFW* Candy and Eddie's hard work pays off, but not without a close call first. They go back to her place to celebrate a job well done with whiskey.Candy decides the rule of not sleeping with people she works with no longer applies.

Warnings/Tags: Language.Fluffy, Smutty. Descriptions of police brutality and violence. Drinking. Explicit Sexual Content. Touch of Dirty Talk. Dominant Candy. 

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

My Masterlist.

It'd been hours of holding their breath every time a cop car would come into their line of vision. They were hunkered down in an alleyway covered by a line of thick bushes and boxes that ran the length of a brick-walled building that made up one side of the camp. Candace had her camcorder tight in her hand, strapped to her wrist. She stands at the corner of the wall under the cover of night and a broken street light on top of a crate to give her a vantage point. When a cop car rolls by and slows on the street that ran the width of the camp, she reaches back and smacks at Eddie to get his attention. He peels around the corner, both looking much like a Scooby Doo sketch with their heads right under the other, her torso over his head and shoulders as they press themselves against the wall.

"This might be it." she whispers, looking down to meet Eddie's face before she takes out the camcorder to engage it. He only gives a nod in response.

The scenario plays out as it should. The cops with their nightsticks strut around the camp, knocking things over nonchalantly and in general being total dicks. Candace keeps her breathing steady, holding the camera up to catch it all. They find two men to isolate, neither of which they knew, but Eddie feels that pang of guilt again as they get shoved together by the two policemen. They antagonize them, one getting hit about the face first, then shoved at each other again, the uniformed men barking illegal orders to figure out which one gets taken in for public intoxication and indecency, neither of which were true.

"I'm gonna get closer." Candace whispers, moving slowly along the wall behind the brush and various garbage. Eddie slinks behind her, not willing to let her out of reach.

The perfect shot is just out of reach it seemed, no matter how much she crept, she lines up the angles in thirds, the cops lit with an overhead light, the men fought reluctantly in front of them as they laughed and egged them on.

"Candy." Eddie whispers, holding her elbow as she kept creeping closer and he was starting to get nervous.

"I got it," she says, confident as always. "I have to get their faces." she informs, the zoom making the shot too shaky and blurred, she had to get to this final piece and it needed to be perfect.

She crept up the edge of the wall and brush, Eddie behind a pile of boxes, her hunched and shooting through a large, dead bush, the cover of night and the black hoodies they wore pulled over their heads their main ally at this point. One man hits the ground and doesn't get up. The scene was hard to watch, Eddie had turned his head away already, the sounds were bad enough. He kept his eye on Candy instead, one hand out and ready to grab her if she stumbled. She had the shot, it even looked good, not merely capturing the events but looking almost cinematic. Her heart was already pounding in her ears, she could taste the end of this endeavor being near.

One cop drags the man to the car, cuffing and opening the door to roughly shove him in. The other takes a last look out at the perimeter, and just as she's about to look down at the screen again, the dead battery light flashes, a beeping noise of warning comes from the camera and she curses. The cops flashlight beams directly on her, eyes caught in the light with a hood up and camera pointed directly at them.

"Shit." Eddie says yanking her back immediately.

"HEY!" they hear from the cop as Eddie picks her up and shoves her in front of him, making their way back to the alley. "HEY COME BACK HERE!" they hear him louder and closer. As soon as their feet start hitting and running across the wet pavement of the alley again, they hear him break through the brush, seeing the spotlight of the flashlight moving haphazardly over the grimy walls, garbage cans, and broken fire escapes. She stumbles, hitting her knees and hips as she runs as fast as she can down the small space, Eddie just a breath behind her. They move towards the more populated areas, the cop still shouting behind them.

They move small lane to small street, bobbing, weaving and jumping over obstacles, both in tune and looking out for the other as they meet a well lit, populated street. Their feet are still hitting hard and fast when she's jerked by the wrist suddenly, then an arm around her ribs Eddie grabs her up and they spin fast into another alleyway before she can ask anything he has her shoved against a recessed part of a wall, just out of sight behind a large dumpster. His body is pressed against hers, her head turned towards the slight even though she couldn't see anything. His arm is between her back and the wall, his hand rests on her arm, holding it tightly as his heavy brow is lowered, mouth open and breathing hard as his eyes stay on the street.

They say nothing, only their breathing and the loud drip of something making noise in the small space. Even though it's not even a full minute, the moments drag on forever before he finally slumps, closing his eyes and letting out a noisy exhale.

"He kept going down the street." he whispers, before looking back up with wide eyes and an open mouth of exasperation.

She lets out a heavy breath, letting her forehead hit his chest, "Oh thank god." she almost whines. His arm moves from around her and to her head.

"You alright?" he asks, a genuinely concerned look on his face. "You hit a bunch of stuff back there." he says, looking her over. The gesture makes her give him a slightly dopey smile at the sweetness of it and the way his hands were so gentle.

"No, I'm... fine Eddie." her tone is quiet as their breathing slows. He looks down as she looks up, faces a little too close to go unnoticed by either of them.

"You sure?" he asks, chin dipping back. As her eyes move across his face, he feels his heart speed up again, as his do the same. The moment is heavy and drags on before she responds back.

"Yeah I'm sure." she whispers, eyes back to his. "Eddie?" her voice is still soft and he stutters slightly.

"Yeah?" his lip turns up in question, his face would've flushed if it hadn't already been from exertion.

"We uh...we need to get moving." she says with her eyes large and catching the light as they look up at him.

"Oh, shit. Yeah," he says with a shake of his head, trying to get it back on straight. He steps back and starts taking off his hoodie. "Gotta get rid of these." he says laying it the dumpster. They'd both planned ahead, or rather Candace had by buying cheap black hoodies to ditch in case this exact situation went down. She follows suit and does the same, letting her hair down that had been pulled back to make herself look like they were just out together as they walked down the street side by side.

"Let's grab something in here real quick and check the video." she suggests, tugging him by the hand into a Kebab joint.

They sit in a tiny seat together, his arm on the chair back behind her, leaning into each other as they focus on the small screen.

"We did it." a huge grin spreads across her face. She turns her head fast towards his. "We fuckin' did it Eddie." her voice almost a squeak, a sound he'd never heard come from her before.

"We did." he smiles back proudly, stubbly cheeks rising to make his eyes smaller in an adorable expression that's half confident and have in disbelief. A win for him, something he knew he'd wanted but didn't know how desperately he'd needed it until now.

"We have to celebrate." she says obviously.

"What d'ya got in mind?" he raises his chin, supporting the almost childlike excitement she had on display.

"Food and booze." she says with a chuckle, shutting the camera and standing.

"I like the way you think, Candy, I really do." he laughs, holding the door open for her as they walk out onto the street in the direction of the place they left his bike.

"I'm gonna use postmates, and get us some nice ass whiskey...and we'll order some good food, and we'll start putting this video together." her hands wring together, her eyes bright and a smile plastered on her face.

"Sounds like a good time."

"Oh it's gonna be." she grins, he could hear the happiness in her voice and it was contagious.

It's a few blocks to the bike and in that time the sweat on their bodies starts to cool and chill, and in only t-shirts he notices her shiver, rubbing her arms as they walk.

"I can help with that if you want?" he asks hesitantly.

"Hmmm?" she asks, turning her head while she chews on her bottom lip.

"You're cold." he says, moving to put his arm around her shoulders as they keep walking.

"Was cold." she says with a chuckle. "It's like fifty degrees out here, how are you so damn warm?" she says shifting her shoulders, her casual response to his offer once again eases any nerves he had around her.

He shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine." They reach the bike and he pulls out a hoodie from one of the bags. "Here, take this." he says, tossing it to her as he grabs his helmet.

"No, you take it," she says handing it back. "All the wind will be hitting you while you drive." she takes the helmet he offers her. "I'll have it all blocked by you, plus I'll have my arms around a human space heater, I'll be fine." she laughs, putting on the helmet.

"You sure? Don't wanna get to your place and turn around to find you frozen on my bike." he jokes.

"A Candy-sicle." she almost snorts. "That sounds delicious." she tilts her head as if in thought. "And now I want something sweet," she says like it's a complaint and he grins and shakes his head at her good mood. He settles in on the bike with her sliding in behind him. "C'mon Brock." she says wrapping her arms around without hesitation, a total change from the first time she'd done it she recalls. "Let's take ourselves a victory lap." she proclaims, her chin resting on his shoulder. ----------- They crash on the couch together, deciding to order expensive whiskey and cheap food, a great combination. With high ball glasses, she pours a drink, and they both let themselves relax. They eat, they decide to put the work away, announcing it was finished for tonight and now was a time to celebrate the hard work together.

More drinks and less food as the night went on made them both drunk and a touch giggly. Candace loves his high pitched little laugh, the way his nose scrunches and his chin pushes back into his neck. With the veil of drunkenness coming over her, he looked more attractive than he ever had before. She thinks back to the day she came over and he was working out, feeling the warmth gather between her thighs. She watches him laid back, hand around his glass on the couch arm, his other lazily scratching his lower stomach, leaving his shirt up and slightly exposing the strip of skin that was currently distracting her.

She knew she'd get like this if she drank and she couldn't really bring herself to care. She also knows that the sweetheart sitting next to her wouldn't be trying to sleep with her and she sat and chewed her lip as to what she wanted to do. They were at that nice spot of drunk and happy, not over the edge and messy yet. If she didn't ask, if she didn't try, she'd be yelled at tomorrow by both Steph and herself. She pulled her legs onto the couch, turning herself to face him, inching closer.

"You okay over there Eddie?" she asks, as he looks just slightly melted, the creases around his mouth settled in heavy.

He swings his head towards her, "I'm great over here. How are you over there?" he grins.

She can't help but laugh, biting her lip in a bit of an obvious sign as to her mood. "I'm okay...rather be over there though."

He notices the look in her eyes, a new one that he hasn't seen. "Over here?" he asks innocently, putting his hand on his chest and she nods in response. "Oh are you...ya cold again or somethin'?" he suggests, raising his arm. "I got some to spare, y'know." the alcohol helps keep him loose and not get his hopes up before she made any glaringly obvious moves. He wasn't about to let his neglected sex drive ruin this by assuming anything just yet.

She slinks over without a word, "You looked a little sad." she says as she sighs and settles next to him, his arm behind her back with her knees pulled up, their faces at the same height.

"Nah," he shakes his head. "That's just my face." he lets out that raspy chuckle. "I always look like this."

"What? Cute?" she says in a teasing voice that makes him sputter out another laugh. She watches the lines in his forehead shift, the crows feet forming at the edges of his eyes under his heavy brows wondering how she'd been able to wait so long to make a move on a man as sweet and good looking as he was.

"Cute? You think I'm cute?" he turns his face to meet hers, his eyes were bright with amusement.

"Yeah." she states obviously, a slow-growing smile catches as she's watching his expressive face pass through being flattered and embarrassed. "Among other things." she looks away with a smirk, a single shrug of her shoulder makes his smile fall and his brows raise. Oh, that didn't sound so innocent, he realizes.

"Wh-Like what other things?" his voice drops, his accent coming out heavy.

She returns her eyes to his face, looking down his torso, a hand reaches up to touch the cowlick near the crown of his head as she speaks. "Like... smart. Funny. Sweet."

He lets out a nervous chuckle, suddenly very aware of his arm around her. "Aw, Candy you..." he shakes his head quickly, a quirky little smile on his lips. "You goin' hard on the praise there, huh?"

