#and mistook one of my colleagues for another

[mr-wolfenstein]

Sharp Claws... Unleashed.

It’s been too long since I’ve carved anyone up with my claws. Too long since I let them taste what happens when they mistake silence for weakness.

When I walked away from Petrojet, I thought the sky would collapse. Turns out, it was just a goddamn job. I left because I refused to let that place consume me—refused to let my life be swallowed whole by the grind.

Now, at this new company, there’s a hollowness. Like quitting an addiction and still craving the poison. Petrojet was a toxic ex—abusive, draining, suffocating—and part of me still misses the fight.

But I woke the hell up. Realized I have a life. That I can breathe, walk, exist without the weight of that place crushing me. That job wasn’t just stealing my time—it was eating me alive.

Then came him. Some middle-management mutt who mistook my calm for submission. Thought my silence was fear. Stood there, barking at me like I’d cower, like I’d tremble just because he had a fancy title and I was the "new engineer."

Big mistake.

He had no idea what was coming. No clue that beneath the quiet, my claws were itching for a fight. I tore into him—professionally, unprofessionally, brutally. Left him stunned, scrambling, bleeding from words sharper than he ever saw coming.

I could’ve gone harder. Could’ve let him really feel the rage of every day I ever swallowed down. But I didn’t. Not because I couldn’t—because I didn’t care enough to.

And yet, the whispers started. Colleagues calling me a "superhero" because no one had ever shut him down before. Pathetic. All I did was reply. If I’d really wanted to gut him, there’d be nothing left but scraps.

In the end? Just another garbage Monday. Another wasted fight. And through it all, one truth burns hotter than the rest:

I Miss Home.

[askdrunkbillcipher]

Talking to Ghosts

(A Halloween special based on the lore I’ve made up for this blog)

- - - -

“Greetings, one and all, to Talking to Ghosts! The interview show that seeks out spirits from beyond the grave and answers the question of what we have to look forward to in the afterlife! I am your host, yet to be a ghost, Spectre, and I have been a medium for my entire life. I use my gifts to bring you all the views and opinions of those who have passed from all across the multiverse, and today, on this Halloween day, do I have a treat for you!”

“I’m here with Euclid and Scalene from Universe 64209, and if those names don’t sound familiar to you, maybe Bill Cipher does! As it turns out, these two are the proud parents of the infamous interdimensional criminal, sadistic tyrant, and demonic dealmaker - or at least, the version of him that’s also a raging alcoholic!”

“Could we really not get anyone else for our Halloween special? Like, I get that they’re still Cipher’s parents, but really? That version of the guy? No, no, I’ll still do the show, it’s just- sigh, yeah, no, I get it. Alright.”

“So, first off, let’s hear from the lovely belle of Euclydia, Scalene! So, it seems that your son is quite fond of you! In fact, he mistook a blue Bill for you and got wildly attached. Take a look!”

[Scenes between drunk!Bill and ReverseFalls!Will are played across the screen. A laugh track plays every time drunk!Bill calls him “mom”.]

“But how would you describe your relationship with your son?”

…He was my precious boy. He meant the world to me. I did everything I could for him. I’m just sorry it wasn’t enough…

“So you don’t resent him for destroying your entire dimension?”

Of course not. It was a tragic accident. He didn’t mean it. As I was dying, I saw the look in his eye. The horror in it… I just wish he could move on. There’s no changing what he’s done. I don’t blame him for running, but he can’t do this forever.

“Well, that response is about as emotionally mature as it is depressing! What about you, Euclid? What are your thoughts?”

Heh. I won’t lie to you. At first, I was furious. Everything I had worked for was reduced to a speck of dust along with everything else. But as time went on, I realized being a ghost is actually pretty great! I can do whatever I want without having to worry about things like public image and climbing the social ladder!

“Wow, that’s unexpected! So what have you been doing?”

Well, I saw how powerful Billy got as he grew older and I started to think maybe he got it from me! Sure, I didn’t show any signs of it before, but maybe that’s just cause I never tried. So I’ve been going to Earth and giving it a shot, trying to project my thoughts into the minds of those freakish 3D beings that took their own political roles. Nothing too serious, just trying to get a bit more money into politics or get that housing market booming again. But it… hasn’t worked all too well. At all even. But at least I can hover in the corner and watch them discuss things.

“Haha! Sounds like you miss your old job on some level! Do you regret at all not taking your son seriously?”

Of course not! He said he saw something no one else could see, does that not sound like hallucinations? Er, can we scratch that from the record, actually? What I meant to say was, what are you talking about? It was never my idea to call him crazy and drug him, it was that bastard optometrist! He’s the one who really traumatized my son. Scalene and I were just doing what we were wrongly led to believe was best for our sweet little boy!

Honey, you once got so mad about him talking about the stars in front of your colleagues that you whispered to him you’d cut his eye out if he didn’t stop.

Haha! That’s obviously not what I said! I said… to cut it out! You know the expression, cut it out? I am so terribly sorry if you or he misheard me, of course.

…

“Wow! Such a spirited conversation between the spirits of this couple! Now, on another note, how do we feel about that drinking problem?”

I know he does it because he can’t handle his feelings. I just wish he had someone to support him through it. Though, it looks like he’s getting some friends who could help, and this gives me hope.

Feelings, is it?

What?

That’s why you always spent so much of my money on wine?

For the millionth time, I’d only ever finish a bottle about every two weeks. The rest was cooking wine! Meanwhile-

Oh here we go again!

-you only stopped going out for whiskey every week when people started recognizing you in public! That’s all you’ve ever cared about, is your public image! Not your child, not supporting a family-!

I’m sorry, remind me again who was the main breadwinner of the household?

That’s not the poin-!

Who was it, dear?

…You, Euclid.

That’s right! Because of my money, you had a house, you had food on the table, and we both had the money for Billy’s very expensive medical treatments! So I don’t want to hear-

“IS THERE anything you’d like to say in the last five minutes of the show?”

Please don’t be too hard on my son-

I would just like to take this moment to say that if there are any mayoral races that are both taking place and accept interdimensional ghosts as candidates, I would be more than happy to run! I’m certain my experience in politics will help me to serve you the people well, no matter where you are!

Don’t vote for him

“And that’s all the time we have! Thank you, Euclid and Scalene of Dimension 64209 for your time with us today! And to the viewers at home, I hope to see you again real soon! Buh-bye!”

[delucadarlingwriting]

Have Her Cake and Eat It - Part 3

I've been trying to be two chapters ahead before posting any parts of this, but part 5 is going to be hella long (patrol scene), so I don't want to go another week without posting. Hopefully it helps me feel some momentum!

Summary: Kira struggles against the pressure of being a handler-in-training.

Word Count: 3,813

First | Last Part | Next Part (tbd)

***

[Kira POV, Wayhaven Square Inn]

Though Kira used to pass the inn every day on her walk to school, Kira has never once actually stepped through the front door. She’s gone to the attached restaurant several times, it’s where she had dinner before prom and a few other special occasions. The inn itself was never of much interest though. 

As she steps through the polished oak door, the woman behind the counter does a double take at the sight of her. 

“My goodness, is that…Kira Kingston?” she asks, gasping with a hand on her chest. Her silvery hair is piled up on her head in a messy bun as she pretends to adjust her glasses. It takes Kira a moment, but the bright purple lipstick and orange cat brooch stuck through a crocheted vest jostles Kira’s memory.

“Hello, Mrs. Reed,” Kira says. Being so far out in the middle of nowhere, the innkeeper was very often one of the people fetching water glasses in the restaurant, no doubt out of lack of anything else to do. Kira has to wonder how many guests she actually sees in a year. 

The older woman glances back at Nate and Mason, an intrigued eyebrow arching over sharp eyes. 

“My, my,” she says. She smiles slyly. “Now, that’s not much like the Kira I remember, always chasing the pretty girls.”

“Wh—!” Kira sputters. Nate and Mason both laugh, the cretins, though at least Nate has the grace to be quiet about it. “Mrs. Reed, these are my colleagues. I’m here on business!”

“Business?” She blinks, then lets out a loud ah. “I suppose that makes sense, the Agency wanting rooms then. I should’ve known you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. I nearly mistook you for her when you first walked in. She’s aged terribly well, hasn’t she?”

“...I guess so,” Kira says, feeling too awkward to say much else. She manages to wrangle keys for the three of them, assuring Mrs. Reed that someone would come for the fourth later on. Mason is still chuckling to himself as she leads the way upstairs.

“Shut up,” Kira hisses. Mason smirks, hands in his pockets as he strolls along.

“You never mentioned being a skirt chaser, that’s all,” he says. 

“I wasn’t,” Kira says. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “For god’s sake, I’ve only dated two people in my life, and I’ve been happily committed to one of them for years now!”

“Yeah, two,” Mason replies. He shudders. “Longer than I’d want.”

“You can barely commit to keeping your trousers buttoned,” Nate says. 

“I aim to please,” Mason says with a low purr, falling back as Nate moves to pass him and walk beside Kira as they hit the first landing of the stairs.

“It seems like you know most of the people in town,” Nate says. 

“Not as many as I used to,” Kira says. Wayhaven never seemed to change when she was a child, but suddenly she’s away for a few years and so much is different upon her return. Including the people. “I’m glad to see people I recognize though.”

“It’s quite sweet,” Nate says with a soft smile. “You said you know the detective, right? You two seemed familiar.”

“Not as familiar as Kira wishes,” Mason pipes in. Kira turns back to swat at him, but he leans back, anchoring himself with a hand on the railing, before she can make contact.

“She’s just an old friend,” Kira says, hands on her hips as she glares down at him. “And she’s our mission now, so don’t forget that.”

“I haven’t,” Mason says, a touch defensive. He bristles a little, but doesn’t argue further. Kira turns away, her braid slicing through the air and smacking him in the face. He growls, but the reminder of their mission has Kira irritated all over again.

“And what happened during the interview with Trevor Cunningham cannot happen again,” Kira says, her footsteps made heavier with her emotions. “You both made me look like a jackass! And yourselves worse than!”

“Yes, we did,” Nate agrees, shoulders drooped. “And we’re sorry about it. We’re just used to how things have been for so long. We should have known better.”

She groans. Thinking about how infuriated Barbie was about it makes her want to find a nice rock to crawl under. At the same time, maybe part of being a handler is anticipating issues like this and heading them off before they happen. The team always seems to work just a bit better when Rebecca is around, after all. 

“Just…do better,” Kira pleads.

“Is it really that big of a deal? We’re just doing our job. That leggy detective should be able to cope with that,” Mason says. He shuts up when Nate and Kira both glare at him. 

It’s weird, going from being part of the team to being sort-of-kind-of in charge of the team. Technically Adam is still in charge, with Rebecca being just above him, but everyone’s going to be looking to Kira for direction eventually. She’s not sure how to navigate the shifting dynamics.  Maybe this is why Adam always seems more distant than the others, despite how he cares just as much as any of them.

Nate heaves a deep sigh as they reach the top of the stairs. The hallway splits off in either direction, empty and silent. For a moment they linger, eyes on Nate as he mulls over what he wants to say. 

“It’s a shame we can’t tell her what kind of danger she’s in,” he says eventually. Mason huffs.

“It’ll be more trouble than it’s worth if she knows,” Mason says. Kira nods, though she doesn’t know if she agrees or disagrees. Nate frowns, a line forming between his eyebrows. An argument starts to form around his mouth. 

“You know the Agency’s rules,” Kira says before he can get started, putting a soothing hand on her friend’s arm. “It really sucks, but the rules are what they are for a reason. Besides, Unit Bravo is a crack team. We’ll do such a good job she’ll never even need to know a thing, and she can just continue living her normal life without disruption.”

Though his shoulders loosen for a moment, there’s still a trace of worry around Nate’s eyes. He’s always had a soft spot for humans as long as Kira’s known him, but this is more than she’s used to. 

“I suppose,” Nate mutters.

“You could always do a quick patrol to keep an eye on her,” Kira suggests. She checks her watch; Barbie had mentioned wanting to write up that report, so she’ll likely be around the police station for a while. Having an extra pair of eyes on her definitely wouldn’t hurt.

Nate brightens. “Yes, that sounds like a great idea.”

“I’ll go too,” Mason says. He grimaces as they both look at him in disbelief. Rarely does Mason volunteer to do work. Nate recovers first with a smile.

“I’d love the company,” he says, a hand flexing at his side. Mason gives a sharp nod, falling in at his side. The two of them head right back down the stairs and out the front door, their movements so fluid and in sync that Kira can’t help watching them leave.

Truth be told, Kira wishes she was with them. Learning that Barbie is to be the next victim has put her ill at ease, especially knowing that Barbie is, alarmingly, Wayhaven’s detective. She would have never guessed that Barbie would take a job putting herself in danger. Then again, what she truly knows of Barbie is wrapped up in the fact that she was just a kid when they spent the bulk of their time together, not a peer. Biting her lip, she hopes that Barbie can see her as more than that now. Though after the dressing down Barbie gave her and the vampires after the interview, she’s never felt more like a child playing dress up in her mom’s clothes. 

This is the thought that drives her to find her room and shed her suit as quickly as possible. It’s been a long day, especially considering she didn’t sleep a wink last night. They’d been so close to catching Murphy at the Farris Warehouse before running into Barbie. Then Rebecca tells them Barbie is, in fact, one of the people with the special blood mutation, and the team will be staying put to keep her from being murdered like all the others. It had given Kira so much to think about that she couldn’t settle in at all.

Kira finds her room and shoulders through the door once it’s unlocked, kicking it shut and tossing all her clothes off before stomping into the ensuite bathroom. The cold tiles make her jump a little as she aims for the shower. Maybe she should’ve turned the water on so it could heat up before taking all her clothes off. 

The old shower rattles and gurgles, spitting out an icy spray that has Kira squeaking as she jumps back. She retreats into the bedroom to grab her shower cap, shoving her mid-back length braid into it. Thankfully, steam starts to rise within moments, and she’s able to step into the shower. The moment the water hits her chilled skin, Kira shivers and relaxes into it. This is way better than the accommodations in Alaska. 

Kira smiles to herself a little, thinking about Mason. He could barely get his complaints out with how hard his teeth were chattering. Despite not being nearly as cold here in Wayhaven, she expects he’ll still find plenty to say about the chill wind that comes in off the Atlantic. 

Being back in Wayhaven is a mixed bag. Kira loves being home so much, even if she wishes it were under better circumstances. It also has her on edge. Wayhaven is such a small town that she knows the one person she’s most dreading seeing again is sure to find her eventually. There’s just no way to avoid it, even if she’s determined to put it off as long as possible. 

From outside the shower there’s a soft shifting. Kira cracks an eye open and peers through the frosted glass wall of the shower. There’s a silhouette of a familiar figure just outside, tugging clothes off in an urgent manner. Kira hides a giggle behind her hand as the figure starts hopping around on one foot, trying to extract a very tight pair of skinny jeans. 

“I hear that!” Farah complains once she’s free. The shower door slides open to reveal her cute, pouty face. Kira reaches up and pushes the shower head aside so it won’t splash her as Farah starts carefully pulling a shower cap over her curls. Pink with silver stars, to match Kira’s green with gold hearts. 

Once that’s taken care of, Farah steps in and reaches up to bring the spray of water back over them both before Kira can stop her.

“Ow!” Farah yelps, jumping back. Kira’s already reaching to twist the shower knob to a cooler setting. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Kira says with a chuckle. Farah puts a hand under the water tentatively, only stepping back under once it’s just a few steps past tepid. Once it’s comfortable enough, she steps under and pulls Kira against her. Kira leans into Farah, tucking her head against Farah’s neck, inhaling her sweet scent and nuzzling against the softness of her skin. 

Though they’ve only been apart a few hours, Kira still finds herself relieved to have Farah close again. She wraps her arms around Farah’s waist, sliding her hands up and down her back. As familiar as Farah’s body is to her by this point, she still finds herself trying to memorize every inch of her by touch. 

“Missed me?” Farah murmurs, a smile in her voice. Kira hums and nods, pressing a kiss to Farah’s neck. It makes Farah shudder, and Kira only just resists the urge to give her a little love bite. 

“You don’t even know how much,” Kira says, pulling back. Farah smiles brightly, her amber eyes sparkling like gemstones. 

“Aw, I missed you too, Kiki,” Farah says. She cups Kira’s face and leans in for a quick kiss. Kira could do with a lot more of that, but she doesn’t want to turn pruny in the meantime, so she reaches back for her washcloth and soap to move things along. Farah does the same, lathering up her washcloth as she gives Kira a once over. “You look tired.”

“Very flattering,” Kira teases her. Farah laughs.

“Everything go alright?” she asks, still smiling, but with a trace of concern. Kira sighs and gives her head a shake.

“It was fine, but not great.” Kira scrubs at her arm until the skin turns pink. “We managed to piss Barbie off, barely got anything out of the witness, and I’m starting to think I should just quit and open up that boutique after all.”

“Woah, babe,” Farah says, holding her hands up soothingly. “Come on now, that’s not like you.”

“What if my mom is wrong about me being able to take over as handler?” Kira bursts. She wants to tug at her braid, but it’s still tucked into her shower cap, so she twists the washcloth between her hands instead. “She’s basically the best the Agency has ever had. I can’t even manage to handle an interaction in my own hometown with someone I grew up with!”

“Babe, babe! Easy now.” Farah lays her palms against Kira’s shoulders and squeezes. “You’re bonkers good at your job, but it takes time, right?”

“Right…” Kira says, but it feels like she should already know how to do this. She’s watched her mother do it for long enough. 

“Plus, I’m sure you’re all twisted up and stressed because the girl you’ve been crushing on since you were a little kid is involved,” Farah says, not nearly as innocently as she’d like Kira to believe. Kira squawks and swats at her, making Farah cackle.

“I don’t need this from you too!” Kira whines. Farah just grins and scoots Kira out of the way so she can rinse off. 

The conversation hits a lull, Kira mesmerized for a few moments by the lines drawn down Farah’s body by the water. Farah meets her eye, smirking, the attention more than welcome.

They both finish washing up, though there might be a little soapy groping in there before they rinse themselves and get out of the shower to dry off. Kira pulls on some pajamas and tosses herself onto the bed with her brush and gets started on the task of brushing out all of her hair. It’s well past her butt at this point, and though it can be a real pain to take care of, she makes sure to brush it out every single night. Farah ties her hair up into a pink silk scarf once she’s dressed, then joins Kira, using a second brush to help her out. 

Kira sighs, heart fluttering. “I got so lucky with you.”

“Almost as lucky as me!” Farah exclaims, looking very smug as she gently tugs the brush through Kira’s hair. “So…About this Barbie girl.”

“I really shouldn’t have told you I used to have a crush on her,” Kira says with a sigh. The mattress creaks as Farah scoots closer. 

“Aw, I’m not jealous if that’s what you think,” Farah says with a laugh. “Come on, you’ve got me.”

“Exactly. And I have eyes for no one else,” Kira assures her. She leans over and Farah meets her for another kiss, her mouth warm and soft.

“I’m mostly just asking because I know it can be…tough,” Farah says haltingly. Kira pauses brushing to look at her. Farah’s hands have paused too as she thinks. “Liking someone you know won’t reciprocate is a weird thing to deal with.”

Kira’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. “Speaking from experience, my dove?”

For once, Farah struggles to find words. She ends up forcing a smile and says, “Maybe we can talk about it some other time?”

Concern floods Kira immediately, but a quick once over tells her that Farah isn’t in distress at least. She nods, squeezing Farah’s knee.  

“I’m always happy to listen,” Kira assures her. Farah smiles so hard her cheeks round out and squish the corners of her eyes. Her heart flutters, and if she were standing, her knees wouldn’t hold her up. 

A question still lingers in her mind, so she pushes back her infatuation, trying to get back to business.

“How did your hunt go with Adam?” Kira asks. Immediately Farah groans and blows a raspberry.

“It sucked,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We didn’t find anything.”

“No evidence of our killer?” Kira asks. Farah shakes her head.

“Nada. Squat. Literally nothing. He’s as good as ever at covering his own tracks.” Farah scratches at her cheek idly. “I guess it’s kind of lucky your detective is one of those weird blood mutation people, since that means he’ll probably stick around in one place longer.”

“Yay us,” Kira says, a sudden bout of nausea hitting her. Farah gives a sheepish smile and shrugs. She doesn’t really want to linger on the thought of her hometown or her old friend being in so much danger, but it is, unfortunately, her job now. “Do you think he might have had thralls dump the body?”

“That’s what Adam said he thinks, though we can’t be sure. There was so much garbage in the dumpsters we couldn’t get a good whiff of anything under it.” Farah wrinkles her nose. “Not that it would matter much if we could. Thralls only smell like thralls when they’re thralls. Once they’re human again they just smell like human.”

“Well, the witness we spoke to did mention chanting, so we can be reasonably assured he’s still making and using thralls,” Kira says, though as Farah said, it’s not like knowing that makes much of a difference. It’s hard to track thralls down when they’re not active.

“Don’t worry, babe, we’ll get it figured out,” Farah says, running the brush through Kira’s hair one last time before tossing it on the bedside table. She flops back against the pillow. “May as well take it easy for tonight.”

“I feel like I take it easy every night compared to you and the others,” Kira grumbles. She rubs her temples to try and keep the stress headache that’s snapping at her heels away. 

“Do you wish your mom was here?” Farah asks. Kira considers that question before answering; Farah has always found the tension present between Kira and Rebecca stressful. 