"I might've even drunk enough to admit how handsome you are." she says with a calm, cool, collected smile that is the opposite of his.

"You think I'm handsome? That is..." he nods fast. "That is much preferred to cute."

"You are handsome." she coos. "You're also...." she takes a deep inhale, her words coming out breathily in an exhale. "Do you know how sexy you are Eddie?" she asks with a tilt of her head.

Another nervous laugh, this one softer, his pulse quickened under her praise. He watches her lick her lips and he feels a groan grow in his chest. "You are... you're all those things too y'know." he offers.

"You think so?" her smile is much cockier as she takes another sip of whiskey.

"Yeah. Yeah I do." he gathers the courage to admit.

"You think I'm sexy?" she says more playfully, a wrinkle of her nose as she raises her chin.

"Well, yeah." his brows are high and his mouth hangs open slightly, nothing but honesty to be found in his expression. "I just didn't...y'know...we were workin'."

"I have a rule, you see..." she begins, taking another drink of whiskey before setting it down on the coffee table. "To not fuck people I work with."

"That's...that's smart." he nods in agreement.

"But we finished our job tonight didn't we?" her eyes swing up to his, bold and fearless.

"Yeah," he whispers, a few slow nods. She sees his Adam's apple bob up and down.

Her hand moves up his chest, lips pouted just slightly. "So what do you think I want to do now that we're finished working?" she says, leaning in teasingly close to his face before pulling back.

"I bet I could guess." he whispers.

His response hits her as very funny with his obvious but nervous tone and she starts laughing, burying her face in his shoulder and it cuts the tension, the seriousness that'd been building. He laughs because she is, not having heard this sound from her before.

"Oh, Eddie." she sighs out, hand moving to the side of his face, a half smile on her face, hiding how she wanted to swoon over how adorable he could be when he wasn't trying. "You're too charming for your own good." she says thumb stroking his cheek. He blushes at the words and she feels the hunger for him growing inside her. "Do you wanna fuck, Eddie?" she whispers just inches away from those big plush lips. "Because I wanna fuck you." she nods slowly, their eyes meet and she shifts her weight to face him more head-on. "So bad." she says in a breathy exhale.

He feels a shudder run through his body. "Yeah." he says without hesitation, exactly in the strong out way she wanted to hear it.

"Yeah?" she says with a sweet tone and a sexy smile that travels right down to his balls as she moves closer.

"So bad." he huffs out and she feels that cold tingly rush down her spine. The words are exhaled by him and taken into her mouth as she closes in for a kiss they've both been waiting for. Their eyes flutter shut, a noisy exhale, a slumping of posture that gives away how much they'd both wanted it. She feels the arm around her backs grip tighten, holding her close to his side. She moves her other hand to his face, gripping his stubbled jaw with both hands. He might've had the softest lips she'd ever kissed, she left any reservations behind as she fully indulged in him. His other arm shifts, reaching over to grab her thigh. His hands bring her closer to him, and she swings her leg over his lap, straddling him on the couch.

He lets out a soft moan as she starts to kiss him harshly, sucking and biting his lower lip as their breathing picked up and started to match each other. His hands timidly rest on her back, one hand moving to cup the back of her head on occasion as she raked her nails through his hair. She reaches down to around his torso, kisses trailing down his jaw to his neck, her hand exploring the broad expanse of lean muscle that tensed under her touch.

She broke the kiss, his head pulling forward and keeping to her lips as long as he could. He'd been in a trance at the feeling of being wanted, having someone touch and taste him so needfully again. It was something he knew he'd missed but hadn't realized how much. He hadn't stopped to think about having it again, not realistically, not when it wasn't with Anne. Shit, don't think about her, anything but her, he whined to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment. But as he sees Candy's body stretch, taking off her shirt, those previous things that haunted him dissipated and his eyes were only for her.

She leans in, lips ghosting over his, hands pulling up his hoodie over his stomach, "I want you Eddie." she whispers and he lets out a groan. She tosses it onto the other end of the couch before dipping down to kiss him again. He lets himself get lost in the heat from her smooth skin under his hands, feeling her ribs shift under them as she put her whole body into kissing him, something he appreciated more than he could properly express. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth, a wet pop on release as she hums. "Let's take this to bed, baby." she whispers in his ears and his eyes roll back at the soft sound of her, the feel of her breath on the shell of his ear makes his foot want to twitch like a dog getting an itch scratched.

She stands, turning off the tv and the lamp, leaving them with just the neon lights from the signs on the streets burning through her thin curtains over the window next to her bed. She hums again, pulling him up by the front of his shirt, fisted in her hand. Walking backward the short distance to the bed, she gives him a wicked grin and shoves him back with both hands onto it. He watches her like a goddess, mouth slack and eyes half-lidded. She stands and looks him over, licking her lips and smiling before taking off her jeans, he watches with a hypnotic bob of his head. Tugging his shirt over his head quickly, she points behind him.

"Scoot up the bed, Eddie." she purrs, both of them love the way his name sounded coming out her mouth, especially when it dripped with need like she currently was. He does as he's told and quickly. She crawls up the bed, sitting on his hips, feeling even more drunk with the way he stared and licked his lips, hand hovering cautiously over her thighs. She takes off her bra, throwing it blindly, he bites his lip and lets out a small moan at the sight. She gently takes his wrists, placing his hands to her chest. His nostrils flare slightly at the sharp exhale before he cups gently and squeezes. She smiles through a bitten lip of her own before leaning down slowly, hands running up his soft but strong stomach to the broad expanse of his chest. As his hands move across her breasts, thumbs brushing with pressure across her nipples, she moans lightly in his ear and he lets out a noisy breath of appreciation.

She nibbles his earlobe, plants kisses to his neck. She bites and sucks on his shoulders, marked with tattoos she didn't know he had, licking and nibbling across his collarbones and nipples as he lets his arms go limp, one raising to push her hair back from her face. He looked so tough but he was so gentle and the juxtaposition was fueling her lust. As she sinks her teeth just slightly into the pink hardened nipples on his perfectly fuzzy chest. He moans, letting his head fall back and she shuts her eyes, letting them roll back and listen to the helpless whine in his voice that she was the cause of. She could feel him pressing against her ass as his hips twitched and he grew harder, licking her way with a long stroke up to his thick neck where she sucks before joining their lips again. Her hands move up his big arms, bringing them above his head.

With one hand she holds down his wrists, the other taking one of her breasts that hovered over his face, taking the sensitive peak and running it across his lips. His arms shift under her weight, his tongue peeking out to graze her nipple and he hears that low hum of approval from her. "Suck on my tits, babe." she whispers out, placing her other hand on top of the one on his wrists. He makes a hungry sound, a breathy chomp as those luscious lips of his get to work. "Good boy." she says, grinding her hips against his. His eyes flutter behind his lids, groaning into the soft skin that smelled sweet from her perfume. "Fuck." she sighs out, arching her back and taking away his toys, noticing how his tongue reached out as she pulled away. "More of that later." she coos, running her fingertips across his wet lips. "My mouth is impatient to get on you." she says with a mischievous grin.

"Ah, fuck." he groans, watching her crawl down his body, kissing her way to the top of his jeans. She smiles and laps below his belly button, hands wasting no time in undoing his pants. She gives him a tiny noisy bite, fingers hooking under both his layers before she yanks them off. Standing for a brief moment, she makes herself also completely naked before settling between his legs. Running her hands up his thick thighs she sucks on her bottom lip and moans.

"You're so fucking hot, Eddie." she growls, hands grabbing his hips. Randomly placed kisses adorn his stomach, hips, and thighs as she watches him greedily grow and twich. "And look at this cock." she praises, her lips ghosting over the leaking tip as she speaks.

"Fuck, Candy." he whines, his brow low but no look of anger, only of want and adoration. She felt like a queen under his watch and she felt compelled to treat him like the loyal subject he was.

"That what you want Eddie?" she whispers, looking into his eyes and kissing the sides of his length. "For me to fuck you?" his lip snarls just slightly and he melts, she was...absolutely fantastic. He opens his mouth to speak, but she interrupts him. "What if I want to suck your cock first, huh?" she asks with an air of faux innocence that makes him give up and let his head fall back with a groan.

"Please." he moans out.

"Such a nice boy." she coos, kissing and licking her way back up before sucking on his head.

He hisses in approval, a whine released as she cups his balls, the other hand wrapping around his base as she gets him wet and slowly takes him into her mouth. "Shit." he whispers, moving her hair out of her face. She works her hands and mouth in tandem, stroking and following her mouths rhythm. "You're so good at th-aaaaaaat." he groans as she runs her tongue over his balls. He didn't need her down here any longer, she could already feel him pulsing under her tongue, his balls tighten as she sucked him off.

She slinks back up, rubbing herself back and forth over his length. "You feel how wet this pussy is for you, Eddie?" her voice low and teasing, rubbing herself frictionless against him.

"Fuck...yes, I do." he moans, one hand rubbing down his face before she takes them both and brushes his fingertips across her lips.

"You want it Eddie?" she gives him a devilish smile he hadn't thought her sweet face was capable of.

"Yes." he nods, watching her lips suck on his fingertips.

"Ask me." she directs. "Ask me real nice for it." she looks into his eyes, lapping away at his index finger and he can barely remember to breathe let alone form coherent requests.

"Please." he pants out. "Please, Candy, I want it so bad." he whimpers, chest rising and falling fast.

She releases his hands, moving hers to his face to hold his chin, rubbing her thumb over his lips. "Such a good boy, aren't you baby?" she coos again, her other hands raising and notching his head inside her. "Such." she pants out. "A good." her eyes shut, her head starting to fall back. "Boy." she sighs out, lowering herself onto him. Her composure breaks for a moment. It'd been too long, he was giving her a good stretch. "Fuck." she whimpers, mouth falling open, licking before biting her lips. She whines slightly, wiggling her hips and finding a pace. Resting her hands on his chest, his hands find hers and rest on top of them. "Oh, shit." she lets out a deep chuckle, hips now steady, the sound of breathing and skin to skin the only thing in the space around them. The lights from the shop signs outside, the red, blue's and yellows fade and change and shift across their bodies as they move together. A slow unfamiliar pace changes to something more frantic, less calculated as she leans forward, connecting their mouths again as they feverishly kiss. His hands on her hips, one of hers gripped in his hair, the other on the bed for support as she arches and bows against him.

Every helpless noise is passed back and forth between their mouths, everything turning messy, wet and urgent as they both drank each other in. Tongues stayed outside of their mouths as their breathing grew too fast, the moans forced out too often to bother with lips. As he held his head up to meet her, their foreheads pressed together as one of his hands move up to pinch at her breasts and she lets out a loud moan.