“Not really,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “It’s a lot to handle, but I’m glad she trusts me enough to give me a little space to learn being a handler. A leader.”

“It’s a dead sexy look on you,” Farah says with an appreciative purr, wiggling her hips at Kira. She laughs and rubs a hand over Farah’s leg, the dark hair there rasping against her palm. 

“Thanks,” Kira says. She walks two fingers up Farah’s stomach, to her chest, and then up to her chin before leaning over to kiss her. Farah hums happily, leaning up into it. 

There’s a lot about this mission that’s weird and different and kind of scary. They’re in Wayhaven, her friend is involved, and it’s a protection mission now. They’ve never known ahead of time who Murphy was targeting, so they’ve just been following the trail of bodies up until this point. Kira still isn’t sure how Rebecca knows Barbie is next on the list, but she does trust that her mom’s word is good. Guarding an asset is way different from tracking one down though. That’s not Unit Bravo’s speciality in the least. It’ll take some getting used to for everyone.

When she pulls back, Farah presses her thumb to the spot between Kira’s eyebrows and says, “Stress monster.”

“Get used to it,” Kira says, grabbing her wrist and bringing it down to kiss Farah’s pulsepoint. 

“Do you want me to go run around her apartment or something, to make sure nothing’s snooping around?” Farah asks. Kira shakes her head.

“Nate and Mason are already doing that.” She checks the time on the clock on the nightstand. “Though maybe I should go talk to Adam about creating an official patrol rota.”

Groaning, Farah snags Kira around the waist and drags her down beside her on the bed. A huff escapes Kira as she’s aggressively snuggled.

“Or,” Farah says, batting some of Kira’s hair out of her face. “You could just stay here. With me. You know, your beautiful, sexy girlfriend?”

“We’re on a job!”

“That doesn’t make me any less beautiful or sexy,” Farah argues.

“No, but it does mean I need to make sure everything is taken care of before I settle in for the night,” Kira says. Farah rummages a hand around the bed and extracts her cell phone.

“Just text him,” Farah says, practically shoving the phone at Kira’s face. “Plus, it’s not as if he hasn’t already probably made one, right?”

That’s a good point, actually. Kira concedes, taking the phone and texts Adam asking if he needs help creating a schedule. His response is to send a photo of a handwritten schedule, done in perfect handwriting on some grid paper. 

“Alright, we’re good for the night,” Kira admits. It still feels like cheating. She can’t shake the feeling of needing to get up and get back to work. Working with vampires makes her feel like a slacker for sleeping away a third of her life. 

Farah takes the phone from Kira’s hands and puts it aside before looping an arm around her waist and tugging her down close. Kira lets out a breath as she is swiftly pushed on her side and spooned.

“You smell so soapy,” Farah says. Kira laughs.

“We just showered, you probably smell the same,” Kira says. Farah blows a raspberry against her neck until Kira shrieks, wiggling against Farah’s grasp until she relents. Kira giggles and wipes away the spit left behind. “It’s not like you’d rather I smell sweaty.”

“Says who?” Farah teases, jutting her hips up against Kira’s ass. Heat prickles up Kira’s spine and spreads out in a fine mist over her skin. Farah purrs, nuzzling against Kira’s shoulder while her fingertips run in slow circles over Kira’s lower belly.

“This isn’t very restful,” Kira jokes, arching her back. 

“I can wear you out, baby,” Farah purrs. That sounds like the best idea Kira’s heard all day. She slides her palm down Farah’s forearm, wraps her fingers around Farah’s wrist, and slides it down the front of her shorts. 

If she’s going to slack off, she could certainly be doing worse.

[poutyniall]

I would love to read your life update 💜 and I can wait as long as I have to so take your time and don't force yourself to do anything you don't have the energy to

And you also should take care of yourself as well as the time and struggle's in your life allow you to 💜

Hello darling, it took me longer than I thought to do this but here we are, let's go!

At the beginning of October, around the 10th, I went to Bologna - a 3 days trip for an event that got cancelled but whatever! - and since I don't really like the city (sorry) I spent the whole time walking in and out every bookstores and asking if they were looking for staff. But nada. Obviously. But while I was there I got a text form the owner of a home items shop I met before leaving - my cousin told me she was looking for staff and I went to her to apply - saying I had to go for a trial day the day after I returned home. So I went. The time I spent there was a thankfully short chapter, barely a month, of my life that was horrible. She is a rotten human being and a shitty employer. I had to ask her THREE times how much she was gonna pay me, after a week of work, before she answered me. The second day, in front of others people, she asked me - laughing - what I wanted to do pointing at the scars on my arm. No one, EVER, not even after months or years of knowing me, dared to ask me something about the scars but she didn't even have the decency to keep her mouth shut about such a sensitive topic. She has no respect for people, taking behind the back of her clients the second they walk out the shop, neither she has respect for the people who work for her. Like, I didn't have a second of break and I had to carry out tasks that weren't my responsibility (like going grocery shopping for her or fixing the electric socket and on) and I wan't insured and I hurt myself. I still don't know how but my toenail fell off and I almost passed out in her bloody, dusty, without a fucking window basement while taking inventory of xmas' stuff. After almost a month of work she paid me nothing, as my grandma'd say 'she'd have given me more if she'd pissed in my hands'. In conclusion, she's a horrible person and one day she'll get what she deserve.

Anyways, after three days I was working there I went to the bookstore at the mall. There's a corner in the store that is like another store and they only sell to the members. Like, you need the membership to benefit of discounts and stuff, which I have 'cause I'm a bookworm. Anyhow, I went there to buy a book and the promoter mistook me for someone else and asked me why I didn't show up for the interview and I was like 'ehm, excuse me, I would have remembered if I had an interview for a job in a bookstore but if you still need it, please tell me all about it'. She did and that's how I ended up doing two jobs till October 31st. At the bookstore in the morning and at the bitch in the afternoon. My colleague from the bookstore... she's sick. Like she's a psycho, for real. The first week I had to stick with her 'cause I needed to learn how to 'sell' the membership card. That week was a whole fat red flag. She touched me - my hair and hips - she pinched my side, right under my boobs line (I don't know if any of this make the slightest sense but please, bear with me), she sent me dozens of messages calling me baby girl, she forced her way of doing things on me, like the way she talked or explained the service to possible clients, she called me over just to stick her tongue at me and she slid into my car the first day of work. She told me, after a week of knowing me, 'I know you, you're gonna get hurt if you don't do what I say and how I say it' and 'he (our boss) is gonna do whatever I say so'. When I started to approach the firsts clients and do the first membership cards by myself she was always behind me breathing down my neck, literally. She said to our boss that my cards weren't good, only hers were valid, she made a fuss with him 'cause I didn't spent my lunch break with her and when she left (she was fired) I found out, from the other guys who work there, that she used to film them with her phone, she falsified some cards ect. She was troublesome. Before she was fired she came to me 'cause she needed to talk to me and she said 'It's not true that it bothered you when I touched you and don't think if you do everything the boss tells you you'll climb fast and have a career' and other nonsense. She follows me on ig with a fake account and she commented one of my story. Basically I have a shitty memory, I always forget books' title so, in order to avoid buying the same book twice, whenever I start a new book I make a story on ig so I always have an archive of the books I've read. The book's title I was reading was 'nobody knows about us' and you wanna know her comment? 'Is it about us?'. And my boss is not better. He sends me dozens of messages every day and calls me 2+ time when I don't answer right away. Like dude, I'm working! He gave me a smart watch just so I can read his texts all the time. I'm not gonna wear it, no fucking way. Also, it doesn't work, it came out damaged. He gave it to me a week ago and he asked me about it something like 10 times in 3 days.

The moral of the story? I think some people have suicidal instincts but are too afraid to do it themselves and that's why they come to me. They're waiting for me to lose the last grain of patience I have.

I'm sorry. I tried to make it as short as I could but it's still sooo long. Thank you, and bless you, if you got this far 💜

[rikkiwildfire]

Orientation

"And that, my sweet, supple henchmen..." Girwin half-assedly lilted, and the grotesque, phlegm-clogged bleating of one of the newly hired sacrificial lambs in his morning tour group interrupted him mid-spittle.

It was sometime before lunch next Tuesday in the sunlit foyer of a giant skull carved from the lone mountain on a small island in the Pacific. Girwin was, and still is (as of this writing), often described by his coworkers, friends, family, and favorite, yet rather gossipy bartender as a, and we're quoting here, "middle-aged schlub of a middle-manager pissing away every precious moment of his life working in human resources for a soulless, yet respectably profitable criminal organization." The dozen or so murmuring mutton-to-be in ill-fitting radiation suits in front of him were preoccupied with complaints about being forced to wear a mask indoors (seemingly in spite of all the radiation), insisting radiation was just a myth, and idly scrolling through their respective social media feeds. Yet none of them noticed that the aforementioned rude interruption was little more than a quick cover up for what proved to be an otherwise silent, if now wholly trapped bit of fart in someone's suit. In fact, most everyone but Girwin and that damned soul now stewing in their own gasses ignored this entirely. Girwin, however, in all his insecure whatever-the-opposite-of-glory-is, mistook this as a rude but helpful reminder of a new interoffice memo regarding inclusion. He couldn't be assed to read the damned thing, of course. But he had heard some of the younger employees discussing something about pronouns, and thus thought it best to correct himself before someone thought to file a complaint and he'd be forced to investigate himself again. And while such a thing normally wouldn't be much of a problem at all, Girwin had planned to duck out a bit early to read to strippers on his way to volunteer at the animal euthanatorium, so he hoped to avoid any extra paperwork that afternoon. But such is life. And as such, it continues even after a rude, brief, yet complete misunderstanding.

"My apologies," Girwin apologized, pausing only long enough to make everyone feel every bit as uncomfortable as he had hoped. "And that, my succulent, savory, hench-persons, concludes our tour. I hope you found today's experiences not only enlightening, but informative, as I would hate to have to kill any of you before your ninety-day review. But more importantly, I want to be the first to welcome you to the E.V.I.L. family!"

As deafening disinterest settled in, Girwin fluffed up his own round of flaccid applause in a failed attempt to conclude this complete waste of his time without another interruption.

"Excuse me, Girwin?" one of the sheep baa'd, raising one of its gloved hands.

Girwin sighed in that way where one very much wants someone else to know just how pissed-offingly annoyed they are with them, but also neither wishes to appear rude nor professional. "Yes, Jeff?"

"It's pronounced, 'Jeff.'"

"What did I say?"

Jeff considered this, and shrugged. "I forget."

"Well, Whoever-You-Are," Girwin said, pleased with his ability to only barely resist his sudden urge to casually demonstrate the efficacy of the company-provided emergency disintegrator ray strapped to his hip. "Would you like to get to your question before I shoot you dead in front of all your soon-to-be former colleagues?

"Yes, I think I'd like that," Jeff replied, immediately followed by the absence of both thought and sound.

Girwin looked on at this artistic display of intellectual failings with a delightfully fruity cocktail of confusion, contempt, and subconscious positioning of his hand in such a way that it was, more or less, now touching and/or holding the aforementioned company-provided emergency disintegrator ray. "Care to give us a hint, then?"

"Oh, right," Jeff chuckled in that uniquely stupid way that universally translates to, I'm an insufferable idiot. "It's about the company mission statement."

"And what of it?"

“Oh,” Jeff pouted. “I thought you were going to guess.” He pulled a mangled, dog-eared copy of the E.V.I.L. employee handbook from his ill-fitting radiation suit, and opened it to a page marked with brightly colored bits of paper and ink. "Well," he continued, skipping the bits in blue and reading the bits in pink, "It says right here, 'E.V.I.L. seeks one goal, and one goal only: world domination.'"

Girwin looked on at Jeff as if the blithering bookreader were the stupidest person he had ever met, which was saying a lot given Girwin's already low and highly vocal opinion of Brennifer in accounting. "You're not one of those soft, tender-loined liberals, are you, Jeff?"

"No-no-no," Jeff laughed yet again in that face-punching way he had about him, stupidly unaware of the rather erotic way Girwin's fingers traced over the slick chrome casing of his company-provided emergency disintegrator ray. "I'm a real cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch, Sir."

"Such a shame I have to kill you after this."

Jeff smiled and nodded. "Agreed. But 'world domination' does seem a bit vague and open-ended."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. Sounds like a hassle, really."

Maybe it was lightning in a bottle, a sudden stroke of significant, deep introspective insight into the illicit doings and beings of arguably the evilest corporation owned and operated by the evilest owners not involved with the designing and manufacturing of suspect electric vehicles. Maybe it was the marijuana Girwin had smoked in the bathroom before the start of that morning's tour. Or maybe it was the way the filtration unit on the ill-fitting radiation suits tended to muffle the wearer's voice. Whatever the reason, Girwin and the rest of his sheep seized on Jeff with all the dumbfounded, jaw-slacking attention usually reserved for adolescent boys reading their first laughably ham-fisted description of female breasts in a clunky horror novel. "What do you mean?" Girwin eventually drooled.

"Well," Jeff started, slipping a gloved hand and arm right up into his still-open, still ill-fitting radiation suit, and picked his nose. "If Adjunct Professor Conniption already has the technology to access alternate realities and create parallel worlds, why doesn't he just, I dunno, go to some perfect world of his own making instead of resigning himself to a life of micromanagement?"

The others considered this for a moment in loud, distorted whispers, but Girwin decided he wasn't comfortable questioning his deep-seeded, self-imposed beliefs. "You know what?," he said. "To Hell with this." And then he casually shot Jeff with his company-provided emergency disintegrator ray.

The group looked on at Jeff's disintegrated cremains sizzling and smoking with all the life of a sizzling, smoking pile of ash, and shuffled nervously in their ill-fitting, now urine-soaked radiation suits.

Girwin returned the company-provided emergency disintegrator ray to its place on his hip. "Are there any other questions?"

[grantgoddard]

The man who mistook his wife for a hat : 2006-2009 : Enders Analysis

1976. With trepidation, I knocked on the door of the Durham student newspaper to volunteer, opened it and encountered a cacophony of shrill, loud voices in an office no bigger than a two-up-two-down front room. A dozen people in close proximity were conversing at sufficient volume for their voices to project into a distant corner of a non-existent adjacent room. Never had I heard so few people generate so much noise. Not a chummy American loudness, but a commanding-the-troops ‘I’m in charge’ harshness. When one woman spoke, it sounded exactly how I imagined a horse might talk. I had stumbled into toff-land, the privileged world of the privately educated, a parallel universe of entitlement I had observed in television historical dramas but not realised still existed in the late twentieth century. Did I grow accustomed to their gratuitous noise pollution? No.

2006. With trepidation, I started my first day’s work at Enders Analysis. Its location in elite Mayfair, opposite the rear entrance of Park Lane’s Grosvenor Hotel, conveyed ‘class’. I was given a desk in a cramped room shared with colleagues who spoke loudly in plummy accents. The previous occasion I had endured transportation to toff-land, thirty years earlier, at least my commitment had been voluntary. Now I was indentured to spend forty hours a week in this socially hostile environment. Each occasion I opened my mouth seemed to confirm my appointment as the ‘accidental analyst’ to a job usually pre-ordained for yet another privately educated chap. Within days, the questions started.

“Why do you arrive at work so early every day?” asked Ian Watt one morning.

“My wife has to start work early, so I leave home with her,” I replied.

“Your wife is a banker?” my colleague suggested. I struggled to maintain a straight face at such a bizarre presumption.

“No,” I responded with hesitancy. “She works in an NHS hospital.”

There was a gap. I sensed a sharp intake of breath.

“Ooooohhhh,” said Watt with evident disappointment that betrayed a palpable disregard for public service, whether someone worked in a hospital kitchen or the deputy chief executive’s office.

If boisterous office chit-chat (“I’m off on holiday to Brazil next week”) proved insufficiently distracting, it was accompanied by personal phone calls made from colleagues’ desks, sometimes communicating disturbing content. Do I really need to hear you phoning a credit card company to increase the limit on a card in your father’s name for which you had applied and use? We all carried personal mobile phones and could go outside to make calls but, for these colleagues, there was evidently no shame or embarrassment in broadcasting their latest Famous Five-ish japes.

One regularly phoned his wife and, instead of a loving message, he would bark orders to her at the top of his voice as if she were a half-deaf scullery maid in his medieval castle. The tone of his phone calls disturbed me sufficiently to glance around our room to determine if the others had similarly felt they were being forced to eavesdrop on a suspected witch undergoing torture by the Inquisitor. None of them looked up or flinched during his tirades, as I did. I felt so alone in this workplace, observing that such humiliation of a fellow human appeared not only acceptable in toff-land but might be practised by my other colleagues.

“My wife is an opera singer,” he would turn around to tell us once his aggressive phone diatribes ended. I was uncertain whether this occupation was some kind of toff codeword for ‘slave’, or perhaps his entire household was staging a never-ending operetta in the ballroom where he had to phone in his part as the angry, posh analyst husband from Mayfair. His behaviour made me contemplate walking over and committing workplace violence but I was restrained by my poor chances in a pistol duel at dawn.

I soon discovered that ritual humiliation appeared to be my new workplace’s predominant management style. Within weeks of starting the job, I attended my first one-day radio conference at a Mayfair hotel a few hundred metres from the office. During the opening morning session, I received a text from a colleague telling me to return to the office because our boss needed me to do something unspecified urgently. Reluctantly leaving the conference, I returned to the office to be told that our boss was not there but would return soon. By the time the conference ended, I had wasted most of the day sat at my desk waiting for something, anything, to happen that required my presence.

If your private schooling imbued you with the notion that Miss Havisham was an ideal role model, such behaviour must simply propagate down your family money-tree. Many more humiliations followed, all of which I accepted with the uncomplaining resignation that a servant is forced to adopt to remain in the employ of an unhinged ‘big house’. The consequence is that the master progressively ups the ante in order to prompt a reaction, any kind of reaction, to their extensive repertoire of humiliations … and so it was.

2008. In front of my colleagues, boss Claire Enders told me she did not appreciate my work clothes. My suits were too baggy and my shirts were too patterned. I had not changed my dress style since starting work there, so I recognised this as her latest attrition. I wore a black or grey suit, a ‘designer’ work shirt, a subtly patterned tie and black shiny shoes. Once a month, my wife accompanied me on a Saturday hike around local men’s outfitters to peruse and purchase sale items. As a result of my daily cross-country run, my shoulders were broad but my waist was narrow, making any suit look ‘baggy’ on me. It was not my fault that many of my work colleagues were Billy Bunter-like!

In response, I resorted to wearing a plain white shirt and black tie every day under one of my existing suits. Then, in front of my colleagues, Enders complained I looked like an undertaker and ordered me to go to gentleman’s shops on Jermyn Street to buy new clothes. My patience with these workplace humiliations was wearing thin by my third year there. I neither agreed nor refused. As the only parent in the analyst team financially supporting their child’s university education, I could not suddenly throw my earnings at hideously expensive clothes. I had kept to my employer’s dress code at all times. I hoped that this latest humiliation might blow over … but I underestimated the persistence of my protagonist.

One week later, colleague Ian Watt told me he had been instructed to take me to Jermyn Street to buy new, more suitable clothes. We took a taxi, something I never afforded. During the one-kilometre journey, Watt wittered on about stuff while I shut my ears and stared vacantly out the window. I had decided to go along passively with his mission, as if he were demonstrating his superior breeding to a servant or slave … or wife. I did not lose my temper, argue or contradict him. I was merely a lowly bit player in his ‘Downton Abbey’ roadmap of British society. In my head, I was amused at the ridiculousness of this situation.

Inside the Dickensian shop (“Suits you, sir!”), Watt chose a new wardrobe for me. Bright pink shirts, elastic braces, ugly black shoes. I offered no opinion about his preferences. All I would have needed was a red nose to join a touring circus. He took my ‘outfit’ to the cash desk and unexpectedly asked me to pay. I refused. There was a standoff. Frustrated at not fulfilling the ultimate humiliation of making me fund my own unrequested makeover, he stormed off to replace most items on their shelves, before proffering his credit card to pay for the remaining two. During our taxi journey back to the office, I remained detached even when I heard him bellow at me:

“If you had attended a public school*, even a minor one, you would know how to dress!”

There, laid bare, was his contempt for me. It mattered not one iota that I had started working in radio more than three decades earlier and had successfully launched commercial stations attracting millions of listeners in the UK, Europe and Asia. It mattered not one iota that I had earned more mass media coverage for Enders Analysis with my published reports about the radio industry than all my analyst colleagues combined. All that mattered to him was the type of school I had attended many moons ago. The five-figure sum that his parents must have paid each term for his private school education seemed to entitle him to treat me like … you know what.

Unlike Pip, I harboured no desire to be accepted as a ‘gentleman’ by London society. You could stuff your flouncy shirts, your waistcoats, your pocket watch, your braces, your uncomfortable shoes, your sickening attitude to people like me. I knew who I was and was perfectly content in my own skin. Born in a council house, I attended school on a council estate and was obliged to become male head of my single-parent household at the age of fourteen. That is who I was. I refused to lick your … overprivileged ego.

Back at the office, the clothes bought in Jermyn Street sat in a bag beside my desk. I refused to even look at them. Naturally, further humiliations followed until, within months, I was forced out of my job. When I left for the final time, I placed the bag of new, unworn toff-wear on my empty office chair. There were no farewell drinks. There was no gratitude. There were no goodbyes. One day I was at work, then I had gone. Exiled from toff-land.

Several months later, I received an unexpected call on my mobile from Ian Watt. There was some work Enders Analysis wanted me to do. I knew from experience that Claire Enders could humiliate to the bitter end former employees who had been edged out of her workplace by asking a staff member to renew contact on her behalf. Watt droned on for a while and, though I was sorely tempted to shout an expletive at the same volume he reserved for humiliating people like me, I simply responded ‘no’ and put the phone down.

I don’t wanna go to Jermyn Street … ever again.

[* In British English, 'public school' confusingly means a private secondary school requiring fees.]

[wkemeup]

Play Pretend

summary: When Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 7.8k warnings: smut (18+), sex pollen (with as much consent as one can have in a dub/con trope)

“What in the—” you slammed an elbow to the nose of the assailant behind you, “holy,” a quick right jab to another coming up on your left, “godforsaken,” a knee plunged straight to your ribs and you kicked to the assailant who managed to get one up on you, “hell, Rogers!”

Another body fell to the ground and settled at the collection at your feet.

Dripping in sweat, heart pounding in your chest, and your body short of giving out completely, you slumped a shoulder against the cold frame of the wall. Down the hall, at least a dozen more Hydra agents were barreling towards you.

There was no response on the coms; not that you expected as much. The Hydra base in Munich you were tasked with rigging to blow was meant to be abandoned. Nothing left but a dozen empty cells and decades of barbaric research no one should ever lay eyes on again.

Seemed Captain Roger’s intel was just slightly off. Tell that to the series of bodies lying in your wake.

“You better send backup, Rogers, or I swear to God I’ll haunt your star-spangled ass for all eternity,” you grumbled to the broken transmission as you attempted to square up. Fists out ahead of you, swaying slightly on weakened legs, a dizziness in your vision making it hard to tell exactly how many men were charging straight at you.

“What? I’m not enough for you?” Bucky suddenly appeared on your right, chuckling to himself as he released the empty magazine from his weapon and quickly replaced it with a new one. Blood was soaked into his hair line, mixing with the sweat beaded on his forehead, and he brushed the back of his hand against his face to smear it back into his hair.

“About time you showed up. Making me do all the hard work myself,” you scoffed, shooting him a teasing smile as you eyed the hallway he came rushing in from.

He insisted you’d be out in time for movie night back home if the two of you split up, divided the C4 amongst you and met back at the quinjet in twenty. Not even his super soldier instincts could have predicted this place would be overrun with stray Hydra agents looking for a rematch.

One of the agents opposing you whipped out a handgun and Bucky jumped forward, using his left arm as a shield. The bullets ricocheted across the room, puncturing into another Hydra agent who collapsed to the ground clutching his knee.

You exhaled a heavy breath, the edges of your lips dipping down into a frown as you watched more agents stepping over the bodies of their colleagues and advancing down the hallway. You glanced up at Bucky, watching as he weighed the rifle in his hands, bouncing it lightly. It was running low on ammo.

“You get anyone on coms yet?”

“Nothing. We’re on our own.” Bucky gritted his teeth, firing a few rounds down at the mass of Hydra agents swarming their way towards you. It knocked a few of them down, at least.

You started to take a few steps in their direction, yanking a knife from the spine of an agent on the ground before you whipped it down at the ones ahead of you, knocking another to the ground. The echo of gunfire tore through the cramped hall again and it left a pile of men at the front lines.

Four left.

“That was my last round,” Bucky grunted, tossing the weapon to the floor as he tugged a small blade from the holster on his thigh. He smirked as he glanced over at you through the corner of his eye. “Who do you want?”

You shrugged, studying the four agents who came to a slow halt at the opposite end of the hallway. The two on the left looked about as you’d expected from Hydra agents; tall, dark haired, with shoulders twice as wide as their hips and a vicious kind of look in their eyes. Then, a blonde-haired woman who couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Bucky, a hand resting impatiently on the knife against her hip. Last, a man who towered at least two feet above the others with a long, jagged scar covering most of his face.

“I’ll take the two on the right.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, glancing between you and your chosen assailants. The taller one cracked his neck to the side and bared his teeth.

“You’re sure?”

You feigned offense; a hand pressed your heart as you took a few steps forward, sliding the batons out from the holsters along your shoulder blades and twirling them between your fingers. “You underestimate me, Barnes. You think I’d let you have all the fun?”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head as he jogged to catch up with you, disregarding the battle cries of the Hydra agents as they advanced as if it was only ever the two of you in the room. “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.”

The blonde woman stared to advance on Bucky, eyes trailing him up from his boots to the top of his head with a devilish kind of look in her stare. She licked at her lips hungrily, as if she was ready to take a bite into him, though he paid her no mind as he rushed at the two men to her right.

“Hey, Barbie!” you called, waving a baton in the air to grab her attention. “Looks like your stuck with me.”

She glared at you, pausing in her strut for only a minute, but it was all you needed. You sprinted towards her, using the wall as leverage as you jumped up against the frame to propel yourself into her. Baton at ready, you slammed down into her collarbone as she let out a yelp and fell down to the ground. It didn’t take her long to get back on her feet and when she did, her knife was nestled tight into her grip, a new kind of intrigue on her face as she stared you down.

“Need any help over here?” Bucky called out from the end of the hallway as he ducked under the right hook of one of his assailants. He clipped one in the knees, sending them spiraling to the floor with a pained shout, before he smirked over in your direction.

“Mind your business, Barnes!” You rolled your eyes as a smile crept up against your lips.

Barbie took a single glance back at Bucky before her eyes returned to you and there was something darker within her stare you didn’t quite notice, or perhaps you simply mistook it for enemy territory. Either way, when she raised her arm with knife in hand, you whipped around the baton in a backhanded strike, sending the knife flying down the hall. Unarmed, she stared at you with wide, fearful eyes, until you knocked her out with a final hit to the side of her. Nothing fatal, but it would keep her under until backup arrived to hull her in.

Bucky was still fighting off his second attacker as you approached the man leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, patiently waiting. He pushed himself off the wall, cracked his knuckles between his palms with sharp snaps that echoed down into the hallway.

“Think you can take me, little girl?” he taunted, voice low and thick, like it had gone years in disuse. He made a show of the way he settled into his stance; fists held out in front of him, shadow boxing in an attempt to intimidate you. It seemed to catch him off guard when you rolled your eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” you shrugged, “and frankly, I’d like to go home. So, let’s make this quick.”

The arrogant smirk dropped from his face, replaced quickly with a wash of rage that a woman half his size would dare mock him in such a way. But he was clumsy in his stance and in his swings, so you saw each of his moves coming a mile ahead. With every right hook, you slid under his arm and stepped out behind him. In every jab, you side stepped out of reach. He exhausted himself while you made little effort in your defense. Without a single offensive throw, he was panting in a matter of minutes.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he bellowed, loud enough to make Bucky pause for a moment and you winced as his assailant took advantage of the moment to get in a punch to his jawline. He recovered quickly, giving you the security to face your own attacker head on. The Hydra giant was dripping in sweat, red in the face, teeth bared and near feral. “Fight me!”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

As he threw his next swing, you met it with the brunt of your baton, stilling him in his stance. He stared at you, wide eyes and jaw slacked, as you winked at him and dove under his legs. Before he could manage to turn around, you flicked at switch at the bottom of the batons which emitted an electrical pulse from the top edge and plunged it into the man's neck.

He convulsed, gargling out a few incoherent words, before he collapsed to the floor at your feet. You grinned, sliding the batons into the holsters at your shoulder blades.

“Alright, I take it all back,” Bucky’s voice chuckled from behind you. “You don’t need me at all.”

You laughed, shaking your head as several strands fell down into your face, lost to the bun at the top of your head in the struggle. As you turned to face Bucky, you found him standing with his hands planted on his hips and the brightest smile on his face, one that took him years to find again since you first met him and damn if it wasn’t one of the most beautiful sights you’d ever seen.

But then, there was a sudden rush of movement on the ground. One of the Hydra agents wrestled back up to his feet behind Bucky, a malice imbedded deep into his glare, a determination as he rushed forward.

There was little time to think as you lunged for the knife you broke free of the blonde agent’s hand and whipped it across the room. It plunged straight into the man’s jugular and he fell backwards, hands sliding out from around Bucky’s neck as blood coated the tile floors.

“Shit,” you panted, hands on your knees. “You okay?”

Bucky didn’t respond.

Slowly, heart pounding in your chest, you glanced up to find him pulling a syringe from his neck. He stared at it for a second, stunned as a few stray droplets dripped from the edge of the needle before he dropped it to the ground, letting it slip out from his fingers limply. The vile was empty as it rolled along the tile and settled against the dead body of its owner.

“Bucky?”

There was a sudden, paralyzing dread that swept over his features, one that seemed to worsen as his eyes fell upon yours. Then, his knees started to buckle, his stance falling unsteady and you rushed forward, darting under his arm to catch him before could lay amongst the bodies of Hydra agents. He was shaking, hands trembling, and you could feel the sharp rise and fall of his breath as you held him steady.

“We have to get you out of here,” you said, trying to push down the panic etching its way up your spine, but Bucky shook his head.

“No time.” It was all he could mutter out.

“Bucky, you've just been injected with God knows what and we need to get to you a medic or—”

“There,” he grunted, pointed to an open room at the end of the hallway. With a thick, metal door and dozen locks lining the outside, it was more of a cell than a room. You started to shake your head, but Bucky gripped tight to your arm. “Y/n, please.”

You watched him carefully, noticed how he couldn’t seem to meet your eye, how sweat was beading at his hairline more profusely than it was in the midst of a battle, how his breaths were broken and trembling on every exhale.

“Okay, okay. Hold on.” You slowly guided him to step over the bodies at your feet, most unconscious, others not as lucky, and swiftly led him into the cell. It seemed to put him at ease as you aided him to sit on one of the metal chairs at the center of the room. As you released your touch from his arm, a rush of what appeared to be pain twisted into his facial features though he tried to hide it.

“So, what do we do now?” you asked. “I could try to find the lab. They could have counteractants to whatever this is. Or I could try to fix the coms... but we all know Parker’s a lot better with that stuff than I am.”

You laughed, trying to ease the tension in the room, but it was so thick you could have cut through it with the blunt edge of your baton. Bucky’s eyes were glued to the floor, his hands curling around the undersides of the chair until the metal warped under his grip.

“You need to leave.”

Your smile dropped. “What? No, are you crazy? I’m not leaving you alone after—”

“Go!” His voice boomed against the walls and you tried not to let the shock startle you.

“Bucky, stop. That’s not happening.” You dug your fingers into your hips as you paced back over the door, stole a quick glance in both directions. It was still empty save for the bodies lying in your wake. It seemed you and Bucky were entirely alone. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “We’ll figure something out, okay? We always do. This can’t be worse than the time we were buried in that old chevy under twelve feet of snow in Alaska last year, can it?”

You shot him a grin, hoping to ease him, though it did little use. His face was red, jaw stoned. He looked like he was barely breathing.

“You’re not hearing me,” Bucky groaned, his voice molding into something darker. “You're not safe here. You need to leave. Now. Before I... Before I can’t control this. Before I hurt you.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about? Do you… Do you know what that stuff was?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away from you the best he could. He let out a pained groan and kicked the chair out from under him. It slammed against the wall with a harsh clash and forced a skip in your heartbeat, a hand darting up to your chest. Bucky leaned over the table, trying to find support, but he ended up gripping onto the sides hard enough to dent imprints in the shape of his hands.

You rushed forward, desperate to help because you couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It touched upon the thick straps of Kevlar for only a second, and still, it was enough to elicit a visceral reaction. He whined, something between a moan and cry, and he slumped down out of your reach.

“Don’t touch me,” Bucky warned, though his voice broke in the effort. His breaths were labored and heavy, and still it seemed as though he could barely get one in. “Please. You—You have to get away from me. I’m— I’m begging you.”

Bucky choked back a cry, biting down hard on his lower lip, and it was then you noticed his right hand palming at the hardened outline nestled tight against his thigh. He pressed the heel of his left into his eyes, shame burning hot against his ears and cheeks and trailing down in red patches along his neck. He tried to hide behind his hair, hide from you, but it was enough; you recognized what this was.

It was a serum created by Hydra in the seventies, meant to create inhumans of their own design when the clinical measures were proving unsuccessful. It was created to induce a euphoric state, a primal need beyond personal control, to put its host through hell until Hydra had what it wanted: a viable chance at an inhuman child.

“Bucky,” you called gently, though all you earned was a whimpered grunt in response. Slowly, you crossed the plane of the room to him and laid a hand against his collar. His eyes fluttered shut in response, his whole body keenly alert to every touch.

“You should leave,” he warned again, his gaze slowly drawing up to meet your own; a glossy shine shielded over a stunning ocean blue. “Let me... let me take care of this on my own. I’ll be f-fine.”

“It’ll be agonizing,” you told him, having remembered the speech Tony gave a few months back after the team first encountered the serum in Peru. “It won’t kill you, but it will feel pretty damn close. Nothing you do on your own will relieve it. It doesn't work like that. You need someone to help you through this.”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t-- I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to,” you replied gingerly, drawing your hand up along his arm, tracing over swells of muscle as watching the way a shiver followed so tenderly in your wave. You rested your hand along his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eyes. He was scorching hot. You smiled at him, something soft and gentle, something sad. “I’m offering, Bucky.”

“No,” he grunted out. “I—I can’t. I won’t.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall to the side. It was remarkable he was able to hold himself back this long, let alone decline an offer when presented to him. You’d heard the stories of men to devolved to a near primal state, who attempted to jump the first person they saw and fought their way to release. Bucky was determined to spare you, even as you offered, even knowing that turning you down would put him through a world of pain.

“Okay,” you conceded. “Tell me what you need. Tell me something I can do, Buck, because I can’t just watch you in pain like this.”

Bucky stared at you, pupils blown wide, almost as if he could see right through you.

“Need to get this off,” he finally admitted, eyes drifting down to his suit.

“Okay,” you replied steadily. “Do you want help?”

He shook his head, his stare glued to the floor, but you could see the way his hands were reaching out for you, how he had to keep himself in check and hold them firmly at his sides. He tried to unfasten the buckle at his chest himself, but within seconds he let out a hallowed cry, dropping his head in defeat.

“Hurts,” he exhaled, and slowly his eyes came back up to yours. He forced out a halfhearted smile the best he could. “Can you...?”

You returned the nervous smile, as you took a cautious step forward. He followed your every move as your hands extended towards his chest, fingers clipping the buckles easily as they unsnapped down his jacket. Each one left a new breath of relief in its wake, like he was just on the edge of the surface, under only a few inches of water.

Your hands slid under the seams, helping to slip the sleeve down his right arm, and Bucky choked back a moan. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just slightly, and you jumped back.

“Sorry,” he muttered. His cheeks were near on fire.

“It’s alright, Buck. It’s not your fault.” You reached out for him again. “Here, let me help with your belt.”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” His hands were shaking as he started to fidget with the buckle. He swayed on his feet, trying to find some relief. As he unfastened the latch and unbuttoned the hem of his pants, his eyes flashed up to you. He exhaled a heavy breath. “Can you... Christ... can you turn around?”

The look on his face, the shame radiating from every ounce of him, shattered you right to your core. You nodded quickly, turning your back to him and making your way to the door. He needed privacy – of course, he did. He didn’t need you around to bear witness to the consequences of Hydra’s newest attempt to leave him powerless and vulnerable.

But just as you approached the door, Bucky called out quietly, “don’t go.”

You stilled in an instant, though you didn’t dare to turn around.

“It, um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think it helps if you’re here. If that’s alright.”

“Need something to look at, huh?” you laughed, trying to make light of the impossible position he was in, and you were thankful for the short chuckle you heard behind you.

“Don’t flatter yourself, doll. You’re the only one here,” he replied, a teasing back in his tone, and no matter how tense it was or how forced it felt, it made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled, shaking your head. Leave it to the two of you to find the humor in a situation like this. Biting down on your lip, you tried to suppress the grin, though it did little use.

Then, you heard the soft fall of his shirt to the floor. Quickly followed by the pants of his suit, dropping to the ground in a heap. He exhaled a breath that sounded as though he hadn’t done so in years and you found yourself wondering what he looked like standing there behind you, naked and aching, harder than he’d ever been in his life.

“Swear you won’t tell Sam about this.”

You shook your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek to hold back another laugh. “No promises.”

“Y/n.”

“You’ve got to be in crippling pain, Buck. You don’t have time to be embarrassed right now,” you shot back teasingly. “Stop edging.”

“Fine, okay,” he grumbled back, though you could hear the light in his voice, even if it was a little tense. “Just… give me a second.”

The room became impossibly quiet, painfully so, and you waited under bated breath for something to happen. The smile slowly left your lips, fading into a restless frown as you listened intently to his labored breathing, the tight groans of pain, until finally, his hand circled around the base of his cock.

The whine that left his lips was near sinful, and you felt your own breath hitch in your chest as you listened to soft whimpers parting his lips as he stroked himself, covering his length in the precum dropping at his tip. Heavy breaths and wet pumps of his closed hand around his cock, and you clenched your thighs together, wondering how his eyes might travel over your frame.

But God – those sounds he made were beautiful. You could picture him tugging his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut, his shoulders slacking, knees falling a little weak the harder he gripped at himself. Little murmurs of ‘oh god,’ and ‘fuck yes,’ and ‘please’ as he fucked his fist.

You didn’t know how much time had passed by, but your lip was nearly chewed raw, nails indented into the palms of your hands. You could hear how close he was, how his movements picked up in pace, how his breaths labored, how his moans filled the room higher and higher until – it stopped.

Sudden and aching, he lost it before the fall and your heart broke as you heard him cry out in pain.

“Bucky?” you called softly, not daring to turn around to face him after he asked you not to. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hands clenched tight, and you swore your knees would buckle out from under you if you unlocked them for even a second.

“Fuck, I… I can’t...”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you tried again, worried. There was a panic in his voice that wasn’t there before, a desperate longing etched into every syllable, and it scared you.

“I can smell you,” he said simply, achingly.

Your breath hitched and you squeezed your legs together. There was a throbbing there, an emptiness you couldn’t quite shake. “Do you... Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he replied quickly and you could tell he was contemplating his options. He was growing desperate and that lingering sense of control he maintained was slipping through his fingers. “No, I— You were right. I can’t do it on my own. I need—fuck. I need…”

“Just ask,” you offered again, head tilting just enough to the side that he could see your face but you kept your stare to the wall. “I’m here. I’m saying yes. Just tell me what you need.”

“You.”

It surprised you as he said it; a little lower, a little darker, but certain.

Slowly, you turned to face him.

Sculpted by Michelangelo himself, Bucky carried the most beautiful lines across his body; divots along muscles and carvings of delicate design. You could tell he expected your eyes to fall straight to his shoulder, to the mess of scars and metal he loathed, or to the vulnerability standing hard in his grasp, but instead, you kept your gaze focused on his eyes.

Bucky stood completely naked before you, his right hand still pumping slowly around his cock as you edged forward. He watched you, biting at his lip as he flicked his thumb over his tip. Eyes trailed down over your frame greedily, hungrily, as if the act of simply looking was enough to draw a twitch from his cock. He tugged his lip between his teeth, tightening his grip around himself.

As you came up beside him, you reached up and sat your hand against his right shoulder, watching how he closed his eyes in response, how his jaw slacked. His lazy thrusts evened out, slowing down, as you traced your hand down his arm, simply lost in your touch. Your hand slid down his bicep, over raised muscle, along his forearm to his wrist, and then, you gently nudged his hand from his cock and replaced it with your own.

His lips fell open, a slight tremble in his breath as you gripped him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, leaning against you as he caged you to what appeared to be an interrogation table. You felt the warped metal against your thighs from where he’d clutched at it just moments earlier.

Steadily, you began to pump him in your hand, careful to spread the wet of his precum down his shaft. He was hard within your grasp, painfully so, enough that you could feel the crystal outline of a vein running up along the underside. You pressed your thumb against it as you slid your hand up to his tip and brushed it over his slit. The whine he released against your neck was the most beautiful sound you ever heard.

“This okay?”

“S’good.” He nodded meekly against your collar but you could feel the strain in his shoulders, the restraint that left his jaw wired shut and breaths tight.

“It’s not enough, though. Is it?” you asked gently, though you knew the answer. You knew what he needed and your hand, or even your mouth, would not be enough. The Hydra scientists knew what they were doing when they designed this. It had a very specific purpose and it would not yield for anything less.

“You don’t have to, Y/n,” he said, stronger than you’d heard his voice since he was injected. It took nearly all his strength.

You smiled, letting your free hand cup at the side of his face. He leaned into the touch, seeking more, almost instinctively. Bucky was a complicated man; capable of light-hearted jokes in the middle of a warzone and an immeasurable guilt and shame that had not left him in his years since he was freed from Hydra. He was your closest friend, your partner in the field, a man that you trusted above all others, a man you cared for in ways he would never quite understand.

“I’m here, Bucky. I’ve got you,” you whispered sweetly, but you could still feel his hesitance. “Listen to me, I’ll leave if you really want me to. I’ll stop if this isn’t what you want. But please, don’t send me away and leave you suffer through this alone because you think I don’t want you. I do, Buck. I want you. I want to make you feel good. I want to take away your pain. Let me.”

He stared at you for a moment, a strange mixture of disbelief and longing upon his features. Slowly his hands lifted from the table and felt for the clasp at the back of your suit. You nodded at him, and slid the zipper down your spine, exposing perfect, untouched skin. He pealed it down along your shoulders, over your chest and down your waist. You helped him remove it down to your feet and kicked it off to the floor beside his own.