"Fuck, I'm close." she pants out. The moan tears out of him at the confession, other hand moving to the side of her face to hold it still and try to kiss her again and they briefly succeed. She raises up, hands on his chest and determined expression, she gritted her teeth and rode him as hard as she could. "C'mon." she growls, smacking her hand on his chest. "Fuck me." she orders, a yelp escaping as she throws her head back as he moves his feet to pump up into her. "That's it." a drawn out, low moan as she hangs her head. As they did in business, they do in bed as they work together so well. Her nails grip into him but he barely notices, his brow low and focused, trying to not come too soon and also give her anything she wanted. He watches her move, entranced as her hair stuck to her face with sweat, tits bouncing and ass pounding away at his hips. He'd needed this so fucking bad, she knew what she was doing, she was fun, it felt easy and this was what he needed. She chants "Fuck. Yes, Eddie." moving from growls to high pitched squeaks. Her eyes open, they swing down to meet his. Out of her open panting mouth, she says so helplessly, "Don't stop. So close." a sharp intake of breath and her hips stutter. He focuses, forcing his hand between their bodies, his thumb pushing between her lips, watching her face fight against the pleasure. "Make me come, baby. Yes, make me." her voice almost sound like a plea and he moans, feeling her start to shake. He hadn't felt so powerful in so long time. With a few swipes of his thumb and thrusts of his hips, she fell to pieces on top of him. A building moan with every breath, her hips stutter, trying to keep going but soon the convulsions took her body over. With loud, feminine gasps, she rolls her head back forward from its position of shouting towards the ceiling. He watches her eyes focus again before she dives down on him, the hungriest kisses of the night so far between them. Needy moans and groans as he met her with equal fervor. Although her hips have slowed they have not stopped, still riding him with the intention to end him. She moves to his neck, sucking and licking and kissing up into his ear and back to his shoulder, he lays back and enjoys it. With the pressure off now to perform gone, he lets everything come as it pleases. "You wanna come now, baby?" she whispers between licks to the shell of his ear.

He nods, "Mmmph, please." he grits out, his hips not working as hard as they had.

"Then come for me." she purrs, a hand tugging his hair, hips moving faster again.

"In...Inside?" he manages to ask.

"Yeah, I've got an IUD don't worry about it." she says in a more more controlled way than he was capable of at the moment. "You can fill this pussy up if you want to, Eddie." she coos, back to her low sexual tone that he was finding he was already conditioned to respond to.

"Fuck, Candy." he moans, a high pitched gasp coming after.

"I came all over that cock now you come for this tight little pussy, yeah?" his head falls back, eyes shut and lolling about behind their lids. He was going to follow whatever that mouth told him to do. And as if he could forget, the mention of the word tight makes him focus on how she felt, how wet, how warm and soft she was. Not just between her legs, her chest bounced against his chest, thighs and ass still bobbing as he grips her hips again, letting himself get overwhelmed.

"Shit, baby, gonna come." he whines, teeth gritting together, eyes screwed shut as he lets out a loud grunt that fills her with pride for her work.

"That's it." she whispers, her hips still working away at him, his hip pulsing as he gave over to it with grunts and wanton moans. He was very vocal, possibly the most vocal man she'd been with and not that he was exceptionally so, she just found his willingness to give in rather intoxicating. Once his eyes open again, she presses her lips against his softly and finds him wanting as he groans, one hand to the back of her head, the other moving from her hip to back. It was slow and indulgent and directionless and soft. She was charmed entirely.

Their lips pause and slow, soft breathy laughs as they part, looking at each other in the afterglow, both their heads much clearer. She shifts herself and winces. "Be right back." she says with one last peck before she rises and walks to the bathroom. He lays there, one arm behind his head after watching her naked form move across the room. They'd really done that, huh? He thinks, scratching his head, his hair down on his forehead, messy from her hands and sweat. He doesn't have much time to gather his thoughts as to what to do now as she reappears, washcloth in hand, reaching out to run it over his wet and now sticky bits as the air got to him.

He lets out a low groan that makes her smile and chuckle as she gently wipes him down before he can give any rejection to the action. She tosses the cloth into the hamper in the corner, he watches her throw her clothes in after, moving naked and confident about her apartment, he was fully enjoying the sight of her body and the acknowledgment of her confidence to walk around totally bare with someone seeing her in such a state for the first time. She puts his clothes across the back of her desk chair that was against the wall opposite the bed. "I like having everything put up before I go to sleep." she says with a half smile, tugging at the covers. He takes the hint, rolling and sitting up on the edge of the bed, not as confident as she was to stroll around naked, even in the dim light.

"I'm gonna..." he points in the direction of the bathroom. She nods in response, turning down the covers as she watches him walk to the bathroom with a smirk on her face. He reemerges, looking around to find the food put up, the whiskey closed and a glass of water and his phone by the bed on her nightstand, already plugged in. Man, she was thorough in every part of her life, wasn't she? He finds her on her side, comforter over her naked body, under her arms, her head resting on her hand. He reaches for his boxer briefs and tugs them on.

"Don't feel like you have to leave or anything. It's late, we drank, you can stay if you want." she says it casually with a shrug but she's more nervous about his response than she shows.

"I planned on stayin'." he says softly, moving towards the bed. "I just felt better with these on." he says with a shy smile, snapping the band of his underwear. She quietly sighs with relief, she wouldn't have been insulted exactly, but it was always nice to have the reassurance he wasn't appalled at what they'd just done. He lifts the covers, the sight verified she was in fact still naked. He notices bruises forming on her. "Oh shit, I didn't do that did I?" his face twists with worry, reaching out to run his fingertips across her hip where one of the spots were developing.

"No, I don't think so. These are from running from the cops I think." she chuckles, watching his lips pout.

"Good. I'd feel like an asshole if I did that." he admits, looking back up to her eyes, covering them both gently with the blanket.

"Man..." she sighs. "You really are sweet aren't you?" she smiles and he blushes.

"If me not wanting to leave bruises on you is the bar for sweetness for you for men I'd like to apologize on behalf of all of 'em." he says with humor in his voice as he settles back into the covers.

Ugh, how was a grown man so cute? She tries to make sure the oxytocin from the good sex doesn't cloud her brain too much. "Yeah...you're one of the good ones." she smiles, kissing his cheek.

He makes a groaned sound, not really works but it felt the equivalent of 'aw, shucks'.

"Night Eddie." she whispers, smiling down at him.

"Night Candy." he says softly, a yawn creeping up as she turned and laid on her stomach and settled into the soft bed. The sheet's smelled nice and fresh despite the dirty things that had gone down on them. They were cool and soft and he felt a welcome calm he hadn't in a long time. It'd be too much to reach out and touch her, he thought. But man did he miss having someone to cuddle up to as he fell asleep. Maybe next time he thought. Would there be a next time? He questioned. He wasn't sure what this meant. It was two friends sleeping together. Maybe it was was a fuck buddy situation. There weren't any romantic words spoken, just praise and lust beforehand. He feels sleep coming for him, another yawn as he turned to his side, facing her, looking over her soft features in the faint light before shutting his eyes for good. They were both wondering the same thing, both hoping it wasn't the last time they'd spend the night together like this.

Pt. 5 (NSFW)

@raceylacy​ @emerald-bijou​ @negansdirtygirl22​ @brianaisasongbird​ @vale0413 @izzy-the-ginger@chortletortoise @onomatopoetic-aesthetic @anrm1 @jademox @nightcraver @venomous-possibiities

[mushroomminded]

Bend Until You Break (Part 3)

Written by @fundeadasylum, illustrated by myself.

Warning for heavy violence, torture, and generally a bad time.

Part 1 Part 2

Back to square one. He was right back where he started when he first came to the Facility. Only this time he was weaker and exhausted and terrified of his own body. Milo had never experienced such a prolonged sense of fear. It clung with sticky tar fingers to his mind, jarring him awake in the middle of the night with muscle seizing terrors painted across the backs of his eyes. It made his breath short, his lungs cramped against the walls of his narrow ribcage, struggling to expand against the steel beams of panic wrapped around them. Food wouldn’t stay down because the idea of feeding whatever it is that’s inside him made him wretch. Worse still were the phantom sensations; the feeling that something was wriggling underneath his skin, twisting amidst muscle fibers and chewing on his already frayed nerves, like if he put a hand on his stomach he would feel it move. But he still wanted his hoodie back. Even if whatever was inside him came from his hoodie—his completely normal, definitely not cursed hoodie—he wanted it back. He’d had it for as long as he could remember. And it was his. Milo let out a choked whimper, pressing his hands over his eyes as he lay curled under the blanket on his cot, hiding from the cameras and other prying eyes. He wanted his hoodie back. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be safe and warm and loved. He wanted Dan to pick him up like he weighed nothing and spin him around in a bear hug. He wanted Jake fretting over him like an anxiety ridden mother hen. He wanted Cody telling him off for trying another harebrained scheme to get big views on his channel. He wanted normal. He wanted safe. He wanted his family. ——— If Milo thought the testing from before was intrusive, it was nothing on what they were putting him through now. They took sample after sample from him; from his skin, his saliva, his blood, and anything else they could get at short of cutting him open. They shoved cameras down his throat and into his stomach, leaving him raw and hoarse. They induced vomiting to see the contents of his stomach, then they fed him chemicals and made him do it again to see if anything had changed. He overhead Dr. Pearce talking to one of the nurses once, discussing how Mr. and Mrs. Sumney kept bothering the facility for their son back. Pearce had said something about forced government ownership and how there probably wasn’t anything human left, that it was just a thing wearing a teenage boy’s skin, and Milo had screamed. Just sat strapped in a chair with drugs in his veins and wires taped to his head and screamed at the indecency of it all until they’d muzzled him again.

“The rapid weight loss is becoming a concern,” Another doctor told Pearce as they checked Milo’s vitals. He was perched on the edge of an examination table, legs dangling in the air as he swayed dazedly from side to side. An occasional shudder would rattle down his thin frame, making him blink rapidly as he appeared to come back to himself for a few seconds before he would fade out again.

“He’s just not keeping food down and at this rate, we might lose him.” The doctor continued, not at all put off by the progressively sour expression on Pearce’s face, “I suggest we hold off on further testing until we can get his body at an acceptable and healthy weight. He’s obviously suffering trauma. He needs a chance to recover.”

“As much as I hate to push back our timetable, I have to agree with you,” Dr. Pearce shot a glance at Milo who looked ready to drop, his cheekbones sharp angles and his wrists pencil thin, “What’s left of the host is wasting away. Start him on a food plan and make sure he’s getting vitamins and nutrients. Provide psychological assistance at your discretion.” The woman’s fingers drummed across her clipboard, “The director is breathing down my neck about this project. It’s going to take a bit more convincing to get the board to favor our bid to keep the host as a government acquisition. This is our first chance at a supernatural breakthrough like we’ve never had before and I am not going to let it slip through our fingers.”

———

“Come on, come on, come on. Please.”

Milo’s voice was a breath across his own hands as he shivered under his blanket. He was laying sideways, curled on his cot, the blanket pulled over his head as he shakily worked on unlocking the phone he’d stolen days ago. He was surprised he still had it, that he’d managed to keep it a secret and no one had come looking for it. But then, rich people probably bought new phones all the time and the loss of one was no big deal.

Frustrated tears welled into Milo’s eyes, a soft hiccup shaking his thin frame. He had almost cracked the damn thing but kept falling short at the end and it was exhausting him. The hope he’d felt when he’d first stolen the device had all but fizzled out by now. He was beginning to think the battery would die before he could ever get it unlocked. Wiping tears from his eyes with one hand, Milo tried again to unlock the phone, praying with every ounce of himself that was left that this time, this time, it would work.

Someone must have been listening because in the next instant, Milo was blinking stupidly at the home screen. By the time his shocked brain had processed what was happening, the screen had dimmed in preparation to lock again. Milo scrambled, tapping frantically at the screen and paging through applications until he found what he was looking for.

He checked to make sure the phone was on silent and then opened the app. The logo lit his face up in bright blue and, for what seemed like the first time in months, Milo smiled.

———

“Open. Your mouth. Now.”