His eyes drifted to your chest, hands itching to reach out, but he held them firm at his sides.

“It’s okay, Buck. You can touch me,” you told him, reaching behind your back and releasing the clasp of your bra. The straps fell down your shoulders and you let the fabric slip from you. Bucky swallowed, his eyes drifting to your exposed chest. A smile started to curve upon your lips the longer he stared at you, like you were something to revere.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself, as if saying it purely for the state of fact.

Your heart skipped a beat, lips parting in a slight shock, and you wondered if this was what it was like for the women he brought home on cold, lonely nights from the bar. You’d seen the content smiles on their faces in the morning as they sauntered out of his room with messy hair and a blissful kind of look in their eyes.

Bucky wasn’t the cold, calculating man the papers made him out to be. He was kind, exceptionally sweet, and a selfless to a fault. You didn’t suspect he was any different in a bedroom.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I never thought this would be how—"

But then— his face started to contort and suddenly Bucky was keening over. He clutched at his stomach, digging his nails deep into the muscle and he nearly collapsed to his knees.

“Bucky!”

You grabbed a firm hold of his right arm, just enough to keep him steady, and even the smallest of touches alone seemed to ignite something in him. Goosebumps littered his skin and a sweet kind of whine escaped past his lips as you ran a hand soothingly along his spine.

“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time,” you warned gently. It was a miracle within itself he was still on his feet. This serum had put ordinary men into shock within minutes if they didn’t find release. Never enough to kill them, but just enough to make them wish it would.

Bucky followed you back to the table at the center of the room, his hand clasped tightly in your own. It was the most physical affection you’d shown for one another, a tenderness outside of the rush of foreign chemicals in his veins, and you tried not to think about the fallout you were bound to find after.

He helped to guide you onto the table, resting your back against the cool, metal surface. Then, slowly, he crawled on top of you. His eyes drifted down to your panties and you lifted your hips for him, giving him the permission he needed to pull them down your legs.

His hand slid down along your curves, drawing goosebumps in his wake, until he swiftly slid his fingers between your thighs. Dipping into the wetness at your core, he spread his fingers around, lubricating himself until he slid two easily inside of you.

“Oh, Bucky,” you moaned, back arching as he pumped them against your walls. “God, that feels—so good.”

His left hand was curled tightly into a fist near you head as he propped his body weight up against the arm; gears whirring, the scars at the base of his shoulder red in the strain of it. One quick glance at the tension coating his muscles, the sharp breaths in his chest, the whine as his cock touched your thigh, and you were pulled swiftly from the clouds, a startling reminder why you were doing this in the first place.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” you told him, a little breathless as he added the third finger. “I’m fine, Buck. You need to come. This isn’t about me.”

He shook his head, determined. “You’re not ready yet.”

You chuckled, a heat of embarrassment washing over you, even as he scissored his fingers, stretching your walls. You had to choke back a moan and the urge to clamp your thighs together around his wrist.

“I’m more than ready,” you said, voice a little higher, hands clenching at the sides of the table as you felt your walls tightening around his fingers. “Trust me, Buck. Just listening to you touch yourself was enough.”

You laughed again but the room was thick in tension, almost unbearably so. Bucky could hardly hear you. His hair had fallen down to shield his face, his gaze focused on where his fingers were lost to the most intimate parts of you; determined.

“It has to be good for you,” he muttered out slowly. You narrowed your eyes on him, growing worried as he seemed to retreat within himself. He was distant, his mind far away from his body. “It has to be good… it has to be good for you otherwise… otherwise I’m… I’m...”

He wouldn’t say it but you knew what he meant.

“Bucky, come back to me.” You reach up and grabbed a firm hold of his cheeks, thumbs at his jawline, and drew his attention to your eyes. It took him a moment to get there, but you found ocean blue again, even if it was clouded in dark, stormy skies. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about how I feel, alright? Just do what you need to, I’ll be fi—”

“I won’t use you like that!” Bucky snapped defiantly, startling you. “I don’t care that it feels like my skin is on fire and there’s knives carving through my body. I don’t care that I feel like I’m going to pass out and everything in me is fighting to force my way onto you and take what I want regardless of what it does to you! I don’t care! You’re my best friend and I… I…” He was panting, red in the face, and he couldn’t seem to find his words. He swallowed, though it looked as though it burned. “It has to be good for you, okay?”

You nodded, running your hands gently along his arms; his left, solid metal, unwavering, and his right trembled deep within the tissue – the gentle movements of his forearm pressed up against your stomach, his fingers searching out a pleasure he so desperately needed you to feel.

“I…” he started before he clenched his jaw. A heavy exhale followed, a drop of his gaze, and he muttered out weakly, “I need to pretend this is real.”

Your lips parted in shock; heart stammering so painful in your chest you wondered if he could hear it. Before you could say anything, before you could ask him what he meant by that, Bucky let his fingers slip out from between your legs, resting slicked against your thigh. The emptiness was startling.

“I think you’re ready for me now.”

Bucky nestled himself between your legs, lined his length your entrance with a gentle sweep of his top through your folds. He shivered, something near violent as it shook through his spine, and you were reminded again that Bucky was suffering, that he had a foreign chemical in his veins that ripped away his control and left him powerless to Hydra.

His skin was flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead and down his neck. There were sharp marks in the palm of his right hand where he dug his own nails into his skin. His breaths were coming in quickly and uneven.

“Look at me,” you ordered, stern enough to draw his attention. “Don’t hold back. You need to get this out, okay? I will tell you if it’s too much.”

It took him a moment, a breath of contemplation, before he nodded; slow and hesitant. You could see the strain in his jawline, the tension in his shoulders from how much he was restraining himself. It must have been agonizing, but Bucky had been through worse in his life. You supposed pain had become a familiar friend, one he learned to tame and control, even when it ripped him apart.

The moment he pressed his tip past your entrance, as he bottomed out in one thrust, as he felt your walls squeeze tightly around him for the first time, Bucky nearly came on the spot. He gasped into your shoulder, sucking marks against your skin as he rolled his hips against you. Slow and steady at first, reveling in the feel of being consumed whole, of being taken so well, of a rush of endorphins and pleasure he’d never felt even in the peak of sex. Everything was heightened, every touch was immaculate; he could feel your heartbeat through the walls squeezing at his cock.

“Oh, f-fuck,” he moaned against your ear, breath hot, voice dangerously low. “Fuck you feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking good. Goddamn perfect.”

You nodded, arms circling up around his shoulders as you rolled your hips to meet his own. You could still feel the stone carved tension in his muscle, how much he was holding back from what he needed. He was trying to be gentle with you, loving in a way the serum was not designed for, but it was testing him. He wouldn’t give into it, not in the way you asked him to, because Bucky had already lost so much to Hydra, already lost pieces of his mind and body, he would not let them take his soul, too.

“Just for you.” The words passed through your lips before you could quite catch onto their meaning. Your hands slipped down his chest as you brushed your thumbs against his nipples. He moaned, hips picking up in pace. He needed the encouragement, you realized. It was the only way he’d allow himself the release he needed to free his body of that serum.

He needed to pretend it was real.

He needed to pretend that you weren’t laying upon a cold, unforgiving table in an old Hydra base, that maybe this was something more than the consequences of a vile he didn’t ask for.

The line between the fantasy and reality was painfully thin.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight,” he mumbled breathily. The table began to squeak with every snap of his hips, with every drag of his cock at your core, the brush of his tip to the sweetest spot. It was easy to lose yourself in him, to forget that you were in an abandoned Hydra cell, that he had a foreign chemical in his veins determined to destroy him. He felt like heaven.

“S’all yours,” you whispered, drawing your hands down along his waist, slipping over his hips and gripping into the soft flesh of his ass. You pulled him deeper into you, daring him to go further. His pupils were blown so wide, you could barely see the blue in his eyes. He was slipping, barely holding into the restraint he so desperately clung to, and you rolled your hips at just the right angle, squeezed him enough to draw a mangled cry from his lips.

You kissed at the dip of his collar, sucking sweetly as he all but purred in response. Your lips mapped a path up his neck, along his jaw line, over cheekbones and at the tip of his nose, until you paused at his mouth. His heart was pounding, thunderous in his chest, and his hips seemed to pick up in pace with every kiss.

It wasn’t until you captured his lips against your own that Bucky lost the last ounce of control he had been clinging onto.

Something like a growl purred against your lips, a sound near feral, and the gentle push of his hips like ocean waves against you turned into quick, harsh snaps. He pulled his lips from you, trailing hot, wet kisses down your neck, until he found the place he was looking for and sunk his teeth to the crook of your shoulder.

“Ah, Bucky!”

All consuming. Feverish. A man untamed and he did not relent, not as your walls tightened around him like the twist of a coil, or as the sound of skin and wetness between your legs echoed high into the room, or when his fingers touched at your clit and rubbed harsh, quick and pressured circles until you were crying out so loudly, it must have carried through the whole base.

“Fuck! Ah, God, Bucky, don’t stop!”

Bucky groaned against you, sucking a mark where his teeth had met your flesh. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, the pulse of his cock in your cunt, the thick vein that ran along his underside as it added so sweetly to the pressure at your entrance. It was wild and unhinged, but God – it was good.

“Y-yeah, baby, right there,” Bucky moaned, his thrusts falling uneven, haphazard, needy. “F-fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna—ah, ah, f-fuck—”

The heat of him, the way he filled you so perfectly, the rush, and it pushed you over the edge. White hot and intoxicating, the wash of it broke open in floodgates and swept through you. His fingers did not let up on your clit as you squirmed and withered below him, his thrusts falling lazy as he chased the end of his release.

Breathless and a little dizzy as you came down from your high, you felt his heartbeat inside of you; quick, but even. The serum had done its work. It released him from its hold.

Bucky was panting, the full of his weight having fallen onto you. His hair was wet with sweat, messy and untamed, and the room smelled distinctly of sex. But more than that, it was unbearably silent.

Slowly, Bucky began to pry himself off of you, allowing his softened cock to slip from between your legs, slick and satisfied. He swallowed, a blush creeping onto his cheek as he pushed his hair behind his ear.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You chuckled, propping yourself up on your elbows as you watched him quickly tug his pants back on before he bent down and picked up your suit for you, handing it gingerly to you upon the table with a shy sort of smile.

“Alright? I’m great.” You grinned over at him, glowing in the aftermath of your release. “You feel okay now?”

He nodded, a nervous smile tugging on his lips as he watched you jump down from the table and step into your suit. His eyes must have lingered on your thighs where his cum was still slick along the skin from his release because his smile began to fall, his jaw tightly clenched.

“SHEILD has me on birth control, Buck. Don’t worry about that,” you told him softly. You tugged the sleeves back up your arms, though it proved difficult with the lingering sweat on your skin. You flipped your hair over your shoulder and turned your back to him. “Do you mind?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling forward to zip up the back of your suit. He brushed a few stray strands of hair over your shoulder, the gentle sweep of cool metal a relief against the hot flush of your skin; impossibly tender for a man capable of the things he was.

“So,” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice as he grasped hold of the zipper, “should we talk about this or—”

“Bucky? Y/n? You guys read me?”

Steve.

“Seems the coms are back on,” you sighed, stepping to the side after Bucky finished zipping your suit. He was still holding his tactical vest in his hand, along with the one-armed jacket. His hair was untamed, cheeks flushed, and you imagined you looked of the same.

“We got you, Steve,” Bucky replied, though it seemed rather reluctant. “Where you been, man? You dropped us in a warzone.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Steve grumbled back. “Get to the jet. We’ll debrief on the way back. Don’t forget to rig the place to blow on your way out.”

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, grinning at Bucky as he slipped his jacket on. “Certainly, can’t forget the one thing you sent us here to do.”

“Unless you’ve got more Hydra agents hiding in the wings?” Bucky added on and you could practically see Steve deadpan from the cockpit.

“Just get out of there before I come get you myself.”

You laughed as you slid the batons back into the holsters at your shoulder blades.

It was strange, how quickly it felt as if nothing had changed at all. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was a quick release and you were simply helping a friend. Maybe it was something neither of you would speak of again and you’d go right back to being partners, friends, as if it never happened.

But as you turned around at the edge of the room, a smile wide upon your face, you found Bucky watching you with a kind of look in his eye you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t one you recognized, wasn’t one you’d seen in him before. It was something new.

His eyes flickered to your collarbone where a mark upon your skin was growing discolored; bite marks and bruising where his mouth had been. A strange mixture of remorse and longing, affection and need, all rolled into one.

“You ready, Buck?”

He nodded quickly, snapping himself from his gaze with a pressed smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, though he tried. He met you at the edge of the room, trailing a few steps behind you, and you turned around to find him staring back into the cell, like he was trying to preserve a memory of some kind.

You realized as you watched Bucky clear his throat awkwardly, turning back to you with a gentle blush of pink in his cheeks, that there was no pretending you hadn’t crossed a line together. There was no going back.

---

part 2

[edwardskhakipants]

Forks, Washington. August 2004.

Esme and Carlisle stood in the middle of their grand living room, waiting for their five vampire children to arrive. Alice arrived first—prompt as usual. She settled herself gracefully onto the tufted sofa Esme had recently acquired, only to be immediately jostled by Emmett who heaved himself onto the cushions. A breath caught in Esme’s throat—she had lost many pieces from her beloved collection by that action—but it looked like this one was still in one piece. For the moment. Jasper took Edward’s normal spot in the only armchair, forcing Edward to wedge himself between Alice and Emmett.

“What?” Rosalie grumbled as she perched on the armrest of the couch beside Emmett, “Are we having another one of those How to Respect the Telepath in Your Life meetings again?”

“No,” Edward answered, fully aware of the intent of this meeting since it hatched in Carlisle's mind two days prior. “But there’s never a bad time to bring that up. Christ, Emmett, if you’re going to have a song stuck in your head for over seventy-two hours, the least you can do is learn the correct lyrics.”

Emmett’s eyebrows knit together, asking his brother a silent question.

“It’s ‘mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido,’” Edward answered.

Emmett’s brow furrowed doubtfully.

“No.” Edward shook his head, answering Emmett’s thoughts. “Why would he eat a beetle?”

Emmett grinned playfully and tilted his head towards Edward.

Edward wasn’t amused. “You know what it means.”

A silly grin plastered on his face, Emmett elbowed Edward in the ribs, silently egging him on.  

Edward’s eyes darted to Carlisle, then Esme, and he shifted in his seat. “Sexual desire,” he muttered.  

Emmett howled with laughter and clapped his hands once, “Wow, Eddie! You’re just going to say that in front of Esme!?” Edward scowled as Emmett’s bouts of laughter echoed through the room.

Esme ran a hand through her youngest’s ginger hair. “Boys,” she warned, and Emmett sucked in his laughter.

“Our meeting today has to do with all of you,” Carlisle began.

“We simply wanted to go over the rules of attending school with you kids before you start your second year at Forks High School,” Esme explained, unfolding and re-folding her hands in front of her. “There are already whispers, and we don’t want those whispers to turn into rumors.”

“I thought the only whispers about us at school were whether or not Edward liked girls,” Rosalie said, earning an eye-roll from Edward.

“No,” Alice chirped,” Some kids think we’re a cult.”

Jasper leaned back heavily in his chair. “We haven’t heard that one since the Seventies.”

“Kids are getting more creative these days.” Emmett nodded appreciatively.

Esme held up one, delicate finger. “Which is why it is best to take preventative action.”

Carlisle took the floor. “We thought a few reminders would be helpful before you started your first day of your second year,” Carlisle said. “We don’t want another incident like the one we had at the end of last year.”

Every head in the room turned towards Emmett.

“What?” Emmett threw up his hands in exasperation, “The water gun fight was the senior prank—I wasn’t the one who brought them to the school. Hell, I wasn’t even the only student who got suspended!”

“That’s true,” Carlisle agreed, “but you were the only student to shout, ‘Sit down, kids! Daddy’s gotta tinkle,’ and shoot the stream of the gun from your crotch.”

Jasper snickered—the sound was immediately silenced by a single raised eyebrow from Esme.

“I still don’t see the problem,” Emmett continued, “That’s not necessarily a vampire thing.”

Edward—who often mistook himself as the third vampire parent rather than the youngest son—sighed, “Yes, but it brings unnecessary attention to the family. Which is the first rule: do not bring attention to yourself.”

Esme ran her fingers through her son’s hair once more, “Yes, darling, you are especially good at keeping to yourself.” Edward’s eyes widened, despite Esme’s gentle touch, already aware of where her point was headed. “So much so, that I have been given the names of several child therapists to help my son through his depression. One was recommended for his exceptional work on spotting and treating the early signs of sociopathic behavior.”

Esme grabbed her son’s chin and forced him to look at her. “You have to talk to other people.”

Knocked off his high horse, Edward flinched back from Esme’s hand. “Friendship with humans never bodes well for us.”

“We’re not asking you to create lifelong friendships with humans,” Carlisle clarified, “We are simply asking you to be likable.”

“A nearly impossible feat for Edward.” Rosalie grinned. The comment went unnoticed, save Edward’s slight flinch. But the quick, little tick was satisfying enough for Rose.

“Look at your father,” Esme gestured towards Carlisle, “At every hospital he works at, he goes out of his way to ensure he is well-liked among his colleagues. He forces down countless lunches and coffees, solely to make sure they’re comfortable around him.”

Carlisle took over. “And your mother, a beloved member of her gardening club and a prized member of the PTA.”

“And neither of us have rumors started about us, and do you know why?”

All five teenagers grumbled the ingrained response. “Humans don’t want to spread rumors about people they like.”

“Exactly.” Esme nodded.

“I try!” Alice whined, “But Edward never lets me talk to any humans.”

“That’s because every, single thing that is about to come out of your mouth is incriminating. You might as well walk around with a neon sign that says, ‘I’m a psychic vampire’.”

Alice scoffed, “Is not!”

“You wanted to tell Nihal Howard not to audition for the musical.”

“And he broke his leg on opening night,” Alice challenged.  

“You were going to tell Christiana Ward that pink was not her color.”

“And she lost prom queen to Ashley Kirby.”

Jasper put a comforting hand on his wife’s knee. “Maybe try not to meddle so much, darlin’. Natural relationships, first.”

“They would have been!” Alice wailed, “I would have played it cool and casual and made friends and you all would have seen it! But everyone’s hurt and I have no friends at all because Edward won’t let me try!”

Edward rolled his eyes.

Carlisle suppressed a heavy sigh. “You have to let your sister try, Edward.”

Edward’s mouth fell open. “You cannot seriously be siding with her on this!”

But Carlisle stood his ground. He and Edward stared at one another for a few seconds, engaged in a silent conversation. In the end, Carlisle tilted his chin and Edward slumped back. Victorious, Alice used both pointer fingers to jab Edward in the side several dozen times at vampire speed.

Rosalie flipped her golden locks over her shoulder. “I don’t know how you all struggle so much. I have no issues with becoming well-liked at school while remaining inconspicuous.”

“Oh yeah, you’re so inconspicuous,” Edward grumbled, now extra-petty that he had been called out two times in one meeting. “You dress like you're on your way to brunch at your second husband’s country club in Beverly Hills and you make out with your foster brother. The perfect picture of discretion in Forks High School.”

“At least I don’t dress like a sad, old man.” Rosalie grimaced, disappointed in her comeback. The light, humorous insults that were required in family situations were Emmett’s forte; Rosalie’s insults were meant to emotionally cripple a person.

Edward sat up in his seat on the couch and turned to face Rosalie. “I think you missed the main takeaway in that you make out with your foster brother.” Edward turned back. “I can read your minds, and I still don’t understand what made either of you think it was okay to bring your relationship to school?!”

Emmett smiled, unperturbed. “It’s hot.”

“It’s disturbing,” Edward disagreed.

Esme frowned, “You kids don’t really do that, do you?”

“Would it help if Jasper and I became an official couple too?” Alice suggested.     Jasper perked up at the idea of being able to hold hands with Alice in public again.

“No!” Edward yelled at the same time Emmett and Rosalie muttered their acquiesce.

“It wouldn’t seem as weird if there were two couples,” Emmett agreed.

Edward dug his fingers through his hair. “Oh my god!”

“...maybe not, kids,” Esme intervened, but was ultimately ignored.

“So should we come out today like it happened over the summer, or make a little show out of it?” Alice asked Rosalie.

Rosalie waved a hand in the air. “Oh, it’s way more fun if you play up the theatrics.”

“A little more realistic, too,” Emmett agreed.

Alice looked to Jasper for his opinion. “It might be better if we were discreet about it,” she said. “Like we knew it was wrong, but we wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of our love.”

Jasper scooted forward to the edge of his seat. “Or we could let it be quiet and drawn out. Let others see our mutual pining, and root for us to be together.”

Gazing deep into the golden eyes of her soulmate, Alice sighed, “I love that.”

“If people wanted us to get together, it would normalize Emmett and Rosalie’s relationship.”

“Or Rosalie and Emmett could stop,” Edward suggested, bitterly. “That would be normal, too.”

“Oh, Edward,” Alice patted his shoulder, “You’ll find love someday, too.”

“That is not at all what bothers me about the situation.”

Carlisle made the decision for everyone. “Rosalie and Emmett, break up at school. Alice and Jasper, remain friends and siblings.”

Disappointment filtered into the room through Jasper.  

“I heard that,” Edward grumbled at someone’s thoughts.

“You were supposed to,” Rosalie shot back.

“We are also initiating a new rule,” Esme brought the room back to the conversation at hand, “No more correcting your teachers.”

A chorus of complaints rang from the couch.

Esme clicked her tongue, “I’m tired of defending you all from entirely preventable issues. I have emails from curious teachers wondering why my foster daughter is taking French 101, when she already appears to be fluent.” Esme looked at Rosalie, who immediately tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Or why my son, at the tender age of sixteen, could not only deadlift three hundred pounds in his first weightlifting class, but also give his coach tips on improving his posture.”

Emmett glanced over at Edward before he realized Esme was, in fact, addressing him. “What!?”

Jasper snorted. The sound was a mistake, for it brought Esme’s wrath onto him. “And not to mention the emails from not one, not two, but three teachers warning me that my foster son has an intimate understanding of the mechanics of a point fifty-eight caliber rifle-musket.” Esme held out her hands, almost pleadingly, “How does that subject keep coming up, Jasper?”

A noncommittal grunt was the only answer Jasper had for that question.

“No more,” she commanded. “You can get good grades but keep your extra knowledge on any subject to yourself. Whatever your teacher teaches is all you know. Understand?”

“But what if we—” Edward started.

“Understand?” Esme repeated.

The five teenage vampires understood, even if they didn’t want to. 

“I believe that all five of you will graduate from Forks High School!” Esme cheered.

The kids stared back, unable to muster the zeal Esme had over the prospect.

“Meeting adjourned!” Carlisle announced, and faster than fast vampire speed, the kids bolted from their seats. 

Esme was able to get in a few more reminders as her children flitted around the house and filed out to the silver Volvo.  “Remember to buy lunch with cash and not your credit cards. Emmett, please do not joke about being mauled by a bear. Do not address your teachers by their first names—I don’t care if you’re older than they are, Edward. Alice, please wear something a bit more causal, pet.”

When the house was finally empty, Carlisle pulled Esme backwards into his chest and began massaging her temples. The gesture wasn’t needed, but any touch from her husband was always welcome.

“Do you think they’ll listen?” she asked her husband.

“Not a chance.”

[kurowrites]

That Boy.

So, as the start into the new year, have Lan Zhan getting hounded by his brother’s groupies and despairing over Wei Ying’s compulsive flirting. :)

---

“Hello, handsome,” the woman said, smiling at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan looked at her, and tried to remember if they had met somewhere before. She was carefully styled, wearing a tight black dress and high heels, with long hair and equally long red nails. She looked somewhat out of place in this cosy coffee shop, more like she was on her way to a fancy event than looking for a cup of coffee. It was certainly someone he would remember, if they had indeed met before. She was, however, entirely unfamiliar to him.

And if that had not been enough of a hint yet, there was a certain gleam in her eye that immediately put him on edge. Her smile was friendly, but there was something about her that made her feel not unlike a predator, smiling at her prey before she opened her mouth and swallowed it.

Lan Zhan sighed internally. Another one of his brother’s fans, he assumed.

He was happy about his brother’s success, and he would always support Lan Huan, there was no doubt about that. But ever since Lan Huan had his big break as a pop musician two years ago, right after he left university, Lan Zhan had found himself constantly hounded by fans of Lan Huan. Some of them genuinely confused Lan Zhan with his brother and were thrilled to meet a pop star on the streets. Others confused him with Lan Huan, but also hit on him in the process, trying to shoot their shot with a celebrity. (Which would never happen, Lan Zhan thought uncharitably. His brother was better than that.)

The ones that were possibly the worst, however, were those that had done their homework, realised that Lan Zhan was not his famous brother, and still decided to go after him. Those were usually the ones that were the most difficult to get rid of, and they came in all shapes, sizes and genders.

Frankly, Lan Zhan was getting tired. He was getting tired of people hitting on him in general, but he was particularly tired of people hitting on him because he was the brother of a celebrity who also happened to look very similar to said celebrity.

He glanced at the woman who had accosted him while he was drinking his tea, and tried to figure out which category she belonged to. And, of course, how he could get rid of her quickly and efficiently.

He wanted to drink his tea in peace.  

She did not seem to be cowed by his critical glance, and gestured to the empty armchair across from him.

“Are you here on your own?” she asked. “Do you mi-”

Before she could finish her words, there was a mad scramble, and with rather more noise than necessary, a large cup of coffee was unceremoniously dumped onto the small table between the two armchairs, and one Wei Ying dove onto the empty armchair across from Lan Zhan, throwing his bag under the table as he did so.

“Sorry, m’lady,” Wei Ying said as he pushed his hair, messy from his athletic stunt, out of his face. He smiled at her broadly and in a way that showed that he very much was not sorry. “This place was reserved for me. I fear you have to look for another seat.”

The woman stared at him in disbelief. She opened her mouth, presumably to lodge a complaint, but Wei Ying could not be bothered. Ignoring her, he directed his gaze towards Lan Zhan.

“So Lan Zhan,” he said loudly. “I heard that you got engaged. Congratulations, I have to say. Took you long enough. Where you failing to find the perfect engagement ring or what?”

Without another word, the woman turned around and walked away in a huff.

Lan Zhan was not sorry to see her go. Still, he felt his face twist into a frown. Wei Ying’s words made no sense to him. What engagement was Wei Ying talking about?

“Wei Ying, I have not gotten engaged.”

Wei Ying laughed loudly, his face shining with mirth.

“Lan Zhan! Of course you didn’t get engaged! I just said that to make her leave! You should have seen your face when she descended on you, like a small, helpless rabbit! Of course I had to help!”

He sighed dramatically and reached out to take hold of his overly large coffee cup.

“I know Lan Zhan is handsome and irresistible, but the nerve of that woman. You were obviously not up for conversation! It’s your strictly scheduled tea break! Which is why I will drink my coffee in silence now, so you can meditate over your tea or whatever it is you do.”

He took a big gulp of his coffee.

Lan Zhan considered Wei Ying for a moment. He was obviously grateful for Wei Ying’s unexpected help, but it came with two problems: First, Wei Ying never did anything silently. Second, Wei Ying himself flirted with Lan Zhan incessantly, calling him handsome and whatnot, so in all fairness, he was hardly better than any of the overenthusiastic Lan Huan fans that approached him.

There might also have been a third problem, though Lan Zhan did not admit to that. He definitely did not notice Wei Ying’s handsome face, brightened by his irreverent, sparkling smile. Neither did he notice his long, deft fingers, carelessly tapping out rhythms on the coffee cup, nor the way he was slouched on the armchair in a way that should have looked sloppy, but instead ended up looking artfully draped.

After all, it was only Wei Ying, irredeemable and obnoxious flirt, and there was nothing for Lan Zhan to notice.

Still.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, because he was grateful. “I think she mistook me for my brother.”

Wei Ying raised his eyebrows, an incredulous expression on his face.

Lan Zhan could divine the meaning of that look. After all, Lan Huan was the friendly, approachable one out of the two of them, and he was also a pop star. Certain physical similarities aside, no one with eyes in their head should ever mistake Lan Zhan for his smiling, gentle older brother.

Wei Ying was evidently of the same opinion.

“Haha, Lan Zhan, don’t worry about it,” he eventually replied between two sips of coffee. “I could hardly have looked on while the impeccable, incomparable Lan er-gege was in distress.”

There we go again, Lan Zhan thought to himself, trying to suppress an eyeroll. Incorrigible.

---

It was not often that Lan Zhan went out with his brother, considering that his brother was a very busy person, so of course they had to run into Wei Ying when they did the next time.

Oh no, Lan Zhan thought to himself when he saw Wei Ying’s eyes flit back and forth between Lan Huan and himself.

This, he would have wanted to avoid. Permanently.

It had been his biggest fear, ever since he had met Wei Ying. Wei Ying was bad enough with Lan Zhan, when he could hope for nothing and had no encouragement. How Wei Ying would act once he had the encouragement of a friendly disposition in addition to Lan Zhan’s oh-so-handsome face, he had never wanted to know.

And now they stood in front of Wei Ying, giving him a truly perfect opportunity to compare and judge.

What the judgement would be, Lan Zhan already knew.

(It would never be him.)

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying chirped once he was apparently finished with his thorough analysis. “Is that your brother?”

“Lan Huan.” His brother stepped forward and introduced himself, always a little bit better at being polite than Lan Zhan. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Wei Ying smiled at him, and Lan Zhan quietly begged Wei Ying not to say–

“Nice to meet you, Lan Huan,” Wei Ying said. “I’m Wei Ying, one of Lan Zhan’s university friends. Did you know, Lan Zhan staunchly refuses to talk about you? But actually, I think he’s really proud of you, and he’s just careful to not spread private information.”

Lan Zhan was so surprised about these words, he could only stand there and stare.

That… was not what he had expected from Wei Ying. After all, when it came to Lan Zhan, Wei Ying couldn’t open his mouth without saying something flirty or suggestive.

And know he looked Lan Huan in the face and managed with a simple ‘nice to meet you’?

“Thank you,” Lan Huan replied with a small, but genuine smile, completely unaware of Lan Zhan’s current internal crisis. “I’m proud of him too.”

Suddenly, Wei Ying perked up.

“I know, right?” he asked excitedly. “He’s such a good, serious student. And so smart! And also ha-” he interrupted himself and coughed once. “Well. You are handsome, too. And he’s your brother. So I guess you know.”

He twirled his hair around his finger and pulled once.

“Well, I guess you have things you need to get done,” he chirped. “And I do too. Have a good time! And see you at university, Lan Zhan! Don’t be a stranger!”

With that, he hopped off, quick as a fox.

Lan Zhan just stared after him, not understanding what had just happened.

You are handsome, too.

When had Wei Ying, of all people, learned moderation?

When he turned back to Lan Huan, he found his brother smiling at him widely, and it put Lan Zhan on the defence immediately.

“What?” he asked, rather more harshly than he had intended to.

“Oh, A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, his smile becoming smaller, but also more intimate. “I’m very happy for you.”

Lan Zhan frowned. Why would Lan Huan be happy for him? Because one of his university colleagues had finally managed not to embarrass themselves in front of Lan Huan? Because Wei Ying had managed not to completely expose himself? Because he had somehow survived this encounter without getting his heart smashed to tiny pieces?

Of course, there was no good way to ask these questions.

“I think you should move fast, dear brother,” Lan Huan observed, continuing the conversation without needing any input from Lan Zhan. “He’s very handsome, this Wei Ying, is he not? And smart. You might have some stiff competition if you’re not careful, so you need to be quick.”

Lan Zhan stared at Lan Huan, uncomprehending.

What, exactly, was his brother talking about?

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan sighed when he saw that he had lost Lan Zhan. He reached out and squeezed Lan Zhan’s shoulder once, a quick, familiar comfort. “That boy only has eyes for you, and absolutely nothing else. I don’t think I have ever seen someone more in love.”

His brother let him go and walked away, leaving Lan Zhan standing there, as if he had not just dropped a bombshell of truly earth-shattering properties on him.

That boy only has eyes for you.

That boy.

Only has eyes for you.

 Wei Ying??

[wisteriashouse]

intoxicated.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x f!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1738

remarks: awful writing that i needed to get out of my system because god the idea is cute but the execution is a mess

The sudden knocking at your front door startles you from your slumber. 

Awake but still groggy with sleep, you take a moment to peek at the clock hanging on the wall - it’s already one in the morning. You must have fallen asleep on the couch waiting for Kyoujurou to return home, the movie that you’d left playing on the television has been replaced by a list of credits rolling endlessly. Just as you’re about to let out another yawn, the knocking at the door resumes again, causing you to jump.

“Who is it?” You call, a little cautiously. It’s not like Kyoujurou to knock before he enters. If he were trying to announce his return home, it would more likely come in the form of a lively ‘I’m home, darling!’ or a surprise attack of smothering kisses and hugs. Not to mention how late at night it is… Slightly worried now, you reach for the heavy umbrella stand in the corner of the living room cautiously...

“Yo, open up before I leave your husband in the corridor!” To your surprise, the voice that answers your question is an unexpected but familiar one, dispelling any fear you have. You hurry to unlock the door, and once it swings open, Uzui Tengen’s massive frame fills the doorway of your apartment, a large shape slung over one of his broad shoulders. Bemused at this strange sight at your doorstep so late into the night, you squint a bit at the baggage Tengen is carrying before your eyes widen.

“Kyoujurou!”

“Right, where do you want me to drop off this sad sack of potatoes?” Without further explanation Tengen marches into your house, Kyoujurou still hoisted over his shoulder. Still at a loss to what’s going on, you gesture at the couch that you had been asleep on just a few moments prior, and Tengen proceeds to dump his colleague onto it unceremoniously. The two of you watch as Kyoujurou lets out a grumble at the sudden rough handling, fidgeting a bit on the couch before he falls still once more, eyes firmly shut. There’s a telltale crimson flush on his cheeks.

You turn to Tengen, who’s adjusting his jeweled headband with a hand and checking his hair in your mirror. “He’s completely drunk, isn’t he?”

Kyoujurou isn’t the type to drink, much less get inebriated to this extent. After growing up with a rather negative impression of alcohol, Kyoujurou strictly limits his own intake of it - never more than one or two glasses, and only during special occasions such as anniversaries or weddings. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Kyoujurou imbibing enough alcohol to get this intoxicated.

Your husband’s friend and colleague only shrugs, looking totally unrepentant with his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, it was results’ day for the academy today, and it turns out that not a single student failed history.” Surprised, you look down at Kyoujurou again. He’d been working so hard throughout the revision period, coming home later than usual and even skipping meals on occasion to tutor weaker students. Although Kyoujurou always claims that it’s not hard on him, you’re glad that his efforts have paid off so wonderfully. “So the teachers decided to hit the bar to celebrate, and at one point he mistook Shinazugawa’s vodka for water… yeah. Your husband really has no alcohol tolerance at all.”

You laugh a little, sitting next to Kyoujurou and resting the back of your hand on his cheek. “Well, you’re not wrong. Thanks for bringing him back, Tengen.” At your touch, Kyoujurou makes a pleased noise at the back of his throat, hands clasping yours and pressing it tighter against his cheek. With how warm he is, your hand probably feels like a refreshing ice pack to him. Tengen only makes a gagging noise.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves it off casually, sticking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie before he turns to leave. “It’s getting late, so I better get back to my own family before they start worrying. I’ll lock the door on the way out, so you can just focus on taking care of that guy over there. See ya.”

You wave to him on his way out, and when the door clicks shut behind him, you look back at Kyoujurou, eyes gentle. His hair has come unbound (probably due to Tengen’s rough handling), a crimson and gold mess strewn over the couch. His normally pressed white shirt is wrinkled. With a faint smile, you shake your head before you reach for his tie, intending on undoing it so that you can put him to bed.

The second your fingers touch the knot of his tie, however, a pair of strong hands wrap around yours, stopping you in your tracks. Surprised, you look up at Kyoujurou, realising that his eyes have opened a crack as he looks blearily at you. “Ah, you’re awake?”

“M’ sorry but…” his words come out slightly slurred, and you have to strain your ears to make out what he’s saying. “But I'm… already married…”

You blink at him, momentarily amused. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” The volume of his declaration almost makes you jump, and you hurry to shush him before he can wake up all of the neighbours, hands pressed over his mouth. “So…” he waves a finger in front of your face wildly, a big frown on his lips. “No… funny business… Okay?”

So this is what your husband is like when he’s drunk. Now that you’ve been made privy to such knowledge, you can’t help but think that you should get him drunk more often. He’s cute. “Okay, no funny business,” you agree, removing your hands from his tie and placing them in your lap, although all you want to do is run your fingers through his hair and kiss the man silly. “How about I call your wife to come get you, then?”

Kyoujurou shakes his head quickly, orange and gold strands flying about. “No, no, no, don’t… she’s probably… sleeping by now.” He waves at the clock with a clumsy hand before sagging back onto the couch with a groan. “Don’t wanna disturb.”

A smile touches the corner of your lips. Really, you’ll have to make up for all the times you’ve wanted to kiss him now tomorrow morning. “You must love your wife very much, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Another shouted declaration, and you hurry to muffle him with a pillow to the face. “Very much so! More than anything else! I- hmpgf mhph hmm…” 

A small burst of laughter escapes you before you can stop it, and you have to cover your mouth with your hands to suppress your laughter. The pillow you had been holding earlier falls between the two of you. Kyoujurou looks taken aback, confused, then he pouts, almost childishly. “It’s true!” Kyoujurou insists, mistaking your laughter for disbelief. Holding up his left hand, Kyoujurou gestures at his ring finger energetically. “Look!”

You don’t need to look to know that his silver wedding band will be sitting there snugly, never having been taken off since your wedding day. “Wow, what a coincidence,” you say, deciding to humour him. Holding up your own left hand, you put your hands side to side by comparison. Your wedding bands shine in the dim light of the room next to each other. “Look, we match.”

Kyoujurou squints at the bands for a moment, before he turns his head to study your face. Then his expression suddenly lights up, a gigantic smile illuminating his face. “Darling!” The hug that he gives you nearly knocks you off the couch, the tips of his hair tickling your nose as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Drunk as he is, Kyoujurou’s hugs always make you feel the same way - loved, warm and protected.

“You silly oaf, I can’t believe you didn’t recognise me.” With a laugh, you reach up to ruffle his hair before you pull him to his feet, guiding him towards the bedroom. “Come on, let’s get you changed and tucked into bed.”

Kyoujurou whines, nuzzling the top of your head and both arms wrapped securely around your waist. “But I wanna keep hugging you,” he complains, then lets out a little yelp when you swat his ass firmly.

“Be a good boy and get changed first, then maybe I’ll cuddle you in bed.” With a pout, Kyoujurou loosens his embrace just enough for you to take a step back. Reaching up, you focus on undoing the knot of his tie, tossing it to the side before moving to undo the buttons of his work shirt. “This would be so much easier if you’d help me out, you know,” you say lightly to tease him, glancing up at him to see what he’s up to. To your surprise, Kyoujurou is watching you seriously with a strange intensity to his gaze. It’s not a look you see on him often. “Kyoujurou?”

Without a word, Kyoujurou leans forward abruptly - with no time to react, the next thing you feel is a pair of lips landing on yours gently. Taken by surprise, you can only stand still with your fingers lingering on the buttons of his shirt as Kyoujurou captures your mouth in a warm kiss. The long fingers cupping your jaw are gentle, as though you’re a precious thing that he can’t afford to break.

After a few seconds, Kyoujurou slowly pulls away, and when you finally look up, he’s grinning brightly at you once more. “Just wanted to do that!” Kyoujurou laughs, before he turns and flops onto the mattress, half unbuttoned shirt still clinging to his broad frame. Stunned by the mood swings that the alcohol has brought on, you stare at him before you shake your head and join him on the bed, giving up on your original goal of getting him undressed.

“You’re going to regret drinking so much tomorrow morning,” you whisper as you tuck Kyoujurou into bed. Kyoujurou only smiles up at you, reaching out to take you into his arms and pulling you firmly into his chest. 

“That’s a problem for tomorrow!” He laughs, pressing your cheek against his. With a sigh, you pull the blankets over the two of you, snuggling closer to him for warmth.

“My problem for tomorrow, you mean.” 

Still, you wouldn’t mind him getting drunk more often, you think as you fall asleep in his embrace.

[love-kazin]

Mixed Feelings

Genre: friends-to-lovers, smut.

Pairing: Jang Wooyoung x Reader (female) x Lee Junho.

Warnings: a little bit angst in the beggining but it’ll pass soon, a lot of dirty talk.

Word count: 3.778.

REQUESTED.

You came to a conclusion about your feelings and also how to avoid it. It wasn’t your best idea, and gladly they changed your mind. 

-x-

"Taec just told me you're talking normally with him, so why aren't you answering any of my texts or calls?" and "Did I do something wrong? Or is it something I said? It's been almost a month since I heard about you from yourself..." were the first messages you saw after grabbing your phone to turn off the alarm at that cold morning. It was actually ironic how the weather seemed to match perfectly your feelings. Those messages weren't helping, not even a little bit. And Taecyeon was the one who could ease your pain, being the only person whom you shared your little secret. Which was why you had a meeting with him to get some lunch that day.