“Pry his jaws open, he’s not going to cooperate.”

“Stupid kid, does he want to starve to death?”

“Open your mouth!”

“Hey! Don’t touch me you—stop it! Leggo of m—AHGK!”

“Feeding tube in place. Dispense supplements.”

“Nutritional supplements incoming. Round one.”

“Clear. Dispense round two.”

“Round two is a go. Incoming.”

“Clear.”

———

His weight came back slowly and, as it did so, they started pushing him hard again.

They forced him onto a treadmill with a mask over his nose and mouth, and varied the strength of the oxygen being released to see what would happen. He passed out and twisted his ankle badly when the still running treadmill had shot him into the wall behind him.

Pearce was as cold and ruthless as ever. She’d stopped calling Milo by his name, only referring to him as “the host” on a good day. On a bad day, he was just “it”. Dehumanized and objectified, nothing but a smear on a glass slide to be studied until it could provide no more information. Every time she called him “it” his insides would turn icy and his breathing would pick up as he was forced to remember that stuff they had pulled out of him.

They hadn’t seen any of it since.

Though Milo was bracing for the day they stuck that huge needle back into stomach to see what they could find.

———

just keep fighting

we’re coming for you

i promise

———

Milo would have been suspicious if he hadn’t spent most of his time sleeping.

No one had come for him. The door never opened. No one tried to force him into that awful muzzle, no one tried to stick him full of needles, no one said a word to him. The most they’d done was escort him to the bathroom that morning but that was a short walk and no one had spoken. His food was delivered as always but there was nothing else.

The silence dragged on his ears, prickling against the back of his neck. But fretting about it only wore him out so he spent most of the day asleep.

He didn’t touch the phone he’d hidden inside his mattress. As much as he longed to spend all day on it, he knew they were still watching him and it would be obvious he was up to something if he spent all day underneath the blanket on his cot. So he paced his room, stretching out his sore muscles, sat cross-legged on the low table just to be spiteful, and eventually migrated back to the bed. He sat there for a while, humming to himself, staring off into space.

But the exhaustion lay thick and heavy on his bones and he ended up sleeping until his lunch was delivered.

Still nothing from outside his room. No tests, no science jargon, no Pearce looking at him like a rat in a maze. Nothing. Milo wanted to be suspicious, wanted to fret and worry and pace, wanted to try and figure out what was going on. But he was tired, so tired, and the sweet paradise of finally being left alone was too much to deny.

So he slept. And he dreamed of escape.

———

Milo knew better, he really did.

He knew that when they left him alone for an entire day, it was probably because they were planning something monstrously awful. But he’d been so damn tired, so exhausted and so taken with the thought of just sleeping, that he hadn’t really had time to think about it.

If he’d had, he may have had time to plan. Although, given his circumstances, even if he had, it would probably have been for naught.

The nurses had swarmed him early in the morning, dragging him out of bed before he’d even woken up. The blanket was ripped away and he was plucked off his cot before the lukewarm air of his room had sunk into his skin. By the time he’d blinked the sleep from his eyes and oriented himself as to what was going on, the nurses had hauled him halfway down the hall. They’d already passed the bathroom and the showers and showed no signs of slowing as they neared the halls that led to more unfriendly rooms.

“H-hey,” Milo’s voice croaked with the last vestiges of sleep, “Hey, what’s going on? What’s happening? D-did I do something wrong?” Milo wracked his brain as they pulled him down another hall, trying to think what he could have done that made Pearce break her oh so precious schedule. He didn’t pay attention to where they were going until the sharp stench of chemical cleaner burned into the back of his throat. He raised his head in time to see the nurses push open a set of double doors and into a large room that was dark except for the brilliant circle of lights in the center.

They did a fantastic job of lighting up the polished steel operating table.

It took mere seconds for Milo to register the tray of medical tools, the team of doctors with surgical gloves and masks, and the heavy straps on the table. The cold terror that flooded him made his muscles seize and his throat close up, his breath clogging in his lungs and his eyes wide. He looked petrified. But when the nurses lay him on the table, he jolted back to life with a panicked scream.

They weren’t ready for it and he bolted, slithering out of their startled grasps and running for the doors. Everything felt like too much and not enough in those brief moments of freedom; the hard floor underneath his bare feet was icy cold, the heavy shocks of his own footfalls sent ripples up his bone, he could feel his own breaths scraping his throat like sandpaper. The room stretched, narrowing into a single focus, a single point in all of existence—the double doors. The way out.

Of course, he was never going to make it.

A weakened teenager in a room full of healthy adults didn’t stand a chance.

Someone tackled him, arms wrapping around his waist and dragging him to the floor with a bang. Milo screamed and twisted around in his assailant’s grip until he was on his back. He kicked out ferociously and the heel of his foot smashed into the nurse’s nose. He felt something crunch and the man let him go with a yelp, hot blood splattering from the broken nose Milo had given him. Milo scrambled away, clawing across the sleek floor until he’d managed to get back to his feet and was running for the door again. He could hear their heavy footsteps behind and he pushed himself until his breath rattled and wheezed in his chest, stretching his hand out in desperation. His palm stung as it slammed into the door bar, sending him tripping over his feet into the brightly lit hallway. The overhead fluorescents dazzled his eyes as he bounced off the far wall and nearly fell over, panic shooting spikes of fear and adrenaline down his spine. So loud was the beating of his own heart in his ears that it almost drowned out the shouts of the pursuing staff, the white-out terror in his mind blinding his thoughts as he ran. He had no idea where he was going, no idea how to get out, no idea where to go. He only had the animal driven instinct to get out. A flash of yellow against the pale halls of the Facility caught his eye and Milo registered the words “Closed For Maintenance” on a wide plastic stand blocking another hallway. He didn’t even think, just launched himself past the sign, his shoulder clipping the edge and leaving a sting that quickly faded amidst his adrenaline rush. He smelled mortar dust and drywall, that metal-ozone tingle of power tools, saw the plastic sheeting draped from the ceiling, and tripped over a box of hammers and wrenches lying open in his path. He slammed into the floor, ears ringing with the impact of his head hitting the hard tile, momentarily stunning him. “Shit, is that a kid?” “The fuck—“ “Hey, kid, you okay?” Men in overalls and hardhats loomed over him and Milo whimpered, backpedaling frantically away from them. They were adults, they were strangers, and they were in the Facility—they were not to be trusted. The workers took several steps back, glancing at one another, and then they all turned to look back down the hall as shouts rang out from Milo’s pursuers. Milo didn’t wait for them to catch up. He’d spotted a likely escape route; an unblocked air vent next to a ladder, the covering hanging open, the metal interior looking more than inviting. Milo bolted for it, banging his shins on the steel steps of the ladder as he clambered up it. He had to jump to reach the air vent, not quite tall enough to reach it even from the top step of the ladder, and his leap caused the ladder to tip and fall over with a resounding crash. Milo’s fingers dug into the smooth metal of the vent as his bare feet kicked against the wall, trying to push himself in, trying to get away before— Hands closed around his ankles and gave a savage yank, dragging him out of the air vent, his fingers squealing across the unblemished metal as he screamed at the top of his lungs. They caught him as he came tumbling out of the wall, firm grips settling vice-like on his arms and legs, holding him in the air between a bustling group of nurses that carried him far too easily through the plastic sheeting. He screamed and cried and called for help, bucking against their hold, his back arching as he tried to pull away. There was a lot of shouting and angry voices, all of them smearing together around him, incomprehensible and terrifying. When they hauled him back into the surgical room, Milo’s fear was so much that he began to hyperventilate, dry heaving and coughing as he choked on his own saliva. The nurses and doctors paid him no heed, only using the distraction to fasten him to the cold metal table. Milo sobbed as they painfully tightened the straps across his body, the same way they had when they stuck that huge needle in his stomach. The coughing got worse as his panic escalated, tears blurring the bright lights into white starbursts. Bile and something sour and metallic clogged his throat, bubbling into his mouth and spilling over his lips. It felt sticky and suffocating, like glue clinging to the inside of his mouth. Milo thrashed, trying to breathe through the gummy slime and blood that frothed out of him. The shouts of the staff sounded far away as his vision darkened at the edges, the pinch of the needle in his arm a distant prod against his dulling senses, the taste of blood and rot over powering everything else. His eyelids fluttered, ice prickling through his veins, his mind going fuzzy as the world became indistinct and melted away from him. And then it was dark and it was quiet and Milo was gone.

———   the dull ache of a body in pain                                (his body?) muffled ping of sound, far away, constant                                                                (beep…beep…beep…beep)    something that might have been voices                (underwater?) floating, weightless, untouchable                                  (where…?) darkness ——— Milo woke up because he hurt. His eyelids fluttered but he closed them again when bright light seared across his vision. A soft, pained grunt made its way out of his mouth and it hurt. Everything hurt; his legs, his arms, his face, his head, all of it ached or twinged or pounded. But his chest…his chest burned. Milo whimpered, a weak sound that was barely a breath, and tried to move but it sent fire through his veins and nausea swimming through his system. His stomach heaved, which only caused him more pain, and he cried out, the scrape of sound in his throat like tiny needles tearing him up from the inside out. Even the prickle of tears heating up his eyes hurt like acid dripping into his skin. There was the all too familiar hiss of a hydraulic door opening and a set of hurried footsteps. A hiss of displeasure. Something clinked and jostled above him. Milo cracked his eyes open, looking through heavy lashes at a hazy figure beside him. Blinking a couple of times made his vision settle and he realized it was a nurse and she was busy with a bag of medicine on a pole. It took his sluggish brain a few minutes to put two and two together but when he did, it drew another pathetic whine out of him. The nurse glanced at him, met his pleading gaze, and looked away, still fussing with switch out the medical drips that fed who knew what into the needle in the back of Milo’s hand. “Please…” His voice was hoarse, cracked, weak and strangled as if he’d swallowed sandpaper. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, all he knew was that he was tired and he was hurt and he wanted someone to comfort him, “P-please…” The nurse cast one last glance at him and then turned away, walking back out the door and ignoring the broken cries that followed after her. ——— Milo drifted in and out of sleep. He was recovering from…something. Something bad. He couldn’t think of what. He couldn’t think much of anything with the drugs they were pumping into him.

They tended to him, were careful to keep him stable and alive and as put together as they could. But they wouldn’t comfort him. They wouldn’t ruffle his hair or pat his hand or tell him everything would be okay, that he was strong, that he was a fighter. The ache inside him was more than just physical.

———

He didn’t know how long it took him to recover. He barely remembered the time at all, only left with a vague sense of weightlessness, dulled pain, and harried voices.

Milo was still sore when he was finally aware of his surroundings, but it was a manageable soreness, the kind that came from the tail end of still healing injuries. His breathing was still shallow and excess movement hurt but he was awake and he was alive and that had to count for something.

He also woke up alone but he tried very hard not to think about that.

Once he recovered enough to register the tiny hospital-like room he was in, he’d switched to self assessment. All his limbs were still in place, two eyes, all his teeth, his tongue, and all the other important external bits. It was when he was running the palm of his hand down the front of his hospital gown that he realized something was wrong. His fingers were bumping over lines that weren’t there before, the light tingle of raw pain fresh against his mind as he touched his chest again. The beeping of the heart monitor increased.

Hands shaking, Milo gently pushed the blankets aside and curled his fingers around the hem of his gown. His breathing was loud in his ears, rasping over his dry throat as his heart beat a tattoo against his rib cage. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted the gown up, exposing the pale, trembling expanse of his legs, his narrow waist where his hipbones stuck out like handrails, his stomach that was only slightly less concave than it had been. And then—

Milo choked, his hands shaking so badly he could barely keep a hold of the edge of the gown.

There was a hint of stitches peeping cheekily out at him.

Just tear the bandaid off, just rip it off, it’s over faster if you just rip it off, come on, just look, just look, damn it, just LOOK—

Milo looked.

And he screamed.

———

The nurses and doctors who swarmed into his room at the noise and the alarms of the disconnected heart monitor found Milo in front of the shallow sink of the bathroom. He’d managed to drag his IV pole in with him, probably the only thing that had kept him on his shaking feet as he’d made his way into the side closet of a room, but his trembling hands were now gripping the edge of the basin so tightly his knuckles were white. His hospital gown was twisted around back to front, the ties on it hastily undone down to his waist. It hung off one shoulder, exposing the jutting line of his collarbone and the taut stretch of his neck, his freckles as faded and pale as the rest of him. But Milo’s eyes were snagged on the precise, even I-shaped scar across his abdomen. It crossed from just underneath one shoulder, over his sternum, and to the other shoulder, a line down his middle curving him perfectly in two, and curled over his stomach from hip to hip like an obscene belt. Medical staples pinched his separated skin together again, grotesque imitations of body piercings that stamped evenly around the incision, gleaming dully in the bright overhead lights. Milo’s gaze flickered to the reflections of the doctors in the bathroom mirror, “Wh…hn…wh-what dh-did you…gh…” He ducked his head towards the sink, exposing the prominent curve of his spine, his breathing heavy as he tried not to throw up, “What did you dh-do to m-me…?” “It would be best if you returned to your bed—“ One of the nurses began, reaching out to take his arm. Milo wrenched himself away, tripping backwards until he’s plastered himself against the wall between the sink and the toilet, chest heaving, his mutilated skin stretching against the staples holding him together. Panic glazed his eyes and his voice came out in a broken rasp, “What did you do to me!? WHAT DID YOU DO!? WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

——— They moved him back to his old room. And Milo made sure to give them hell. He refused to eat the food they gave him, going so far as to dump it on the floor and smear it on the walls, forcing them to clean it up while he sneered at them from behind his muzzle. Not because he wasn’t hungry—he was terribly, gut-wrenchingly hungry—but because he was too pissed and hurt to care anymore. When he wouldn’t eat, they stuck a drip in in his arm. He tore it out and left bloody splatters across the room. They stuck it in his hand and ripped that one out too, snapping at them when they rushed in to bandage him up. He left it alone when they put the drip into his neck, too afraid of what it could do to him if he took it out on his own. It made his blood boil to know they’d won that round. Sometimes he would scream for no reason, just sit on his bed and scream wordlessly until his voice cracked and broke. Other times he would remain quiet, staring at the ceiling or the wall, never saying a word or moving. There were a couple of times he purposefully tipped his IV pole over, crashing it against the floor, but the tug at the line in his neck spooked him too much to keep up that behavior. They still took him out for testing but were far gentler about it. They called him Subject 0-1A. No one said his name anymore. Dr. Pearce didn’t even bother with the brainwashing procedures now. When he’d snidely asked if she’d given up, she calmly informed him that Mr. and Mrs. Sumney no longer had any claims to him. He was the property of the Facility for the Exegesis of Abnormal Realities. The board and the director, she’d continued as he’d gaped at her in horror, had unanimously decided that whatever Subject 0-1B (his hoodie, apparently) was brewing inside Milo, it had the potential to be a dangerous threat and must be contained at all costs. He tried to bite her for that and it got him a swift punch in the jaw. ——— Milo’s chest was a constant state of pain. It throbbed dulling, scraping across his senses, always reminding him of what they’d done to him. Wearing the pajama shirt just made it worse, itching against raw and bruised skin. So he’d stopped putting it on, even though it turned his stomach to see the way his flesh was warped and twisted and bunched against the staples, the angry red of the vivisection lines traced delicately over his thin frame. The worst of it was that the doctors wouldn’t leave it alone. They would put him under and when he came to, he knew, he just knew, they’d pulled out all the staples and peeled back his skin and muscle and went poking around his insides again. It always left him tender and sore, left him feeling violated and disgusting and far less than human. It was a wonder this constant opening and closing of his chest cavity hadn’t killed him. But of course, they were very careful with him. Oh so careful to make sure he stayed alive. He did get sick, once. Horrifically so. His fever was so high he was delirious with heat, the cough rattling his ribcage like a windstorm. Black ooze and stinging stomach acid clawed up his throat and sent him wheezing for air, he couldn’t even keep water down, and anyone’s touch was like ice against his feverish skin. That week was full of misery and tears, soft linens and cool compresses, an unending sour taste and smears of purple-black that made Milo wretch all the harder when he saw them. When the sickness had passed, he was allowed a few days to recover before they started picking at him again. But they were less frequent about opening him up again. ——— Muscles seized in pain and tears were speckled across the uncomfortable pleather of the exam table.  Milo’s cries had long since petered out but he still made strangled, pathetic, hiccupping noises that were muffled by his muzzle. His arms were stretched out on either side of him, his raw and throbbing chest pressed into the table, strapped down securely so he couldn’t get away. Not that he’d get very far if he tried, not with the armed guards that followed him around these days. Sharp lances of stinging pain made him spasm and groan, pushing his forehead into the sweat and tear soaked table underneath him. The swipe of fabric over his aching right shoulder made him hiss. The buzz of the tattoo needle droned in his ears, steady and constant and awful. He didn’t need to see it to know what they were branding into his skin. 0-1A Nothing more than an object with its owners name written on it in permanent ink.

——— Milo could sense the tension building in the Facility. He didn’t know what it was causing it and no one really talked to him anymore. There were a lot of big words being tossed around, people in suits bustling around the pristine white corridors and hissing at one another. He watched them with narrowed eyes and they looked back at him in disgust. He flipped them off a couple of times and they looked suitably mortified. They all gave him a wide berth, regardless of the muzzle and the guards and his clearly weakened state. But one of them still yelped in fright when he rattled his IV pole at her. ——— He was puttying around his room, leaning heavily on his wheeled IV pole as he paced the perimeter, working off the stress of the day’s testing before bedtime. The hydraulic door opening made him jump and freeze in place, a shiver running down his spine as his brain instantly flashed to the worst possible scenarios. He’d done something wrong, he’d mad someone angry, they needed to redo a test, they needed to open him again, they needed to take his organs out and—

A man in a suit stood in the doorway, looking disgruntled and maybe not a little put off. He was flanked by two guards and Milo immediately bristled at the sight of them on principle alone. Milo’s grip on the IV pole tightened and he slowly inched closer, eyes narrowed, puffing heated breaths against the muzzle to make his agitation clear. The suit tensed but didn’t move.

“You’re being moved to a new location,” Said the man in a voice that made Milo want to punch him in the face, “You will cooperate or—“

A shout down the hall interrupted him and he and the guards turned to look. A look Milo didn’t understand flashed across the man’s features and he barked some orders at the guards. Milo slunk closer, clutching at the pole, suspicion prickling over his skin.

More shouting. The guards left the doorway, heading towards the left. A few moments later, the suit took off in the opposite direction.

He didn’t close the door.

Milo’s breath caught in his throat.

For a second, he swore he saw heavenly light shining on the open doorway, heard a choir of angels singing.

He stared at it.

Then he gritted his teeth and ran.

Running hurt, it jarred his bones and sank meathooks into his weary muscles, dragged his lungs and jarred his damaged chest with painful shocks. He wasn’t even sure if you could call what he was doing running, leaning as heavily as he was on the IV stand, tripping over his own feet, over the shaky wheels of the pole, rasping for breath through the muzzle still strapped to his face.

He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew he had to go.

It was a chance and he’d be a fool not to take it.

Then he rounded a corner and his blood ran cold because there were people clustered in the hall. Adults. In the Facility. He could pick out the guards and doctors, all of them shouting and gesturing. He thought he saw police officers. Or maybe army? Army wore camouflage, right?

Milo’s legs twitched. He wanted to turn and run the other way but something…something made him pause.

This wasn’t the usual hysteria of the Facility. This was different. Something crackled in the air, a spark, a flicker of something that might have been hope a long time ago.

He was still standing there, brow furrowed, when one of the doctors caught sight of him,

“Fuck! How did it—grab it! It’s out of its room!”

Milo backpedaled, ready to turn and run, but a furious roar made him freeze in terror. It was a sound of such rage and passion that it drove iron nails into his feet and made his knees lock. The bag hanging from the IV pole rattled as his hands shook.

A large shape suddenly exploded through the group of guards and doctors and law enforcement. It punched the doctor who had shouted in the face and knocked her to the floor with a snarl. Then the man looked up, looked down the hall, and saw Milo. Instantly, all the hard edges and angry angles melted out of his body, tears welled into his eyes, and he staggered on his feet, something like grief and happiness and horror all written across his features.

It took Milo far longer than he would ever admit to recognize who it was.

“Milo!”

Dan shouting his name—his real name—shattered him. Milo let out a cry that was swallowed by the stupid muzzle and launched himself forward, one hand on the IV pole and the other clawing desperately towards his dad. Dan ran to meet him, skidding across the tile floor on his knees when he drew near. The man hesitated, arms wide to wrap Milo up, but his eyes darted over the wretched staples on Milo’s narrow chest, over the fragile looking frame, and he hesitated.

Milo did not. He threw himself into Dan’s arms with a broken sob, pressing his muzzled face into the man’s chest, shaking fingers curled as tightly as possible into the soft fabric of Dan’s shirt. And Dan hugged him back. Warmth and safety wrapped around Milo and he sobbed, sagging in his dad’s arms, breath hitching, his legs nearly giving out from underneath him at such affection.

“Jake! Jake, it’s Milo! Jake! It’s him! We got him! We got him back! It’s him!” Dan was crying, his voice shaking, and Milo looked up to see—

Jake tripped his way through the crowd, his eyes wide, looking more drawn and tired than ever before. His chest hitched and he pressed a hand over his mouth. Milo whimpered and reached a hand over Dan’s shoulder. Jake broke. Tears flooded down his face and ran to join them, nearly toppling over when he dropped down beside Dan to hug the little boy still in the man’s arms. Jake’s shaky fingers ran through Milo’s hair, snagged on the muzzle, and he let out a wavering cry that was part anger and part pain and all parts love and grief and happiness.

Milo cried. He cried harder than he had his entire time in the Facility, grabbing at both men, afraid to let them go for even a second.

He felt fingers scrabbling at the back of his head and jerked in fight only to realize it was Dan, wrenching at the buckles with an almost inhuman strength. They snapped and Jake helped Dan pull the damned thing off, throwing it across the floor with a venom that Milo had never seen before.

“Milo!” Jake sounded like he was about to hyperventilate, breathing so hard and fast, tears streaming uncheck down his face. He cupped Milo’s face in his hands, the pads of his thumbs rubbing gently at the deep circles under the boy’s eyes, “Milo, my god, I thought you—we fought to get you back so hard and—if you hadn’t sent those messages—Milo, my brave boy, Milo! You’re so brave, Milo!” Jake’s words dissolved into gross sobbing and he clutched Milo to him, body shaking with emotion. Dan wrapped them both up in his arms, tears dampening Milo’s skin as he cried, rocking them back and forth.