"So, how's your heart?" "Unfortunately, the same. I don't know what to do. But seeing you brights my feelings a little bit." "I'm touched. But seriously, you should just tell them. I mean, it's not like they're gonna turn their backs from you." "How could you know?" "I've been friends with them for more than a decade, so I guess I'm safe to say this. Plus, you're friends with us for at least the five last years, so we could never judge you or step out of your life. Specially both of them." "What do you mean, 'specially them'?" You stopped your fork that was tossing aside the piece of meat on your plate. The possibility of talking with Wooyoung and Junho that you liked them both and they tossing you to the side just like you were doing with that juicy meat caused you some nausea.  "If I may add this, to burst you some courage, I know Wooyoung has a little crush on you." "What?" "Seems like you have some positive effect on his life, which makes him ramble about you every time after you meet. About Junho, I can't affirm anything, but he also seems very fond of you." "That's crazy. I couldn't be lucky enough to have these two men liking me just how I like them." "You may find out, but you have to talk to them. They keep coming after me to discover things about your daily life since you cut them off. You don't want them to do this with you, so I don't think what you're doing is fair." "You're right." "You bet I am. Now, while you think about it, eat a little. The meat is perfectly tender." Nodding, you started to eat a bit as your mind went to a crazy place where those two guys liked you back. This couldn't happen. It'd be a total mess. But what was the difference between how you were all dealing with each other now? In the worst case scenario, they wouldn't like you and you'd probably step out of their lives a little, to soothe your heart. It was better to rip off the bandage once for all. "I'm sorry for the absence. I'm dealing with some stuff. Can you come over friday night? I wanna talk to you in person." As soon as you sended the text for Junho and Wooyoung, your phone was ringing like crazy. You just turned it off and shrugged when Taec looked at you arching his eyebrows. "I invited them over at friday. I hope we can talk through this." "I know you will, but I still wish you a good luck." Smiling, you finish your lunch just in time to go back to work. Taecyeon drove you off since it was on his way and you thanked him once again for all he has done and he just chuckled. "C'mon, how couldn't I help my favorite people?" He was truly the best friend in the whole world, and left after motioning for you to answer the - probably - 5th call after the invitation you made for those men. Sighing, you pick up the black phone almost lost inside that filled purse. It was Junho. "Why are you ghosting me? If you have something to deal, I can help you with it, and you know that! Do you know how worried I got? I was in another country and couldn't come to you, but it was the first thing I tried to do when I came back, but you weren't anywhere to be found. Then, Taec told me you didn't wanted to see me. Taecyeon, not you! You couldn't even tell me this? Seriously, after all these years?"  He was angry. His voice was kinda aggressive, just how you knew it would be. And you also thought that you deserved that treatment. Junho was right in every word he pronounced, but your heart still felt hurt. It made your heart ache because behind those words, you knew he was suffering too. It was the first time ever you have cut him off of your life in all those years. You got so caught up in your feelings that didn't even noticed when you started crying, and the tone in Junho's voice changed immediately.  "Wait, don't cry. I'm sorry. I'm just really preoccupied with you, I didn't mean to sound so rude. You know how I am. Please, stop crying. I can't deal with this if I'm not close enough to hold you." "Junho..."  He sighed.  "I'm not waiting until friday. I'm coming over tonight. We need to talk." "But... That's not only our business." "I know you cut Wooyoung off too. What did we do?" "It's not that, you didn't do anything wrong." "I'll bring him with me so we can all deal with this as soon as possible. Is that okay?" "Yes..." "Ok. I need to go now. But please, the only thing I ask from you is to not cut me off again. Not like this. If I do something, talk to me. Or even if I don't, but you feel something that put you some doubts, just talk to me." "Ok. I will. I'm so sorry. Seriously. I don't even know how I can start to apologize because of this." "You can tell me tonight why this even happened in the first place. Alright?" "Yeah... I'll wait for you." As soon as the call finished, you hurried to the bathroom to fix your make up before going back to the office, but didn't result as great since you looked paled and bothered, even with all that concealer in your face. "Hey, who's that guy from before? Are you dating?" Looking at your colleague with a expression that screamed 'what?', she saw your red eyes and how you were still sniffing. "Oh, did you guys break up? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch in a sensible topic." "Oh, no, is not that. We weren't dating. We're just friends, really." "So why are you crying? I know you're not feeling so good lately, so I'm a little concerned. I never saw you look like this." "You don't need to bother, I'm just dealing with some stuff." "Wanna talk?" "It's a little weird topic, so it's better if I don't talk about it." "Well, if you feel like it, I'm here, ok?" "Thank you." You were so anxious about finally confessing and not knowing the reaction you'd get that the day passed quickly enough to make you even more nervous. Soon the clock was hitting the 5PM and you were heading home.  "I wish you good luck with your stuff!" The girl from before said when the elevator opened to the parking lot in the building. Thanking her once again, you got on the car and on the whole way, your mind was working on what to say to Wooyoung and Junho. What would be their reactions? And what was that about they having feelings for you? Nothing was making sense. And these questions stayed on your mind until the door bell ring loudly on the apartment just after you finished showering, but those guys behind the door didn't gave you any time to dress before. "Jeez, I was on the shower!" "Oh, sorry..." They looked like they never saw a woman in a towel before, turning their heads to the side. "Come in, I'm gonna put on some clothes." Wooyoung and Junho were sitting on the couch, looking apprehensive when you came back dressed comfy and serving some beers.  "So, are we gonna talk?" "Oh, straight to the point." "You didn't answered me in almost this whole month, come on. What's happening?"

Wooyoung looked really desperate, which only made you feel worse.  "I'm sorry I put you guys through this, but the thing is I've been dealing with something that I don't want to, and I don't know how to break the news for you." "Are you dating? That's why you don't wanna talk to us anymore? Did the guy told you to back off from us? Because if he did it, I need to talk to him." "He can't tell you what to do! Who the hell does he think he is?" "Wait, no. I'm not dating anyone." "Oh. But do you want to? Because I know a guy." Junho only looked in disbelief at Wooyoung. "Well, If I can say this, yes. But that's not up to me anymore. Not at this point." "What point?" "Ok, let's do this. The reason why I've been distant is because... I mistook what I feel. I thought it was only a deep friendship, but it's not." "What do you mean? Do you like someone?" "I do, yes." That answer hit them hard. Wooyoung felt like his heart was being crushed, while Junho started to think that what he felt could never work well.  "And that's why you stopped talking to us? That doesn't make any sense." "Well, it does for me, since I don't know how to deal with this. I mean, how could I tell to two of my closest friends that I like them?" Junho choked on his drink, being the first one to understand the situation. Wooyoung looked lost. "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about that I like you both. I really do. And I tried to not to, but that doesn't seem to work. I thought the best I could do was staying away, since you both couldn't like me as well. And everything would be a total mess if other people found out. But Taec told me that if I don't want you both cutting me off of your life, then I shouldn't be doing this to the both of you. So here I am, confessing the reason behind the mess I made." "Are you serious?" Nodding, you finished you beer while they tried to process what you just said.  "But what do you mean by us couldn't be liking you as well?" "Ahn, I... There's no way you'd be liking me. Like, not the both of you. Not at the same time. That would be crazy." "Well, but that could happen." "How?" They looked at each other before finally breaking if off for you. "I know I'm kinda slow for a few things, but I couldn't not notice how Junho look at you, because it's the same way I look at you." "How do you guys look at me?" "Like you're the missing piece of the puzzle that's our lives." "Wait, what?" The burn in your cheeks could be felt, so you were probably looking like a tomato that moment. "We both like you. I don't know what kind of spell you put on us, but it worked well. This almost feels like magic, because it's too crazy. Even more knowing it's mutual." "Yeah. And we talked, you know. We've been friends for such a long time, so we should know how to work this out. But I wasn't prepared to you returning these feelings." "We also tried to talk to you, but since you ghosted us, it was hard. It's not something I wanted to say on the phone. Now I'm kinda lost." "We didn't think that you'd like us both, and to not break anyone's heart, we should just talk about it and move on. But how do we do this now?" "One thing is the both of us having feelings for you without any real chance of being mutual. Another thing totally different is you actually having feelings for us. At the same time. It'd be unfair to choose just one." "So are you saying we should all just forget about it and move on?" "I'm actually thinking how we all could make this work. Not breaking hearts, just healing them." "What do you have in mind?" "Well, you know, it's a new century, people are more open minded to try new stuff. Couldn't we try some arrangement?" "Like, sharing me?" "When you put it like that, sounds kinda weird. Why would we share you if we could have you entirely at the same time?" Then it hit you. The three of you, together, at the same time and in every way.  "But how could we know if this works well for us?" "Trying. Come here." Junho got up from the couch and offered you his hand to take you out of the floor. Then he held you in his toned arms, like you were so precious that could break at anytime but loose enough to not do it. His eyes focused on your lips while Wooyoung's breath hit your neck. The both of them were so close that made you intoxicated but as soon as their lips found your mouth and neck, you forgot everything but them. The feeling of being kissed by the two guys you liked the most at the same time was crazy, something you couldn't describe, but it made your body burn wanting more. More of that, more of them.  "I guess this is gonna be very good for us." "Then let me kiss you to verify this." Chuckling, you turned your back to Junho, feeling his hands attaching at your waist immediately, while his mouth traveled through your shoulders and neck. You didn't had time to think about how good that felt, because Wooyoung made your senses get lost in his sweet kiss. You felt dizzy with those two men changing all your perspective of intimacy. They only kissed you but you felt more connected to them than to anyone in your life. So the urge to feel more like that started to be build up inside of you. "We'll only go further if you agree with it." "Now that I'm finally able to be with you both, I'm afraid if I let this chance pass, it won't happen again." "I think I can speak for the both of us that if you want us, then we'll be with you." "I do. I really do." "So it's sealed, honey." "We're your men." Hearing that made your knees weak, but luckily they were holding you tight.  "Then make me your woman." Junho took that as a challenge to turn that night into the best one you have ever lived, and Wooyoung didn't thought twice before kissing you again. Your hands went to Wooyoung's chest, feeling him breathing heavier as the kiss got more heated, and just when you broke the kiss to regain some air, Junho sinked his teeth on your skin, making you feel like you would combust at anytime and moaning at the sensation.  "Should we take this to the bedroom?" "Please." Wooyoung was the first one to sit on the bed, calling you with his lips already plump, and you went like he had you laced around his finger. You made his lap your seat, kissing and biting his neck, while he slowly opened the buttons of his shirt, making easy for you to just slide the fabric to the sides while your lips tasted his smooth skin, until Junho's hand got entangled in your hair to make you look at him. His already naked chest was almost calling your lips, and you couldn't help but moan when he pressed his mouth roughly on yours while Wooyoung made you grind on his hardening cock. In no time your shirt was flying across the room, and at the same speed, Wooyoung's mouth was attached to one of your boobs.  "You look so pretty like this." You could only show Junho a little smirk because he didn't gave you enough time to even think about an answer - his fingers traveling around your body. Kissing Junho was kinda hard because the only thing your mouth wanted to do was moan how good that felt, but it became worse when you felt his hand slipping through your shorts and circling your pulsing clit, making you roll your hips to get a better friction. Wooyoung cut the teasing to get rid of the clothes on his way and Junho got the chance to lay down and call you to take off his jeans. His dick was hard against the black fabric of the boxer, and your desire to taste him only got bigger. You started to kiss his body but didn't got to tease too much - his hand on your hair directing your lips for a better use. Taking off his underwear, you left little kisses on his cock, licking and circling the tip with your tongue to adjust better in your watering mouth. His shaky moans were getting you even more wet, which Wooyoung seemed to  enjoy a lot. You could feel Wooyoung's boner poking your ass, since you were on all fours, and rolling your hips on it was one of the best decisions because he sounded so pretty getting lost on you. He couldn't wait much longer so his fingers went to your pussy to prepare you for him. "You're so wet. Is it all for us?" You could only moan in response, since your mouth was pretty busy working on Junho. "Then let's have some fun, honey." His fingers spread the wetness on your folds, not taking too long before inserting one inside you, but it wasn't enough and you wanted more. His fingers were long and touched you just right. Plus, with the way Junho was grunting under you, it wouldn't take long for your legs started to tremble. Your body was aching for more of them, and you needed to let them know. "Please, just fuck me already." "Hm, should I? What do you think, Junho?" "She's doing good, so maybe you should give it to her. Are you gonna be a good girl and spread your legs for Wooyoung, sweetheart?" "Yes, let me be good for you, Wooyoung." Your legs opened up a little more, giving him all access to your dripping pussy, but he suddenly got up from the bed and you looked at him with a puzzled expression, until you saw a package of condom on his hand. "Hurry up and take me, Wooyoung." "You're so needy for me, aren't you?" You could only moan as you were feeling his covered dick slip inside of you, making you squirm and grab Junho's thighs to regain some composure. "Looking at you, taking him so good. Are you gonna be a good girl for me too?" You almost felt embarassed because Wooyoung was going in such a good rhythm that you kinda forgot Junho also needed a release. "I want to feel you coming undone on my mouth." He left some curses under his breath while your mouth went down on his shaft, taking almost all of him at once. You felt the tip of his cock on your throath and gagged a little, taking him out of your mouth with a plop sound to regain some breath and dive in to pleasure him once again. "Take it easy, baby. Don't need to be so eager, I'm gonna be here the whole night for you." The sweet sound of his voice full of malice almost made you smile, if you weren't trying to work him up very nicely. Your right hand went to cup his balls, making him moan your name and you could swear it was the prettiest sound you have ever heard. Along with Wooyoung picking up his pace, you felt like you were in heaven. "You keep clenching on me, it feels so good." "Look at you, baby, being a good girl for us. Hm, take it all, honey. You look so pretty getting fucked." Junho's dirty talk was making you tremble. You felt your knees get weak at every filthy word that escaped through his lips, and the smirk on his face was only helping to make you reach higher and higher. "You like that dirty talk, don't you, love? Are you gonna cum on my dick? Do you want it?" You felt Wooyoung's tender voice reaching your ears while his hand went to work on your clit, making the pleasure almost unberable and you moan against Junho's twitching cock. Everything felt so good, none of you would last long at that time. Applying some pressure, you sucked Junho a little harder, making him squirm under you. "I'm so close, baby. Don't stop. Let me fill up your pretty mouth." He rolled his hips almost making you gag again, but you got a little used to it, so it only helped to reach more of him, making him gasp and call you name repeatedly as he came hard. You swallowed everything before letting go of him, focusing on Wooyoung and your pleasure at once. His hips snapped so right against yours and his fingers worked like magic on your clit, you were almost seeing stars. "Wooyoung, I'm gonna cum." "That's it, love, cum around me." You could feel his thrusts getting sloppier, your legs trembling and your walls squeezing Wooyoung's dick inside of you, while he estimulated your clit and Junho looked at you with shiny eyes, and it was too much to handle. You came undone around his shaft, moaning loud and getting breathless. Wooyoung didn't last much longer since you were holding him so nicely inside of you. You didn't want him to let go, but he made up for it pampering you with kisses while Junho looked for a towel to clean all of you. You never felt so loved before. "Do you feel good?" "Absolutely. Do you guys too?" Junho hummed positively, laying down and putting you on his embrace, and Wooyoung hugged you from behind. "Never felt better. I'm glad you accepted us." "I'm the happiest for being yours." "Ten more minutes and we're gonna make you even happier, baby." Oh, this is going to be a very good relationship. 

[namjoonchronicles]

closure |nj

↳ pairing namjoon, reader

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship, melodrama

↳ words 3,775k

↳ summary some stories aren't meant to be understood, they're just written to be heard.

↳ warning depression; major death of side character, suicide

↳ song 'feel something' by clairo, 'to love someone else' by avery lynch, 'chernobyl' by alec bailey

Truly, the nights are filled with unspoken stories. When he took your hand in his and looked deep into your eye with those soft concerned gaze, you were home. He cupped your chin, curled a strand of your hair behind your ear and studied your entire face.

“What’s that look?” his voice swam in your semi-consciousness, “I know that look. That look pains me, takes me to the edge, makes me curl my toes, that look…”

Your eyes flutter wondrously at his lashes, his Cupid’s bow and supple lips, along with a stricken smile you asked him quizzically, “I am alright, you have nothing to worry about…”

Namjoon thumbed your cheek and it traced down to your smile line, the curve at the edge of your lips, and you know he felt the trembles as you forced the smile. Namjoon’s eyes trail up to meet yours again, he starts chewing the insides of his cheek, hollowing them.

“You are faking the smile,” and he softens when he sees your eyes gleaming with tears. Upon this, he collected your head into his arms and cushioned by his chest. He passes a long lingering kiss atop of your head, cradling your head while your arms are low on his hip, trying to barely hold on. At the time, he felt like a pillar, holding you together in all your ruins. His stature, the scent of his aftershave, the makings of his shirts and the smell of his skin— it all rushed over your senses like a tsunami. The kind of comfort he was, such a calming presence for a cyclone-bearing human you were.

Rush of emotions. It builds up.

And up.

And up.

And overflows.

You are an enigma Namjoon is scrambling to find out. A tough shell of a crab, with walls built high and thick. Like a lost traveler with a single map that’s ever changing in its path, ever evolving— you were that map. The verandah's wooden panel wet from the late afternoon rain, the hammock under the small roof at the edge, lay static in its place until Namjoon put his enormous weight on it. One leg dangling out, arm spread and waiting for you to grab them. He bracketed your waist and lifted you from the floor and into his lap like a child. He has a bottle of soda by the side, its lid snapped open. Laying your back on his hard, defined pectoral chest, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulder somewhat lifted a bit. Namjoon knows, and he knows this without you saying a word— he knows that you had been fighting many battles alone, and with yourself. The battles had wrung you out, strewn you in and silenced you. Constantly, insistently the world is demanding a piece of you to give out. At this place and time, it seemed incredibly impossible to be at complete peace. You could almost give in— tempted to lay in defeat. You gave it your all, and they gave you nothing.

“It’ll hurt for awhile, but it will get better,” you suddenly broke the silence. Namjoon hummed back, either confused or surprised at the sudden remark. You turned sideways and up, to look at the view of his jaw. He tips his head back, drinking down the soda in his left hand. The thin fabrics of his sleeveless tanks, left almost nothing to the imagination. He tutted his tongue in response to what you said.

“That’s a nice saying…” his voice dropped an octave lower when he is relaxing like this with you. You were the few humans in the world he would appreciate silence with. You switched to face him, him between your legs as you sat up with a big gaping smile on your face, disbelieved.

“You’re the one who told me that…” emphasizing on him. You filled the gaps between his legs with your own, sandwiched as you sat opposed to him. Your toes next to his head and him grinning like he kept a secret from the world. After much struggle to get comfortable, you said,

“You told me that when my grandmother passed away that night in January… I remember it clearly, just like it was yesterday…

I was in the elevator with her lifeless body on the casket and not a drop of tears left my eye…

I started wondering if there was something wrong with me…”

Namjoon wrapped his palm over your ankles— the ankles you hated so much because you think they are unappealing, he thumbs the protruding bone affectionately, brought it to his stomach and started massaging it with his free hand. All the while you were reminiscing.

“And you told me that I was so hurt, I couldn’t cry. How I am used to fabricating my pain for the sake of others… that when I was expected to cry, I couldn’t. And wouldn’t. How I took being strong quite literally…” Your voice slowed down, your eyes casted to the view of his fingers, nimbling over your skin.

“And today, the same thing happened… but today, I chose not to be too strong,” you held your breath for a moment, and exhaled shakily. The emotions aren’t all gone; the remnants are still here, clinging on you like a stubborn stain on the wall left by the old frames that were no longer there. Coiling around you like a shadow at every hint of bright light. The guilt was paralyzing you to the point of tears.

“A friend of mine was taken today…” you painted a smile on your face but Namjoon didn’t etch one, one bit. His fingers stopped massaging briefly, before it continued.

“You’ve met him once, if you remembered, his name is Hoseok,” you wiped a single drop of tear, “He was a firm owner, a lawyer. We met at the convention…”

“... back in 2015.” Namjoon finished your sentences.

At the 2015 International Pharmaceutical Convention, 7 years ago...

Flourishing, the crowd of intelligent people came in with a big proud smile, wearing lanyards of their company. Blazers, heels, jewelries, research posters, new pharmaceutical breakthroughs, projects and investors circles. The big pharma are divided in sections.

Walking toward the condiments vendor for a quick refreshment, you were approached by a man. Tall, his face turned away from your view as he was speaking to another colleague. He hijacked your turn to access the vendors, unknowingly, and you weren’t exactly the kind to speak up when a stranger does this to you, so you backed away a little and forced out a smile, gazing down at your toes.

“Hey, I think I know your name…” this mysterious figure suddenly says, “Still letting others go first before you, huh?” In such a friendly tone, your mind began racing to decipher his voice and face when you shot your gaze up to meet his. The same disarming smile, perfectly lined teeth and just the right amount of cologne, wafted around your nose— was a face familiar from the years back.

“Hoseok? Jung Hoseok?” he mentions his name after a long pause from you.

You were tongue-tied, mind-riddled from such a sudden meeting. You were unprepared and it must have shown all over your face the way he hisses away, wearing a lopsided smile and gruffly saying, “Don’t be like that… Do you really not know me? Have I mistook you for someone else?” He suddenly shifted his weight to another foot, crossed his arm and placed his forefinger under his chin, gazing at the corner of the massive hall, thinking.

“Ankles, and that old wristwatch, it’s definitely you…” his pondering face switches to a cheerful smile in a matter of seconds and you could not have been even more right that this was your old friend whom you hadn’t contacted in years. All the way back in college.

“Oh my, it’s you…!” You gasped, trying to recover from the embarrassing delay, “Wow, you look amazing… How are you! How have you been?”

Hoseok exchanged your late recalling with a burst of laughter of his own.

“I own a firm now,” you heard him say. It was the first thing he said, and it showed just how much pride he took in it. Which was fair. Back then he was struggling to find his footing, trying to find a job and getting rejected at interviews— it was you whom he shared those stories with. Over late night coffee, late night conversations and texts; he talks about his days, sharing with you his strange humors. You were glad that he finally found what he liked to do; at least that's what you assumed he liked because you clearly remembered that he had different interests.

“So what about the photography business? Your freelance job?” you hesitantly asked.

You could see how his smile and whole stature faltered briefly at the mention of it. You knew that his family was against it— was against anything that isn’t bringing back money— passion or not, it wasn’t something his family wanted him to do. Besides, his father’s firm needs managing, and what other way to continue the business if not having a son that is doing law as well.

“Folded,” his cheeks puffed and deflated, “Sold everything including the antique camera, the analogues, the films… everything.”