Milo gasped through his tears, only on his feet because of the support of the people who had fought tooth and claw for him. He drew in a shaky, sniffling breath and said, “I knew you’d come for me. I—I knew you would. I miss—I missed you so much. Dad…d-daddy! Dh-d-dad!”

And he broke down into a fresh wave of tears.

———

Milo didn’t ask what happened.

He didn’t care. Didn’t want to know.

Even as Dan carried Milo out of the Facility in his arms, Jake clinging tightly to Milo’s hand, escorted by a dozen or so soldier, Milo didn’t care.

He didn’t care about the camera flashes and the news reporters shouting. He didn’t care about the cold autumn air that made him shiver as he curled against the warm chest of his dad. He didn’t care about his old hoodie, lost somewhere in the depths of the Facility. He didn’t care about how weak he felt or how tired he was or how every inch of him ached. He didn’t care about what had happened or what would happen.

They would cross those bridges when they got to them.

All Milo cared about in that moment was the smell of fresh, crisp, clean, unfiltered stale air. All he cared about was the bright and wonderful glow of sunlight and the way it danced over the shapes around him. All he cared about was the warmth and love and safety of the arms around him, of the hand in his, of the gentle reassurances and tender kisses and tear-filled smiles.

All Milo Pierly-Fuller cared about was that he was finally home.

[scriptaed]

Ink Nemesis | 02

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 6.9k

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret.

“You want me, a temporary paparazzi, to pretend I’m dating him, the sensational pop star?”

The blinding flash of the cameras and hands and shrills transcend time and place all in a persistence to invade privacy; because here you are, somehow standing in front of BigHit Entertainment’s CEO, with lights hitting you at every angle as if still running on that fifteen minutes of fame you have only dreamed of receiving for your penmanship—not your facade of a relationship with the heart of all screaming teen’s, Min Yoongi.

The two pairs of eyes follow your every movement throughout the deafening silence, for the spotlight is still on you; but with each tick of their watch comes with a hasty pump of your heart and the fracture of your usual sense of rationality under said pressure.

“Well, I didn’t know you were a tabloid writer until now—and that indeed is a problem—but what’s been said has already been reported more than a hundred times by now, I'm sure,” the man seated before you explains in his rather mundane clothing resembling commoners like you; yet other than his structured wide nose, circular and silver glasses, and imperfect spots of his red, tan complexion, the ease of his shoulders as he reclines into his black leather chair and the confidence that exudes as he conveys his every thought to you, a stranger, tells you his mind is bustling with all sorts of creativity embodying anything but ordinary. “I understand this is a rash decision on my part, but I’m more than willing to pay to accommodate for any repercussions.”

In contradiction to his wise mien worthy of his middle age, the assumptions he creates of you and your supposed indecency renders you offended.

“Are you kidding me?” you gawk, appalled by his lack of judgement. “Do you know how much money you would have to pay me? I’m probably going to be fired or forced to quit the second I step foot into that damn building—” you inhale a sharp breath “—and even if it’s a living hell-hole for me, at least it kept me just barely alive!”

“Again, I’m really sorry,” the man calmly apologizes, the drop of an octave supposedly conveying claimed sympathy. “It was irresponsible of me to drag you into this, but all I can do now is retribute to the best of my abilities. I’m willing to pay 20,000 dollars flat for defamation alone.”

Twenty thousands of dollars? For something that most wouldn't even consider defamation? Suddenly, living without that treached work of yours doesn’t sound too bad at all; plus, that mass of money is enough for you to live the next decade on cup noodles and doing what you really love most: writing.

Maybe you can finally become a serious writer.

Nonetheless, accepting such money without merit strikes against your morals, both as a writer and a human, so further inquiry comes hesitantly, “...alone? Does that mean there’s more—”

“—wait, hold on for just a minute,” the remaining bystander breaks his silence, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to the opposing leg. “Do I, the main victim of this absurd plan, not get a say in this?”

“Alright, fair enough,” the elder sighs and removes his glasses to the table crowded with all sorts of sounding equipment. “Do you have anything more to add, Yoongi?”

“Do I get paid, too?” he deadpans; a moving huff leaves your lips and the both of them turn to glare in the slightest at your direction.

“I’m your boss, Bang Si-hyuk,” the man, identifying as what you recall Solji to commonly refer to as Bang PD, establishes full authority as Yoongi reclines into defense. He further crosses his arms, “I’m only doing this because it’ll help your career.”

“But how is this going to help me?” Yoongi asks.

You’re surprised to see the usual hushed, tranquil presentation of Yoongi’s cutting straight to the chase; and as much as you hate to admit, everything about him is a divergence from you as a person and worker. On what seems to be one pole of the world, Yoongi remains at the top of his industry, powerful, influential, and inspiring, while you remain on the other side, residing in the pithole of your own world as a writer.

No one looks up to you because you have nothing to admire in the first place. As Solji has once proclaimed in her weekly articles, Yoongi is the figure, the epitome of the 21st century’s very dreams. It’s no wonder that naive albeit ambitious children look up to him. Five years have passed since you could legally label yourself as a child, but even you have at some point fallen for the blinding, inevitable pull of his only to gaze longingly—as if someday, when the sun sets east and the moon sets ablaze, a failure like you could stand a minute in his shoes; because while he actively protests against the man controlling his very dreams, you can’t even imagine interacting with your own.

And that’s just one of the million reasons why boys like him would never work out with girls like you.

“Your cold, silent, ‘bad boy’ image used to attract the public’s favor in the past, Yoongi, but consistency is the key to demise in this type of industry.” Bang PD picks up a blue pen and begins tapping on his all knowing temple. “Plus, you’re a bit too alluring to the teens these days. The security downstairs have already caught at least seven fans trying to sneak into your studio just this past week.”

Your ears perk at the intriguing new information, trying to figure in your head whether you agree with said bad boy’s reputation; maybe it’s just that night or your immunity from detached men, but Yoongi doesn’t quite fulfill the rave of the public nor does he fit the bill of a bad boy. Eyes trailing to peak at Yoongi from the corner of your eyes, the boy begins to shift uncomfortably in place with his hands still buried in the pockets of his gray slacks.

“I don’t see how it’s a big enough deal to drag someone completely innocent into this,” he mutters, words slurred and shrouded from under his breath.

So he hasn’t completely forgotten you nor the concept of courtesy.

His boss frowns, furrowing his brows and glancing at you only to avert his eyes back onto Yoongi. Leaning in, his hand raises halfway to its target beside his lips before ultimately collapsing back into the cushions of his seat.

“Don’t you want to get rid of that?” he emphasizes but keeps it vague, because after all, you are a tabloid writer; but despite your lack of an intent to do such immoral things as extracting details from a private conversation, you can’t deny the pique of your curiosity following his ambiguous words.

Yoongi persists to keep his eyes glued to the ground, shifting his weight from one leg to another, as his hands fiddle with the insides of his pocket and his mind struggles to accept the advice of his boss. It’s sweet that he’s looking out for a stranger like you, but the reluctance of furthering his own career and obliging to his boss’s request rubs you the wrong way. Just how much privilege does he have against a person just barely getting by like you?

“I won’t be accepting your money.”

The statement captures the attention of the room as the two men gradually turn their eyes to the woman finally affirming her own authority.

“I apologize, Ms. Y/L/N, but I really would like to repay you—

“—then maybe you shouldn’t have dragged me into this in the first place,” you refute, crossing your arms and huffing. “I want to make a life of myself as a writer; and not just one that goes around stalking celebrities. I want to be a real one, and even if I’m sure thousands of girls would love to be in my position right now, it would be shameful of me to accept such luck, good or bad, and disrespect my dreams like that.”

“Yes, and I respect your wishes,” Bang PD firmly interjects, “but as you’ve stated, you’ll most likely be forced to take a momentary leave from work. How are you going to get by? Because this ‘project’ won’t be ending for another six months or so.”

Six months?

The man is really going out on a limb right now; and is Yoongi really fine with this? With dating someone as ordinary and low-life like you? Especially when he already has a girlfriend?

“I have money saved up. It’ll be enough to last me for six months,” you say after a few seconds of pondering. “And plus, I can still make some money by finally publishing a few more works here and there; I am a writer after all—”

“—but how?” you turn to raise a brow at Yoongi’s knitted ones. “Won’t you receive backlash or irrelevant feedback if you publish under your name?”  

The assertiveness in his voice makes you wonder whether his question is one elicited by genuine concern for your well being or for his own career, despite how many times he has proven himself to be a man of silent heed to you in the past; maybe the industry has finally broken your ability to trust.  

“I can write under a pseudonym,” you give him an assured smile and he only frowns, staring at you in concern amidst the deafening silence.

Two pseudonyms, actually, if you're being truthful to yourself and him.

“Well, I beg of you to take your time to rethink this and perhaps reconsider in a week or so,” the boss clears his throat, finally sitting up in his seat and swirling around to grab a simple key chain which dangles of a mini plastic quill and a silver key both before tossing it to Yoongi. “In the meantime, Yoongi, go show this miss your studio.”

“My studio?” Yoongi repeats almost indignantly. His boss only nods, but the boy persists to defend his sanctuary. “How does this have anything to do with my studio?”

“If you're going to fake a relationship to the rest of the world, you're going to have to get to know each other,” Bang PD strains.

After watching Yoongi bite his bottom lip with his eyes glued to the floor in stubborn defeat, you're not sure if you find his reluctance endearing or not. For one, your acceptance of carrying out this ridiculous plan is already of utmost generosity, so is showing something is trivial as his workplace that bad of a retribution?

The ungrateful attitude of the room and the uncomfortable tense silence pushes you to your breaking point, when finally, you swing your camera’s strap over your shoulders and breathe out, “it's fine. He doesn't have to show me anything private or anything he's uncomfortable with.”

Your reassurance captures Yoongi’s attention, for he glances up from the hardwood floor to gaze at you with this dark, indecipherable eyes of his.

The following silence tells you that's exactly what he wanted to hear.

“It's not that I'm uncomfortable…” he begins to mutter before trailing off into silence.

“Yoongi…” Bang PD grumbles, rubbing the spot between his creased brows as he sighs laboriously. “Ah, whatever, you guys can decide for yourselves what you want to do. Please just make it believable.”

“Don't worry. Kissing up to my boss’s ass has given me plenty of experience in acting,” you say in spite, giving them one last smile before turning towards the door and gripping the cold silver handle. “Alright, well, I have matters to attend to now.”

More like you have a job to lose now; but a part of you begrudgingly knows that a part of this is your fault for denying their method of compensation.

Before you can turn the handle and remove yourself from the tension, a warm hand rests on your cold ones to prevent you from doing so. Slowly, your eyes trail along his gray sleeves and up until you finally meet his firm gaze—too confident, too comfortable, and oddly too mesmerizing for a locked moment in time between two strangers of two drifting universes.

The steady waves of his eyes beholding the darkest shade of chocolate knock the air out of your lungs. Wicked magic and trifling enticement are the essence of this pivotal moment. Your eyes are begging for you to evade his impending attack, but desire for authority compels you to challenge him head on. Your lips, on the other hand, fail to formulate coherent words as it freezes in a half gaping phase.

“Your number,” he utters.

“What?”

“Your number,” he repeats in the same hushed tone. “So I can keep in contact with you.”

Embarrassment. Vulnerability. Defeat.

Cheeks burning red, you clear your throat and dig into the pockets of your jacket in search for your phone. Yoongi follows suit as he retracts his phone from the pockets of his lavish silver slacks. Quickly, you grasp for his phone—slipping it swiftly away from his unsuspecting grip—and dial in your number.

“There,” you snap, holding his phone up in the air before grabbing his hand and planting it firmly into his pale palms. “Just call when you need me.”

Without another second to waste in the unfamiliar world, you march your way out of the door to return to your own, all amidst the mysterious silence of the divine-like man.

-

Morning arrives dreadfully late after the entire ordeal last night, for you headed him earlier than most just an hour into their documentary. Once you had left the room and proceeded your way to the main venue, the boys carried on the concert as if nothing had just happened behind the scenes; fortunately for them, the company was able to get ahold of several reporters and temporarily halt them from releasing the astounding news of your relationship with Yoongi, preventing fans from causing distraught throughout the entirety of the premiere. 

This morning, however, proves to be a complete opposite, as you toss and turn throughout midnight, just wondering if you had awoken from a dream, a nightmare, or a slap of reality; because for some reason, you can’t help rid yourself of the condescending image of your own figure standing and peering above at Yoongi’s silhouette which can barely be seen high up on a pedestal.  

Only a series of violent vibrations of texts are enough to startle you out of your daze.

Xiao Lin [1:35 A.M.] Girl! I didn't know you were dating Min Yoongi of all people! I mean, no one did, who am I kidding? Why didn't you tell me?

Who is Xiao Lin again?

Xiao Lin [1:35 A.M] I thought we were friends ;_;

Oh right, the other “reporter” you had met last night.

Xiao Lin [1:36 A.M.] But then again, I guess you wouldn't tell a reporter like me. Haha!

It’s as if she can read your mind.

Xiao Lin [1:38 A.M.] Want to meet up for some coffee tomorrow morning and chat? I promise I won't exploit any of our conversations. I'll pay for your coffee too!

Revealing yourself out in bright sunlight isn’t exactly the wisest decision considering the frenzy you’re causing throughout all headlines of the internet—and maybe that’s exactly what Xiao Lin wants, because cunning schemes are all you can read despite her facade of a friendly vibe, but you figure there’s still one question you need to have answered before you can finally have a good night’s rest.

Who exactly is that girl you had spotted Yoongi with? And why would Yoongi be fine with conducting such an experiment? Especially with an unqualified girl like you?

The couch bounces you up and onto your two feet as your fingers occupy themselves with a quick text to Xiao Lin; grabbing a coat, some black shades, scarf, and beanie, you’re beginning to feel a lot like celebrity, and you can’t help but wonder if this dress up is something of the regular to someone as popular as Yoongi.

Finally, as you’re pacing to the cafe below your apartment where you had agreed to meet the awaiting reporter, you’re also simultaneously taking a step into the shoes of Yoongi’s influence, fame, and wealth—and the power of it all sends thrill surging through your veins.

“Over here!” you spot a girl familiar to the one you recall from the haze of your memories waving her arms at you as she whispers. “Xiao Lin, remember?”

In an attempt to avoid as much attention as possible, you quickly and silently shuffle your way to the corner table before settling into the cold metal chair across from her. Yet again, today she sports a clean cut fringe and a simple albeit bright red sweater and lipstick.

“Yeah, of course I remember,” you try to grin, “I don’t have a memory of a goldfish.”

The girl laughs louder than you expected—and you can’t decide for yourself whether it’s one of genuity or one of flattery. Hastily, she brings her voice down to a hush, nervously glancing around at the cafe which had taken no notice of you nor her. “Sorry,” she lets out a soft giggle, “I was just trying to call you over without using your name. I didn’t want people bombarding you with questions, cameras, and mics again.”

Again? Oh, is she referring to last night when the paparazzi had spotted you with Yoongi?

Her unexpected consideration catches you off guard, and as much as you hate to admit, it warms your heart that finally someone sympathizes with you; sure, you can’t let your guard down when you consider the field of work she’s from, but it’s ironically nice to have her by your side—even if you’re just a temporary colleague until Solji returns.

And yet, truly, you realize only those crafted from similar statuses can relate to one another.

“Thanks,” is all you can say before breaking out into a sheepish grin, and Lin smiles even wider at the sight of your growing comfort around her.

“Of course,” she coos before sliding a cup of coffee across the table towards you. “Here, as promised, one cup of warm coffee.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” you instinctively say, but the nagging feeling of nonexistent glaring eyes from every angle pushes you out of your usual business-like formality. “But then, again, considering the risk I’m taking to meet you, someone I barely know, I guess you do owe me one.”

Lin snorts, nearly cascading into a fit of cackles before she holds herself back and takes a sip of her coffee. “I like you… and your way with words, especially since you’re just a rookie journalist,” she laughs when a scoff leaves your lips for reasons she might never know.

“So why are you so eager to spend time with a low-life rookie like me?”

“Oh, you know I don’t mean it like that,” she grins, turning her cup in circles on the table her eyes are glued to. “I’m just so happy to finally have someone my age to talk and relate to. Let’s stop being strangers and try to be friends. What do you say?”

The giddy non-stop grin of hers is nearly impossible to deny, and considering all the inside scoops and tips you might be benefiting from such friendship, there really is no reason to stop yourself; so as a sign of a concurrence, you nod your head and reciprocate a smile.

Throughout the morning, you and Lin chat about all sorts of things,and to your surprise, none of them consists of work-related topics. It’s hard for you to admit, but a real friendship could possibly spark from this symbiotic one. From her cunning, flattering ways of conversing to your snarky sense of humor to sync with your recent mood, you begin to wonder how closed off from the world you had become.

What if this is the exact type of friendship Lin was striving for and you're the only one being overly wary of her true intentions?

The guilt gnaws at you from inside out until the topic takes a drastic turn for the worse.

“Speaking of clothes,” Lin can barely manage to say after a fit of laughs, “I see you have a really… conservative style.”

“Me? Conservative?” you repeat, brows raising as your eyes behind a pair of dark shades follow her line of sight to stare at the scarf hovering over half of your face. “Oh… this…”

Did she purposely allude to this in an attempt to gather writing material? But considering the odd getup of yours, it's only natural for a friend to ask something as simple as that. Odd. 

Since when did you get so self-absorbed?

“Oh, I'm sorry… I'm sure you don't want to talk about that—”

“—no, it's fine. I figure I should get it off my chest anyways,” you sigh and Lin quirks a brow before scooting closer.

“Are you sure?”

“Might as well; and plus, if I ever see an article about our conversation, I'll know exactly who to blame,” you quip and she snorts.

“Deal,” she grins before hastily lowering her voice into an eager whisper. “So you’re dating him?”

Here you go; it’s now or never.

Pausing for a few seconds to register the question she had just asked, you hesitantly nod in choppy motions.  

“Oh my god. For how long now?”

“Um…” you mumble. Neither Yoongi nor his boss had prepared you for this, but an odd part of you tells you to keep your word and loyalty; you have to make this believable. “Several months now…”

“Wow, that’s pretty long for a relationship between a celebrity and a non-celebrity,” she gasps. “Because I would’ve never guessed who you were in relations to the boys when I first met you—not that you’re not pretty, because you are, but it’s just that you seemed so out of place—”

“—oh, it was my first time attending my… boyfriend’s event,” you give her a pressed smile.

“So were you working as a reporter prior to dating him?” she furrows her brows in wonder, tilting her head to the side. “Or is this all just an act to keep people from suspecting the truth?”

“The latter,” you simply answer, because the more she asks, the more you grow to suspect her of her own intentions. “Well, not exactly. It’s complicated.”

“Ah, well something doesn’t totally line up to me, but I won’t press my new friend any further. Don’t want to scare her away just yet,” she winks and the tension in your shoulders and legs release in relief. Your heart has finally been granted mercy when, suddenly, she jumps in her seat and chimes, “and if you’re already scared by me, I’ll trade you some information in return, so if the day ever comes, we can always blackmail each other!”

You scoff, “the sign of a true friendship, indeed.”

“Of course. You can tell I have experience with friends, right?” she jokes, grabbing her phone and swiping a few pictures through what you suppose to be her album. Turning the phone, she holds the screen just a foot from your eyes which widen at the familiar looking figure of the girl displayed. “Remember that girl on your camera who I said looks awfully like my boss’s daughter? Well, I figured out that it’s because she is my boss’s daughter.”

Really?

The thought of Yoongi actually dating someone of immense power and influence infuriates you for some reason—probably because you’re admittedly jealous of her position and income—but all you can do is grit your teeth and feign a smile to conceal the authenticity of your relationship with Yoongi; you had promised him, after all, and it’s not like it would benefit you at this point to spill his love life.

“And what’s so blackmail material about that?” you purse your lips.

“No wonder you’re a rookie,” she sighs and you can’t help but take her words to offense. “Sure, it may seem completely normal for someone like her to attend potential business partner’s grand events. It’s all a part of business. But, you see, our company has been asking to partner with BigHit Entertainment for months now, and we’ve only been denied countless times.”

“What if this is their last resort? To use their daughter, a beautiful one at that, and entice one of the boys into agreement?” you theorize, genuinely curious.

“Hm, that sounds awfully dark to use her like that,” Xiao Lin frowns before nodding, “maybe; I see your point, but I’m not sure about that. I checked her working schedule that’s been leaked online and BigHit’s premiere wasn’t anywhere on that list.”

“So…”

“I’m thinking she’s a superfan of BTS,” Lin confidently states, nodding her head as if to confirm her own theory.

“Well, whatever it is, I don’t care,” you refute a bit more harshly than you intend; the fury in your stomach grows by the second. Should you show the remaining photo you had captured that night to Lin? Should you ask her for advice? Or insight? Doing so would be leaking crucial information to your enemy, both as Yoongi’s supposed partner and as the temporary writer of Secrets Spilled. Luckily, your usual sense of rationality makes a timely return as you spout, “as long as she’s not a delusion fan of Yoongi’s.”

“Ooh,” Lin sing-songs with a cheeky grin, “sassy, and rightfully so; I like it.”

A scoff escapes your lips as you shrug, but the casual facade front of yours is broken when a series of vibrations sends you jumping in your seat.

Him [1:41 P.M.] Y/N, this is Yoongi. Where are you right now? I thought it over last night, and I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I’ll be waiting for you in my studio.

Him [1:42 P.M.] I’ll be there for the rest of the evening.

Him [1:42 P.M.] You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.

Him [1:42 P.M.] It’s just an award for getting through this all.

Him [1:42 P.M.] Here’s the address. Again, you don’t have to come if you’re busy or upset.

An award? What exactly does he really think of this whole ordeal? Do you seem like an obedient puppy that needs to be rewarded by his owner? And why does he keep insisting that you don’t have to come? It’s as if in reality he actually doesn’t want you to come in the first place and is only asking out of common courtesy… or maybe his boss forced him to after a night of persistent arguments behind your back.

Whatever the reason is, your anger and confusion urge you towards vengeance as you slip your phone into your pockets and scoot your chair back loudly without a care.

“What is it? Do you have to go now?” Lin looks up at you in dejection.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Lin,” you apologize, but the guilt vanishes the second a smile replaces the frown on her face at the call of her nickname. “I’ll meet with you again someday.”

“Soon?”

“Sure,” you laugh, gathering your purse and preparing yourself for a long day ahead of you. “See you later.”