Your heart thudded strangely. You knew just how much he loved photography. It was the reason why you both got close back then. Your passion to everything artistic and his passion to capture everything beautiful. You remember so well, how his face lights up at the mention of photography, how he was so willing to teach you how to use the cameras you’ve never seen, and how he shares all his work with you, including the new one he was currently working on. You had access to all of his digital work and manuscript. And it was unfortunate that all these had to go away, leaving nothing to the memory. Nothing to hold close. It probably killed him as well. But what could he have done?

“How about you?” the conversation now shifts to your side. You twisted the ring around your ring finger and showed it to him.

“Awesome!” He gleams. So delighted.

“He is here somewhere, I don’t know where he went… but he should find me in a few minutes,” you looked around.

“You were getting something from the vendor?” Hoseok asked, but you shook your head. You don’t feel like drinking now.

Hoseok gradually finds out how your life is, where you’ve worked and places you’ve been.

“And you met Namjoon at work?”

“Pretty much, he is in the investors group. We met once, talking about a big pharma project and he was one of the champions supporting the good cause, so I owed him a lot,” you shrugged as to say, the rest is history.

“So he made you marry him to pay up all your emotional debts?” Hoseok jokes.

“Not exactly but… you know how I am. I can be very difficult to convince, especially when I am so comfortable with the lifestyles I already have. I dread to be a housewife so when he understood that, everything else falls into place,” you added and caught a tall figure walking along the hallway, dashing in his slick back hair, lanyards dangling.

Blazers flailing, white dress shirt and slacks make up the shapes of his defined abs and thighs. He walks with his head hanging slightly downwards as if he was trying not to catch anyone’s attention but was failing. Everyone turned their head towards him the moment he stepped inside the hall.

He stopped midway and tugged his left sleeve back. His Patek Phillipe Nautilus shimmering handsomely under the spotlight as he studied the time. He lifts his eyes up to scan the room through his brows and pursed lips, wondering where his wife was at the promised time.

You raised your arm slightly and the smoldering figure of a man twitches a big smile and a small bite on his lower lip, making his way to you. Completely aware about the man that was nearby you as he plants a chaste, enveloping kiss on your lips.

“This is Namjoon, Kim Namjoon…” You placed your hand on the small of his back and he reached out to Hoseok first for a handshake, again, his wristwatch peeking out when he covers the handshake with the left hand.

“Sweetheart, this is Hoseok, Jung Hoseok. He is a lawyer…” you introduced them both and Hoseok handed him his name card. Namjoon waits for you to further elaborate how you seemed so friendly with this man. And you can’t say that Hoseok was in-fact your old best friend whom you cut connections with because you’ve had feelings for him when he was in love with someone else. So you say, “An old friend.”

You sighed in relief when Namjoon didn’t catch the extended pause, but you can’t help thinking that he might question more later in the ride home. But for now, Namjoon’s bright smile seems to captivate the whole room’s attention. Small talks, and brief discussion about the direction of the convention and what he thinks about it, comes naturally. But he makes sure you don’t feel left out by the conversation by constantly adding your pharma company name in the picture.

“Had it not been my darling, the company would have gone downhill with their outdated scheduling methods and utter refusal to accept reformations according to modernization,” Namjoon added, and while he says so, so professionally and with full alluring prospects of a seasoned business man, his hand was trailing down the curve of your ass and gently squeezing them— out of Hoseok’s sight. Had you been a terrible pretender, you would have moaned out of context. You can thank your overflowing control for that. You were also cursing his name in the back of your mind and he will have an earful of it when you get home later.

“She single-handedly save the multi-billionaire company from their biggest downfall from the company’s incompetent leader,” Hoseok added, “Also they had a lot of legal issues at the time. I was in-charge of the corporate files before they shifted to joint-venture with Daehan Pharmaceuticals… it was a mess already. Corruption, bribes and unreliable auditing data.”

“Wait…” you intruded, “You were in the pharma that long? So we could have met?”

Hoseok gave you a lopsided smile and nodded. He further explained how he kept sending his colleagues to do site visits because he wants to avoid seeing you. This is where Namjoon begins to realise that you guys might be more than just friends because he asked,

“Why is that?”

Hoseok began his answer with a shrug of his shoulder and pursing his lips. After a brief thought, he admits, “Because at the time, we weren’t talking anymore. She would know why,” He opens his mouth to say more, but glancing down at your wedding ring, he didn’t.

If Hoseok remembered clearly, he was talking to you about a girl he had been pursuing. It was the first time he ever revealed something like that, all along you knew each other. You were studying for your final year and had been bludgeoned with assignments. There wasn’t a right time to tell you until one day on April 17th, he said he was finally going to ask this girl if she would be his girlfriend. A little info on her was that she was in a toxic relationship she was trying to get out from. She didn’t ask Hoseok to wait, but Hoseok was so in love with her, he didn’t mind how long it would take. She requested for time and space. Another man claimed her as his girlfriend when she didn’t say yes or no. Another two were also after her. Her ex boyfriend returned after months of leaving her. Just at the same time Hoseok was allowing her in his life.

When he shared you that information, you felt so betrayed somehow. He was always preaching about how being single is the best way to live and he turned around and did things like this. Pursuing a relationship. You were stubborn, you had egos you wanted to defend. Everything regarding relationships, you refuse to acknowledge. And any slight differences in your opinions were enough to break a relationship, even a strong friendship like you and Hoseok shared at the time. You once confessed to Hoseok that you liked him and he couldn’t return the same feelings. So you accused him of loving someone else and he denied that. When this happened, you felt like you were lied to. Because Hoseok, at the time that you two knew each other, was already having eyes on someone else, treating you as a placeholder, sharing emotions until the girl was eventually available for him.

Then he dropped you.

Things would have been different if he just told the truth. That he was indeed in love with someone when you confessed to him. Things would be much easier and it wouldn’t have gone deeper than it was. You would have walked away, unhurt and without knowing each other at a depth that you’d have to crawl out from. But Hoseok didn’t want to lose you. For some reason, he kept the friendship despite being unable to return your feelings, fabricating attention and giving hopes that he might one day change his feelings. Had you walked out earlier, you wouldn’t have resorted to deleting all contacts with him. His Instagram account, all his numbers, his pictures, galleries. The assignments he helped you with, the emotional support, the ice cream dates and late night phone calls. You would take it all away.

You deleted him from your life, only for him to tiptoe around the same company as yours— afraid of being known but unsure of what he did wrong. You decided that you would punish him that way. By leaving him with no answers of why you left.

“Will you be joining the closing ceremony dinner at Hyatt?” Namjoon politely asked. Noticing that the conversation had run down.

“Perhaps I will. I have to keep the firm going for the wife and kids to eat,” Hoseok perked up, and it was the first time he ever revealed about his marital status all through the conversation.

“Oh, you married her?” the delight in your voice was sincere, you are so happy for him. But his answers weren’t what you expected.

“No I didn’t. She left me for someone else, she was never honest with me, and I was only hearing the things I wanted to hear,” Hoseok rubs his knuckle and politely excused himself when he saw Namjoon was approached by an entourage of bodyguards that guide you and your husband to the next section of the convention. No numbers were exchanged to insinuate a rekindled relationship. It’s like you both understood that you could never return to what you were before. You both are leading different lives now, with different people and different phases. But you hoped he knew just how much he meant to you back then.

Hoseok walked away with a lightened shoulders. Now that he has seen you face-to-face and sure of what life you’re living, he felt a little at ease and a little envious. In the car you once rode with him, this broken-down Honda Civic, divorce papers were scattered on the front seat. The top-most letter being the child custody granted to his wife. His firm is also on the verge of bankruptcy and he was laid off from his contract with the pharma, this convention being the last one he will ever attend. After you left his life, he was burdened with one bad luck after the other. And he was at his last strand of hope when he came to the building. He saw you gracefully presenting on the stage about the medication you have been working on, like how he always wished to see. You were so cool, so engaging, so intelligent in your presence. Namjoon is the ultimate husband you wished for, and of course, you would concede for a man that was at your level. Knowing you as long as he did, you will not settle for less and that’s final. No discussion.

Life is good for you.

Inserting his car keys inside the keyhole, telling himself that, “That’s the price of breaking a pure heart.”

Empty bottle of soda laying on the wooden panel. Your tear-stained face, sleeping on your side under the starry night sky, while Namjoon watched you intently. He covers you with a blanket and lets you sleep. He walked inside the house, and vanished to his home office. In it, he fetches his phone and turns on his table lamp, making a call that was immediately taken.

“I want you to find the burial information on a lawyer Jung Hoseok and send some condolences bouquet,” he instructed with a low voice. The short voice call felt heavy but necessary. Hoseok’s passing was detrimental to his wife’s mental and emotional health— it was important for him and her to get the closure they both needed.

Judging from her frail figure, she won’t be able to attend the funeral. Cremation was planned as requested by Hoseok. His children will not be attending, neither is his wife. The last thing Hoseok wanted was his funeral attended by the people that was the reason for his passing. For years, he had been battling depression and anxiety. It has been a long, lonely fight.

Namjoon watches the silhouette of you, standing against the setting sun, in your all-black attire and hair tied in a bun, hugging yourself. Wind blowing the strands of your hair back at every strike. Your diamond ring twinkling at the light it reflects. The sound of traffic in the distance, honks and vehicles throttling far away.

“The funeral ended gracefully…” Namjoon broke the silence.

You dropped your head and tutted your tongue, smiling weakly.

“It’s not your fault, darling…” your husband’s footsteps padded through the wooden floors to where you were.

“Then why does it hurt so bad? Why does it still hurt so Goddamn much?!” you shrieked.

Namjoon collected you in his arms, so you would rest your head on his sturdy chest, and he whispered, barely audibly heard by you,

“Because when you love, you love with everything you have. I know that much.”

It was then he realized that one is only allowed the closure they deserved;

And, no closure is also a closure.

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copyright © january 4th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading <3

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↳ author’s note it's been awhile, i feel like i've been waiting for my personal life to overflow before i could write something. this is just an excuse to use 'that' picture of namjoon for the banner of a story. how are you? i've recently cut contacts with someone i hold dearly in my life. upon the break, it gave me back the emotions i used to have when i am writing. all this while, i have wasted my feeling, my elaborated word choices on someone who hardly appreciate it. with him gone, i started to think clearer and see things for what they are. i am no longer shrouded by dark grey clouds of uncertainty as i was with him. it was a difficult shift, but i feel better now that he is gone from my life. i dropped a tear or two not because of the love i used to feel for him, but because i felt incapable of being loved the way i yearned. this is the second day after i broke all connection with the said man/boy/creature. i feel liberated after the whole story was written. i needed him killed in my mind. so i wrote it just that. i've returned to where i was before, and i feel absolutely fine.

[violetsoju]

destiny彡★

iwaoi · fluff? · 3.5k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Iwaizumi-san, just this once, please? We’ll treat you to that shop that serves the amazing agedashi tofu you love. You’re the only one we can count on now.”

Iwaizumi peered at his fellow colleagues. It was rare for them to have such a desperate look plastered on their faces. The look where they would literally pluck the moon if you asked them to.

“As long as I get the job done?” he questioned, amused by their reactions.

“Yes!! As long as we get to mark this case as closed, unlimited refill of agedashi tofu at your service!”

Iwaizumi tilted his head at the thought of that agedashi tofu he couldn’t forget. Closing a case and having agedashi tofu? Sounded like a win-win situation for him.

“Yeah, whatever. Remember to keep your words. Now hand me the case file.” he shrugged, extending his hand out to grab the file.

“You’re the best Iwaizumi-san! We’re counting on you!”

What’s the big deal of this case anyway, Iwaizumi thought. There wasn’t a case where he couldn’t close throughout his career as a professional dog trainer.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Iwaizumi let out a heavy, long sigh. Clearly this was not what he signed up for. It had been 2 hours, but they were still at square one.

“No wonder they agreed on an unlimited refill of agedashi tofu so easily.” he muttered.

“Eh, Iwa-chan? What did you say? Let’s take a break, shall we? I’m in need for some iced coffee now. Hachi looks like she needs a break too.”

Looking up to see a mop of golden fur sprawled across the brunette boy, he heaved another long sigh. “Just half an hour. Get back here after half an hour.”

Man, this isn’t going as how he wanted it to be.

“Hachi has been here for two full programs but we just can’t seem to get her moving. We can’t even get her to sit. That’s how serious it is. It’s not like she has behaviour problems, but she’s just too engrossed in her own little world. Her owner has started to question us on her lack of progress, and we’re questioning ourselves and Hachi too. Only if Hachi could answer her owner about her progress on behalf of us.

“So we’re planning to take her back, tell her owner that we really tried our best but it seems that Hachi is beyond our means, and express our regret. Could you do that for us, Iwaizumi-san?”  

What his colleagues didn’t tell him that how headstrong Hachi’s owner was.

“Please, Iwaizumi-kun. I know she’s quite a handful to handle, but I just don’t have the time to train her myself. Could you stick with her until she completes her training successfully, please? She’ll get through it one day! I promise!” Hachi’s owner pleaded with a look Iwaizumi couldn’t possibly reject.

Most importantly, no one told Iwaizumi of where Hachi learnt her mischievous antics from.

And boy, having two balls of mischief to handle required more than two hands.

The first encounter with the master of mischief was undoubtedly, a mess.

Iwaizumi was on an evening stroll in the park with Hachi as promised with her owner, when a scream suddenly broke the peaceful atmosphere.

“HACHIIIIII OMG THERE YOU ARE!! MOM WAS NOT AT HOME AND NEITHER WERE YOU! I THOUGHT YOU WERE KIDNAPPED AND WAS READY TO CALL THE POLICE BUT THANK THE HEAVENS YOU’RE HERE!

“AND YOU! WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU WITH MY HACHI? MOVE IT! GIMME THE LEASH. HOW DARE YOU WALK ALONG WITH MY HACHI.”

Iwaizumi swore that if there was no one around them he would smack the shit out of the brunette in front of him. “Hold up, who are you? I wasn’t informed that Hachi had another owner,”

The brunette waved him away dismissively. “Oh shush. Get on your way and give me back my dog, would you? Oh Hachi, are you alright? Were you scared walking with a stranger? Don’t worry, Tooru is here now……” he said, while continuing to babytalk Hachi, ruffling her fur and ignoring Iwaizumi completely.

Iwaizumi had enough. This was not how he planned to wind down for the day.

He tugged on Hachi’s leash and continued walking, leaving the brunette stumbling on his steps. “As a professional dog trainer, I am not allowed to leave my client with a person I do not know, or whose identity was not informed of beforehand. So if you may, please leave my client and I alone as we carry on with our lovely evening stroll, Have a nice day.”

“If she isn’t my dog, how would I know her name?”

“How do I know? Maybe you looked at her collar. Maybe you mistook her for another dog.”

“Nonsense? It’s obvious Hachi knows who I am. Look at her! She’s so happy to see me.”

“She’s a golden retriever. They’re friendly and warm up to everyone.”

“Well, you got a point there. But- Hey! That’s not the main point!”

The both of them bickered their way back to Hachi’s house, where the misunderstanding was cleared by Hachi’s owner, aka the brunette’s mother.

“I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, Iwaizumi-kun. I should’ve let you know about Tooru if I knew that he was coming back today,” the older woman sighed. “You little brat, why didn’t you inform me that you were coming home today? I could’ve picked up some unagi from the store just now,” she said, smacking the back of the brunette’s head as he yelped.

“Call me Oikawa.”

“Iwaizumi.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As the sessions progressed, Iwaizumi got to know both Oikawa and Hachi better, which helped with the development. They were currently halfway through the program, much to Iwaizumi’s surprise. Even his colleagues were stunned by the steady progress made.

“You know, maybe it’s because Oikawa’s with Hachi during the program this round. Going through the program together with someone they’re close to really makes a difference as compared to completing it alone,” one of Iwaizumi’s colleague commented when they dropped by for an observation during one of the sessions. “See how Hachi’s eyes light up at the sight of him? Man, he should’ve been here from the first program. That would save us all the trouble.”

They were right. Hachi indeed seemed more enthusiastic with the brunette around. And definitely more cooperative.

They were like two peas in a pod: The unlimited amount of energy they emit, the glint of mischief in their eyes, the blinding shine they radiate, the puppy look they give to get away with something, the way they whine and laze around when they were tired. No wonder people say the dogs do resemble their owners.

“Well, hopefully he’ll be here until the end of the program. I do hear that models frequently fly around for shoots if they’re top in demand. He looks really familiar though, has he been on major ads before?”

Iwaizumi glanced at the two across the lawn. Oikawa was exhilarated as Hachi placed her paw in his palm for a handshake, showering her with treats. Iwaizumi groaned, burying his face into his palms. How many times has he told Oikawa not to overfeed Hachi with treats?

“No idea. And I don’t want to know either.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Iwaizumi wasn’t much of a coffee drinker. In fact, he preferred tea over coffee. So why was he on his fourth cup of iced coffee within a week?

“By the way, why did you name her Hachi? Don’t tell me you got the idea from watching Hachiko. She’s not even a Shiba Inu,” Iwaizumi asked, sipping on his iced coffee.

They were currently chilling at the terrace of a pet-friendly café after their session for the day. It had become a routine for them to grab coffee together after their sessions. Not that Iwaizumi was complaining.

“Duh, of course I know she isn’t a Shiba Inu,” Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I named her Hachi because if you turn the figure eight sideways, it represents the infinity sign. I wanted her to have endless possibilities, as well as an abundance of blessings in her life, and that our love towards her would be eternal, whatever it may be,”

Oikawa leaned to the side against his palms, looking far ahead. “Remember when you asked me why I got a golden retriever instead of a chihuahua because you thought chihuahuas reflected my sassiness? Well, that’s because we didn’t have a choice. She came to us first.

“We found her in a box by the roadside on the way home one winter. She was just a small blob of golden fur, trembling from the cold piercing weather, but still breathing. Seeing her fight with all her might to get through the freezing night reminded me of how I should persevere with what I love, although I’m not blessed with inborn talent for it. So, I want her to be blessed with nothing but good things from the day the bond between us was forged.

“Maybe it’s because I kinda see myself in her too, that’s why,” Oikawa’s fingers running gently through the golden sea of fur. “That glimmer of hope she showed me still serves as a constant reminder that as long as I keep on going, I’ll reach the end of the rainbow one day. Nothing is impossible, don’t you think?”

Iwaizumi was taken aback. For a moment his mind went blank, and all he could see was how Oikawa radiated with a soft warm glow, so warm it created a weird fuzzy feeling in his heart. He had always viewed Oikawa as someone simple-minded and carefree. Never would he thought that he would one day find Oikawa to be charming. Maybe his heart had started to bloom for Oikawa little by little without him realising it.

But would he let Oikawa know this new feeling he had? Absolutely not.

“Wow, Oikawa. I never expected you to be so eloquent in such a meaningful and deep topic,”

“So mean, Iwa-chan! What do you take me for? A dumb blonde?”

“Except you’re not blonde. You’re brunette,”

“Iwa-chan!!!”

“…But yeah, you take after a golden retriever more than a chihuahua now,”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Iwaizumi tugged on his rolled-up sleeves unconsciously as he watched the scene unfold before him. It was his first time at a shoot, so the way the production crew scurried around with all sorts of equipment was new to him. Hachi seemed to be calmer than he was, sitting next to him unfazed.

He wasn’t sure if it was his nervousness or the lack of oxygen due to the number of people in such a small space that made him start to sweat. What exactly was he nervous for anyway? And why in the world did he choose to wear a dress shirt instead of a casual t-shirt? “It’s not like you’re gonna the one in front of the camera, you idiot.” he muttered to himself.

He would be relaxing with a cup of tea in hand while reading a book in his living room on his day off if it wasn’t for Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan! My manager just called me and said that the client wants Hachi to model with me for the new promotional ad! Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Do you think she’ll be able to pull it off? I mean, I believe she will, but I just wanted your reassurance and-”

“One question at a time, Oikawa. I only have one mouth to answer per question.”

“Anyway, as Hachi’s professional and personal trainer, I was wondering if you could come by to my shoot to oversee the process with Hachi? I know that we don’t have any sessions scheduled on the day, but I would really appreciate it if you could be on set just in case anything happens midway. Also, as a source of support for me, maybe?”

It’s all for Hachi, nothing else, Iwaizumi repeatedly told himself. He hadn’t realised a figure walking towards him as he was absorbed in his mantra.

“Iwa-chan! You made it!”

Iwaizumi had seen angels in real life before. Well, anime angel character cosplayers count, right? Or during Halloween you could probably spot at least 5 girls dressing up as angels in Shibuya. Nothing particularly new, he would say.

The person standing before him wasn’t dressed in any fancy angel costume, but Iwaizumi swore that he saw luminous wings arching off his back, and a halo glow softly above his head. The comfort and cosiness radiated felt so much like home, and if he could, Iwaizumi wished to bask in this strangely familiar and soothing warmth, where he felt safe and snug in.

“Earth to Iwa? Hello?” Oikawa waved his hand in front of Iwaizumi’s face. “Why are you burning up red all of a sudden? Do you want me to get you a bottle of cold water?”

Iwaizumi rubbed his neck bashfully, hoping that the warm flush that was spreading to the tip of his ears would somehow manage to cease. “No, it’s fine. Maybe because it’s a little humid in here.”

“But it’s fully air-conditioned in here though? Anyway, thanks for being with Hachi while I was getting ready. I’ll take it from here! Allow me to show you how a top model works.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t quite remember what happened afterwards. Everything seemed to zoom by in a flash throughout the whole shoot.

The next thing he knew was the three of them back in Oikawa’s place, chilling in the living room.

“Kya, nothing beats a fresh shower and ice cream after a long shoot! Oh, and enjoying the perfectly timed sunset out there! Isn’t this just wonderful, Iwa-chan?”