“Mhm,” your friend nods eagerly before calling out, “have fun, you love birds!”

As you storm off with your resolve for answers set, love is the last thing you want to hear in relations to Yoongi.

-

The drive to Yoongi’s studio situated in BigHit’s headquarters doesn’t take you more than a couple of minutes, but the time to prepare yourself and your planned dialogue delays you into the last minutes of sunset.

“Oh? Is that you, Y/N?” a man with tan skin and warm blond locks greets you right as you pull out your phone to notify Yoongi of your arrival. The quizzical look on your scarf-covered face elicits a chuckle from said man. “I’m Namjoon. I’ve heard the entire story from our boss… not so much from Yoongi, haha.”

“I’m not surprised,” you retort. “Who would be proud of dating someone like me? And don’t worry, I don’t go around boasting of my ‘relationship’ with him either.”

“Oof, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Namjoon laughs, taken aback by your aggressive demeanor. “I can see the support behind your claim though! I’m liking the scarf.”

What are you doing? You should be blowing off steam at Yoongi, not Namjoon, an innocent bystander.

“...sorry,” you mumble, eyes shifting to the dim shadows casted upon the concrete sidewalk. “I’m a bit tired, not really in a good mood.”

“I understand,” he assures, shaking his head along with his hands before burying them back into his pockets. “It’s our fault for dragging you into this mess anyway.”

“It’s fine…”

“What’re you here for?”

“Um…” you mutter, pulling out your phone in an urge to prove yourself. “Yoongi invited me to his studio.”

“I trust you. You don’t have to pull out your phone,” Namjoon chortles, eyes widening shortly after. “But really? Yoongi? His studio?”

“Yeah…?”

“You’re either incredibly lucky or incredibly charming,” he muses and continues when he notices the quirk in your brow. “Barely anyone gets to step foot into Yoongi’s studio, especially by his invitation.”

You’re neither lucky nor charming. You’re just so terribly unlucky to be caught up in a situation like this that anyone, including Yoongi, would begin to empathize for you. By rebelling against Yoongi’s will and entering his studio, you’ll be getting back at him for dragging you into this in the first place.

“And why’s that? Have you ever entered before?”

“Well, of course. I’m his band mate. But he seldom asks me for advice,” he laughs, patting a hand behind your shoulder and pushing you forward to his side. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

The lavish, skyscraper of a building fares far superior to the company you expect to be fired from very soon, but the friendly mien and intriguing conversations of Namjoon’s keeps you from being overwhelmed… but that only adds to your intimidation the second he leaves your side and you find yourself standing right before the door to Yoongi’s studio.

Black paint and handles locked, everything is practically screaming at you to leave.

This is a bad idea.

There’s really no going back the second you enter.

Turning on the balls of your heels, you make a last minute decision to bolt when the door behind you creaks open.

“Y/N?”

Speak of the devil.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you sigh, whirling back around with a pressed smile.

Yoongi stands there in what surprises you to be the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen. A black beanie, gray sweater, and black basketball shorts are a drastic change from the full on tuxedo he had been sporting last night.

If you’re being honest with yourself, the cost of his outfit probably sums up to be half of the price of what you’re wearing right now.

This can’t be Yoongi. No, not the one you so despise. Not the one that has you fuming under your breath throughout the night, right?

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he simply states, gazing at you without a hint of expression to give him away.

“Oh, sorry,” you fold your hands behind your back. “I thought you were going to be here either way.”

“Yeah. Fair enough,” he agrees and holds the door open. Glancing up from the hardwood floor leading to the dark grey carpeting of his studio, you stare at him with wide eyes. Yoongi’s eyes shift from you, the side, and back to you as he shifts his weight and quirks a brow, “didn’t you come here to see my studio?”

“Oh, right,” you quickly blurt, shuffling your way into the room, “well, don’t mind if I do, then.”

The hefty door slams closed behind him, and if it weren’t for your eyes, you wouldn’t have noticed Yoongi standing there before you. Other than the humming buzz of his three wide monitors and computer, paired with black headphones and all sorts of unfamiliar devices, the sound proof walls along with Yoongi’s silence send chills down your back. Suddenly, you feel the need to fill the space with what you came here to do.

With his hands in his pockets and his front turned towards you, you figure he’s keeping a watch on you in case you touch any of his elaborate equipment. Turning around and away from his wooden desk, you’re just about to speak when he begins first.

“I saw the news this morning,” he utters. “Are you alright?”

So he has? No, of course he has; he’s the main subject of the rumors after all.

“Yeah,” you gulp. “I haven’t read the comments yet.”

“Oh, well, you shouldn’t,” he pauses, “I don’t usually read the news.”

“That’s because they aren’t news.”

Yoongi glances at you in surprise at your quick remark before nodding with pressed lips, “agreed.” At least there’s one thing you two can agree on. “But I had to read them this morning to make sure they weren’t slandering you.”

“Oh…” you mumble, dejected by guilt. “Thanks.”

“No need,” he shakes his head, “it’s our fault you’re in this mess, anyways.”

“...yeah,” a deep breath in and out helps calm your racing pulse. “So are you sure you’re fine with all of this? What if someone misunderstands?”

“What do you mean?” he quirks a brow. “My whole life is a misunderstanding anyways, so this isn’t new.”

“No, but, for example,” you pause before blurting, “what if your girlfriend sees the news?”

“My girlfriend?” he wrinkles his nose. “No, don’t worry, that won’t happen.”

Lies. You saw him with his girlfriend just last night.

“Are you sure?”

His lips turn upside down and he frowns at you as if something had gone haywire in your head. Reclining from your persistence, your eyes avert to the side as Yoongi remains in silence.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

His words catch you by surprise.

Peering up from the ground, you find Yoongi’s eyes settled on yours; he isn’t laughing, he isn’t smiling, he isn’t even frowning that judgemental frown he had on before, he’s being sincere about his apology.

“I wanted to apologize to you in person and not on text for upsetting you last night,” he continues, voice low and unwavering. “I was already dragging you through so much trouble, but I acted as if you were a hindrance. So while this isn’t the best offer to make it up to you, I hope my studio is cool enough to keep you from hating me.”

Either his years of acting under the power of his authorities helped him or his sense of morality isn’t too far from yours,

“I mean, it’s alright,” you muse, “the studio, that is.”

“And it’s also alright if you keep hating me,” he shrugs and you gape at his remark.

“Touche,” you scoff. “But more importantly, there’s something that’s been on my mind for a while now.”

Yoongi nods, silently conveying for you to proceed.

“I’m just… I’m confused as to why you guys picked me. You could’ve picked anyone else—” you could’ve picked the girl you were making out with “—I mean, anyone has more influence and relevance than me.”

Yoongi blinks blankly at you before answering, “my boss saw us talking after I brought you backstage. He never really sees me interacting with people, not to mention a girl, outside of work, so he thought that our chemistry would make for a more believable story.”

“Ah... you don’t talk with people other than your band mates?”

He shrugs as if to answer yes.

“Then will I also be the first to hear a snippet of your works in progress?”

“I don’t know about that…” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head.”

“But don’t you post previews for your fans, anyways?”

“Are you my fan?”

“Well,” you scoff, “I have to pretend to be.”

“Well, you’re doing a good job considering how needy you’re being,” he remarks; you’re finally getting a hang of his type of humor. “First, you intrude into my studio, and now you’re asking me about previews.”

“Okay, fine. How do I get into the all-knowing Min Yoongi fanclub, then?”

“You can’t. It’s overfilled,” Yoongi shrugs with a smirk. “But you said you’re a writer, correct? I’ll trade you a ten second snippet of my tracks for a page of your works.”

“No!” you immediately answer.

“See?”

“But you’re an immensely popular artist. Everyone recognizes your works. You should have confidence in yourself,” you spew. “I, on the other hand, only get—what—a few hundred views? Maybe two or so comments?”

“I don’t get your point. Creators are all the same regardless of how big or small we are,” he equivocates. “The quality of your works are independent of numbers.”

Of course. His ignorance is starting to show through again.

You scoff, “easy for you to say.”

“Look, I didn’t make it big right off the bat, either, Y/N,” he shuffles in place as you begin pacing around the room.

“Yeah, but all I’m saying is you should have more confidence in yourself since you’ve already been recognized!”

“Alright, then according to you, how are you going to be recognized if you aren’t even willing to share your own pieces?” he quips and you’re stumped on how to answer.

“...I am sharing them—online,” you stammer. “Just not with you.”

“Oh?” he raises a brow. “And what do you post about?”

Why is he asking you so many questions? Rather than genuine curiosity, all you’re receiving are harsh judgements being made on you.

Clearing your throat, you gulp. “...romance. Young adult novels.”

Your answer renders him even more baffled than before; his brows raise and his eyes narrow, “forgive me, I actually meant to ask what do you write about. It’s not bad that you write those, but… you don’t strike me as a teen romantic?”

“I do,” you affirm. “Sometimes I write personal anecdotes. I just don’t post them. Those don’t appeal to the general public.”

“And why does that matter?”

His constant stream of questions are beginning to irritate you.

Why is he trying to test you?

Who is he to judge you?

“First, Mr. Know It All, I’ll appeal to the public, make it big, then and only then will I truly be able to write what I want,” you spit.

“Those are some big dreams,” he only states. “Familiar ones, too.”

“Familiar ones?” you repeat, scoffing. “Sorry, but in my kind of world, dreaming is all you can do.”

“Do you have a backup plan?”

“A what?”

“A backup plan; in case it doesn’t work out, you have something to fall back on.”

“Are you serious right now?” you gape. “I don’t have time to do anything but chase my dreams right now! I know it’s hard for someone like you to believe, but it’s true.”

“I’m just trying to help you,” he argues, brows furrowing as he takes a defensive stance. “Because you know what happens to all dreams? They end.”

“Well, I’m a dreamer. Dreamers are reckless and courageous; we do all sorts of things without realizing nor caring for repercussions.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath and loudly sighs, groaning and ruffling his hair underneath his beanie. “I don’t think you’re getting what I’m trying to say here. I want you to succeed, Y/N, but what are you going to do when it doesn’t work out?”

Laughing in disbelief at his ego, you shake your head and sigh, “I can live as your housewife since I am your girlfriend after all.”

Your joke only incites silence from Yoongi; that damn, stupid and judgemental silence of his. He stares at you, frowning and wrinkling his nose at your remark. You haven’t felt more vulnerable than you do now in years.

“It was just a joke, okay,” making your way past him and to the door, you sigh. “You know what? I’m tired. I’m leaving. Text me whenever you need me to kiss up to the public. I might need some of the fame myself.”

With that, you make your departure.

And Yoongi doesn’t even care enough to hold you back.

-

Solji [11:11 P.M.] Y/N! I’m busy with my honeymoon and all, but I wanted to check in on you! You’re still going to write the article for SS, right?

At first you were hesitant, confused, and even guilty of going behind Yoongi’s back—even if he’s just your pretend boyfriend—and writing articles on him just to make money; but after seeing how stuck up he must be tonight, you figure this is your only way to get back at him and show him your way of life is more practical, more realistic than his life of a celebrity.

Because even a low-life like you can rise to power.

As promised, here’s a behind the scenes picture of the boys at the grand premiere, making their way to the top of the stage where the rest of the world awaits them.

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I’ll be a temporary replacement for the SS in the next few weeks.

Hope I’ll get to know you all!

- xoxo Ink Nemesis.