“Shouldn’t you prepare your stomach for dinner at this time? Also, who eats ice cream right out of the tub? I thought models have diets to follow by.” Iwaizumi sipped on his cup of camomile tea he miraculously found in Oikawa’s pantry.

Oikawa waved his hand dismissively at Iwaizumi’s remarks. “You’re no fun, Iwa-chan. The best way to eat ice cream is eating it straight from the tub! Don’t tell me you haven’t tried this before. Also, this is just for starters. Dinner is the main course.”

“If ice cream is the appetizer, what about dessert? Milkshakes?”

“Hey, that’s actually a great idea!” Oikawa’s eyes sparkled. “We could make avocado milkshakes later, I still have some avocado left in the fridge. Or we could try that new place that serves pastries and milkshakes down the street. I heard they’re pet-friendly too, so Hachi can come along too! Sounds like a plan!”

Sometimes Iwaizumi questioned himself how he could get along with an alien like Oikawa, who was clearly from a different planet.

As both of their places were nearby, Iwaizumi found himself hanging out at Oikawa’s place more often, and the latter at his place too. Despite the difference in their personalities, they became closer over the sessions. Not on the instructor-client relationship level, but on a more intimate level. It may sound unprofessional, having the line between work and personal life blurred, but neither of them made the move to set it back in place.  

It was as if they forgot the eyes around them, from Iwaizumi’s colleagues and Oikawa’s agency. Will you both still continue seeing each other like this after the program ends, they would ask. Even the both of them were unsure of the answer. Or maybe they were afraid to let out the true answer hidden deep in their hearts; their innermost feelings too vulnerable to be revealed. They became too comfortable in each other’s presence. A sudden halt in this newfound bliss would lead them both hanging by a thread, ready to snap if the loose ends were not tied well together.

There was no turning back.

“Say, Oikawa. I was wondering, remember back when you said you were not blessed with inborn talent for modelling, what do you mean by that? From what I saw today, you were pretty good at your job. The shoot ended on a high note, didn’t it?” Although Iwaizumi forgot most of what happened earlier on, he still remembered how the photographer and production team sang praises about Oikawa throughout the shoot.

Oikawa’s eyes widened at the unexpected praise. “You think so? That’s a really nice thing to hear from you, Iwa-chan. You should shower me with more praises rather than shooting me with your snappy remarks. The more you say nice things, the lovelier you become. Same with growing plants.”

“Don’t change the topic and answer my question.”

Oikawa chuckled at Iwaizumi’s response. He looked at the tub of ice cream in his hands and was lost in thought for a moment. Iwaizumi had never seen Oikawa in such a manner. The twinkle in his eyes became clouded, his usual glow dimmed as though rain from the dark clouds casted in his eyes poured over it. He hated to see this version of him.

“I know it may sound ridiculous and absurd because it seems like I have everything in my hands, but that’s not necessary the case. Yes, I may be blessed with good looks that secures me a spot in the fashion and entertainment industry, but how far can I go with just that?

“I was offered opportunities in the acting and idol field before. I gave them a shot, but I found myself coming back to modelling eventually. But with my looks, I would often score jobs that were just limited to a specific category: being pretty. Not that I disliked it, but I didn’t want to be just a pretty boy. I want to expand my horizons, to try different genres and types. Because I believe I’m more than that.

“That’s why I stayed abroad for most of the time previously. I was fortunate enough to sign with a couple of international agencies and worked wherever opportunities led me to. The modelling scene is different from here, and I’ve grown a lot over the years and experience too. It was difficult at first, being in foreign lands, with different languages and work cultures, being jobless due to lack of experience and having no connections in the beginning stages. Heck, there was once where I was so close to being broke and wanting to give it all up. I even stepped on my pride to beg agencies and clients to accept me.

“But hey, here I am now. Climbing to the top was no easy feat, but I made it, and it’s all worth it. I’m sure you know what I mean. Runway, commercial, fitness, high fashion, I’ve done them all. I was able to fulfil my dreams and desires,” The dark clouds that were once looming around Oikawa cleared up, with a rainbow emerging to bring out the sparkle and glow that had been undeservingly hidden, which Iwaizumi loved.

“Many often ask why I decided to take on this path when I could have a smoother and secure path in the entertainment industry back here. I was more suited in the entertainment industry compared modelling, or I was born with a face to be on screen, they would say. I guess this worthless pride of mine got the better of me, and I don’t regret one bit.”

Oikawa turned to face Iwaizumi who had turned dead quiet after his long explanation. “An unexpectedly interesting and deep story, isn’t it? Come on, don’t be so serious. Were you expecting something more light-hearted? Or some over dramatic life-threatening story?”

It took a few seconds for Iwaizumi to regain back his composure. “You’re always a box of surprises, Oikawa.”

“And that’s what you love about me, don’t you?” Oikawa playfully winked at Iwaizumi, which was returned with Iwaizumi’s eyes rolled up to the celling.

Oikawa kept the now melted pool of ice cream back in the refrigerator and filled a glass of water to drink. “Anyway, I think I’ll be stationed back here for a while. I haven’t been back home for quite some time now, and it feels nice to be back again.”

“Are you sure you’re not staying back because you don’t have to worry about meals thanks to your mom?” Iwaizumi said, rubbing Hachi’s belly as she flipped over to enjoy the massage.

“Excuse you, I believe I can cook better than you. All these years of experience made me a fine man in all aspects, if you were unaware,”

“Besides, I think I found another reason to stay back longer this round.” Oikawa plopped down beside Iwaizumi, joining in Hachi’s belly rub session.

“And that is? To spend more time with Hachi?”

Oikawa looked up to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes. He could look into them all day if he could.

“That’s one reason, but there’s another.”

“What’s that then?”

“Not telling you.”

“Are you serious, Oikawa.”

“Think, Iwa-chan, think! It’s no fun if I tell you everything, right?”

If Hachi and Oikawa were destined to meet, then she would be the reason for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to be destined to cross paths. A destiny in a destiny.

[sirglowbug]

To: Inquisitor Daygrave-Sunblaze

From: Knight Initiate Brightborn

Re: Potential slavery within Quel’thalas

Inquisitor,

I apologize for writing to you unprompted but recent events have brought an old memory to the forefront and I worry that the circumstances I recall may be ongoing. I have heard that Inquisitors are capable of extracting information from even the most clouded or unwilling mind. I hope that time and distance don’t over complicate matters, though I trust that you or one of your colleagues must still be able to find something.

Fifteen years ago, my father brought me to some sort of underground arena. Enslaved people- I recall elves, trolls, and humans, mainly- were pitted against one another while crowds wagered upon their survival. I was a child at the time and mistook these events for legitimate arena matches. I don’t know where these elves were taken from or who claimed to own them, but I was present nearby on several occasions while my father conducted business there, so I hope that some clue might still be buried. I surely heard a name or location that failed to register.

My father played the role of ‘healer’ at these events. He would wait until the final match was concluded before tending to any injuries. I’ve no doubt that several persons died without timely care. The enslaved elves, for he permitted trolls and humans to bleed out more often than not, were bound such that they could not even lift their heads. Most were gagged. None were given anesthetic before or after treatment. At three, he had me debriding wounds. In the following two years I was frequently commanded to suture and perform minor surgery upon fully aware patients who only found relief if they managed to pass out. I would not realize that anesthesia of any kind existed until some years later..

I am ready and willing to give testimony and will consent to any manner of inspection that you deem necessary. I know that it happened before the Fall and that Quel’thalas has far greater concerns. I understand that every survivor is precious now, regardless of their past crimes. I still hope that something can be done if only to ensure that these activities have ceased. Please contact me as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Luthraes Brightborn

(( @mourne ))

[lu-undy]

Chapter 17 - SBT

Here it is!

The doorbell rang. 

"Oh…?" 

Lucien had spent his morning so far working on his voice, accompanied by his piano in his suite. He got off of it and went to the door.

"Ah, good morning Bastien." 

The young man was at the door, his arms full. 

"Hello, L. I have some suits for you, from your tailor." 

"Oh, I wasn't expecting anything, thank you very much." Lucien let Bastien in. 

The young man put the suits in the spy's wardrobe. 

"Anything you need while I'm here?" Bastian asked as he made his way back to the door.

"Non, merci." 

[No, thanks.]

Bastian stayed at the door for a second while Lucien sat back at his piano. As he didn't hear the door shut, the Frenchman turned to him. 

"Something is the matter?"

"Uh… It's just… I heard you before I knocked on your door and uh, you have a nice voice, L." Bastian blushed, his eyes going up and down between Lucien's face and the floor, timidly. 

"Thank you. If you want to stay to listen, be my guest." Lucien offered. 

"I… No, I have some work to do, Sir. But thanks very much." Bastian started to close the door. 

"Bastien?" 

He stopped sharp and raised his eyes to the Frenchman. Lucien had left the piano and was walking to him. 

"Your hat and tie are straight." He started. "I see you are taking my advice." 

"Y-yes. I try my best." 

Lucien leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms.

"Do you have any ambitions? Professional ones, I mean." 

The young man took a deep breath. 

"I'd like to… I'd like to work in the kitchens here, become a chef. I know it's a bit foolish… It's so complicated to be good in that field. But yes, ideally, get hired in a kitchen like they have here, in a prestigious hotel. That would be the dream."

Lucien smiled. 

"I'm uh… I'm taking cooking classes when I'm not working and I'm actually working to pay for them." 

"I see." 

"I cook at home but uh, I live alone so there's no one else to give me feedback apart from myself." 

"I can do that for you."

Bastian's eyes darted up to Lucien. 

"Really?" 

"But of course. If you want me to try something, just bring it to me. Leave a box at my door if I am away and you'll find it empty the next day. I will make sure to leave a note with my impressions." 

"Oh… Wow… Thanks so much!" Bastian's face radiated with a smile.

"My pleasure." 

"Uh, L?" His smile vanished for a second. 

"Oui?" 

"May I ask why you are being so kind with me?" Bastian asked. 

"How old are you, Bastien?" 

"Twenty-six." 

Lucien frowned. He was thoughtful for a moment. 

"Uh… L?" 

"I think you are working hard to get what you want. I would like to encourage that and help you." 

"Well, that's very kind of you…"

"Tell me," Lucien bent his head on the side, looking at the young man's brown eyes. "Were you one of those children that Maurice is helping?" 

Bastian looked in the corridors to see if anyone could hear them. 

"The entire floor is empty. You made sure of that for me." Lucien said, as if he had read his thoughts. "You may speak freely."

"Well…" Bastian blushed. "Yes, I was at the orphanage, like a lot of other kids. When I got into high school, I met Maurice. He helped me get out of a lot of trouble."

"You don't seem like the troublesome type." Lucien said.

"Not anymore, but back then, I was reckless. Maurice helped me through many years until one day we had a long chat and uh… He made me see it in front of me, vividly. I saw… I saw myself in a kitchen, cooking delicious dishes, not the food that I used to steal, not the cheap stuff, nah. I saw myself serve people, make them happy through that, and provide them with the kind of food that I could only dream of." 

Lucien smiled. 

"He found me a job as a waiter in a pub. I'd sometimes peek in the kitchen. It wasn't great food but… It got me dreaming harder. What if I could be that bloke cooking? Hah…"

"Bastien." Lucien finally spoke and the young man stopped fidgeting with his white gloved fingers. "Whatever you choose to become in your life, don't let anyone take away the dreams you have." 

Bastien managed to lock his eyes on the Frenchman. He wasn't sure he was fully grasping what Lucien meant. He frowned slightly. 

"Hold on to your dreams as you would to your very life. Work hard for them. Struggle for them, get mad for them, lose your mind for them, cry for them." 

"I… I'll try my best." 

"Good." Lucien carded his hair back with one hand. "You will realise when you grow old that we are deeply narrative creatures. We like to tell the story of our lives as a story indeed, a rational, logical series of events, one engendering the next."

"Is your story like that?" Bastian risked. 

Lucien's answer was a smile that the young man mistook for sweetness. 

"Does it matter?" 

Bastian smiled and lowered his head. 

"Alright, have a good day, L." He nodded and put his hands in his pockets. 

"To you too." 

Bastian turned on his heels. 

"Oh wait!" 

Lucien had started closing the door. He opened it again. 

"We received this for you, I forgot it because it was so small…" Bastian took a brown envelope out of his pocket and handed it to the Frenchman. "Sorry."

"No problem." Lucien took it in his hand. "Thank you very much." 

The young man nodded and took the lift back down.

"How the hell…?!" He exclaimed as he found a tip in his pocket. 

Back in the Frenchman's suite, Lucien was half surprised, half curious, with a pinch of confused. He hadn't expected any packages, any letters and even fewer suits from Richard…! 

He sat on the piano and opened the envelope. There was a key inside. It didn't look like a house or locker key, non, it resembled a car key. But he still had his Panthera keys… 

The phone rang in his living room. He got off the piano and took it. 

"Allô?"

[Hello?]

"L?"

"Oui?"

"C'est Francis."

[It's Francis.]

"Ah!" Lucien smiled as he could see the image of his engineer friend from back in the ministry in France. "Que me vaut le plaisir?"

[What do I owe the pleasure to?]

"On m'a dit que vous aviez reçu ma lettre?"

[I was told you received my letter?]

"Oui."

[Yes.]

"C'est la clé du véhicule que vous m'avez demandé."

[It is the key for the vehicle you had asked from me.]

Lucien remembered indeed. As he had been tired of always asking reception for his car, he had told Francis that he would need something more discreet, something he could leave on a parking lot safely.

"Je l'ai fait livrer, elle devrait être sur le parking de votre hôtel."

[I had it delivered to you, she should be on the parking lot of your hotel.]

"Elle?" Lucien asked.

[She?]

"C'est une moto."

[It's a motorcycle.]

"Oh…" Lucien let his surprise escape his lips. 

"La clé paraît étrange pour une moto."

[The key seems strange for a motorcycle.]

Lucien stared at it in his palm. 

"C'est normal, ça n'est pas la clé de la moto."

[It's normal, it is not the key for the motorcycle.]

Lucien's eyebrows jumped. 

"Vous pouvez peler l'emballage, c'est une clé en chocolat." Francis chuckled.

[You can peel the aluminium wrapping off of it, it's a chocolate key.]

"Quoi?"

[What?]

"La moto se déverrouille avec vos empreintes digitales."

[The motorcycle gets unlocked with your fingerprints.]

"Oh…" Lucien was impressed. He peeled the wrapping off the key and bit into it. "Hm… Chocolat noir…? Merci beaucoup en tout cas."

[Hm… Dark chocolate…? Thank you very much for everything.]

"Avec plaisir! Sur ce, je vous laisse, j'ai du travail qui m'attend." 

[My pleasure! And with that, I shall leave you, I have a lot of work waiting for me.]

"Mais bien sûr." Lucien answered. "Merci encore et à bientôt."

[But of course. Thank you very much and see you soon.]

Lucien hung up the telephone and finished eating the chocolate. Ah, he had almost forgotten about the jovial and funny side of Francis. He had always been one with an incredibly strong sense of humour despite being able to be the most reliable of Lucien's contacts through the years. 

The Frenchman looked at the time. It would soon be time for the last rehearsal before the show. He prepared his suit for the evening, put it in a suitcase along with the shoes and accessories he will need. 

Lucien tapped his pockets. Cigarette case? Keys? Gloves? Oui, everything was there and so he left, putting a hat on his head. 

He walked to the parking lot and smirked. The motorcycle was indeed there, waiting for him with a sealed crate on it. Lucien looked at the padlock on it and smiled. That was another habit Francis had developed. Lucien didn't know if it was only for him or if he did that to all the agents but he found it touching, in a bittersweet way, after ten years, Francis was still the same. He would send him equipment in sealed crates without the key. But both of them knew that if a padlock could stop any common mortal, it was a piece of cake for Lucien. 

The Frenchman put a hand in his inner pocket on his jacket and he got his cigarette case. He flipped it open elegantly and retrieved the pins concealed behind the menthols. Le padlock yielded easily and Lucien opened the crate. 

"Oh… Très joli, ça…"

[Oh… Very good…]

He took the helmet from the crate and observed it keenly. It was black with dark red reflections, just like the motorcycle itself. The shape of it was very elegant too. Lucien slid his head in and felt the cushioned walls of the helmet shrink slightly to meet his skull in a tight yet comfortable fashion.

"Oooh…" 

Francis outdid himself on that one! Lucien will have to compliment him on both the elegant design and the comfort of it. He put the suitcase behind him, secured it and hopped on. 

"Voyons voir…"

[Let us see…]

Lucien removed his gloves and put his fingers on the handlebars. The engine purred below him and the motorcycle vibrated gently. The Frenchman smiled and in a roar, he left the parking lot.

-- Queen Victoria --

"Right, are we clear on the order of the pieces, gentlemen?" Lucien asked his colleagues behind the thick red curtain. 

"Yes, Lucien!" 

"Yeah!" 

"Go and dress up, you're the last one still not in your suit…!" One of the musicians suggested.

"I know. But I need to make sure everything is absolutely clear." Lucien insisted. "And in any case, I have time. I only come on stage for the last piece." 

"Don't worry, we rehearsed together all week and all of us worked very hard for this." The conductor said. "Besides, look here." 

He opened a thin slit between the curtains and invited Lucien to take a look. 

"The posters across the city worked wonders. I have never seen the room that full in years, maybe even a decade…!"

Lucien indeed realised that the dining area was full of people, there wasn't a table that wasn't occupied. 

"They even put extra tables and chairs…!" 

Lucien's eye scanned the room quickly. 

"Hm. We still need to impress, Andy." He said to the conductor. 

"And we will. You gave us a direction again and you freed us from Frank. Nothing will stop us now."

Andy smiled. His mind was set and the shine in his eyes told Lucien that indeed, their first show would set the orchestra on a new course. Things will be different now. 

"Very well." Lucien said. "I shall leave you and get a change." 

"See you for your song." Andy said. 

"Gentlemen!" 

All the musicians were on their seats and looked up at Lucien. 

"Now is our time to shine, play as if it was your last chance to touch your instruments, as if the notes you will hit tonight will possess you and haunt you for the rest of your days! Play like desperate men, but not resourceless ones, non, you are desperate for your notes to hit each and every last person in the audience like a slap across the face, shake their bones, send shivers across their bodies, wreck their insides and make the waves that you produce resonate across them inside and out!" 

The curtains started rolling to open and Lucien disappeared backstage. He went to his dressing room and locked himself in. There was a clothes rail, mirrors on the wall with lightbulbs all around them, some make up, a sofa and some cupboards. 

Lucien changed his dark red suit for the black one that Richard had especially designed for his first concert. He put on the vest with white wavy patterns and the jacket and trousers. They had the same patterns but in black, just to be subtle enough. The Frenchman then sat down in front of the mirrors. He spent some time on his hair and made sure his bowtie was straight. 

He heard the audience applaud from his dressing room. He smiled faintly. Lucien remembered the past rehearsals and how fast the whole group progressed. He went on with his preparations.

Lucien looked at the makeup on the table. What should he start with to hide this old face? He looked at his reflection in the mirror and felt like a sorrowful clown. Life was all an act, all a show, wear your best smile and go out here to pretend everything is fine when nothing really is. The truth is that no amount of makeup could hide the wrinkles, the bruises and the scars, the canals dug by the infinite stream of tears he had shed in his life. No foundation could put colours back on his pale face, no blush powder would ever manage to make his cheeks pink.

Lucien took a minute more looking at his reflection, standing up. He saw an old man, tired of his life, on his last mission. Oui, this would be the true last one, the one to close his story before going back to France and… well… watching the days roll until there are no more left for him. Or maybe he wouldn't get out of that mission and go back to France…?

He took a deep breath and heard the audience applaud again. That was it, that was his moment to step on the stage. He headed there.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here is the man you have all been waiting for…" Andy, the conductor, was talking in Lucien's microphone. "After a brilliant career in the heart of France where he sang for kings and queens, legends of the movies and famous celebrities known worldwide, here he is… Lulu!" 

Lucien stepped on the stage under the applause of an eager and curious audience. He walked to his microphone and bowed elegantly before nodding to Andy. 

The flutes and violins started, as well as the piano. 

{To the reader: this song is "Windmills of your mind" by Michel Legrand}

Lucien let the waves of the flutes and the strings of the violins carry him. His lips parted. 

"Round,

Like a circle in a spiral, 

Like a wheel within a wheel,

Never ending or beginning,

In an ever spinning reel…"

He sang very softly at first. The Windmills of your Mind is a song that is strong in the poetry of the lyrics. Thus Lucien dropped his guard slightly, to let the lyrics enchant him. He closed his eyes and for a fleeting moment, he was free… 

"Like a snowball down a mountain

Or a carnival ballon

Or a carousel that's turning

Running rings around the moon," 

He was free from La Solitude because La Musique was here to tear him out of her arms. She wrapped hers around him and he felt warm, oh so warm. He felt as if he was this young boy with big blue eyes again, his mother's arms keeping him safe from… From what? 

From life itself, from her empty promises, from her false hopes and her lies, from her hits, her blows and her kicks. 

"Like a clock whose hands are sweeping,

Past the minutes of its face,

And the world is like an apple,

Whirling silently in space,"

Oui, that represented very well what Lucien felt. He felt insignificant, a piece of dust on a rock spinning in space, waiting to be swept away when his time would come. 

"Like the circles that you find,

In the windmills of your mind."

But first, he had to complete this mission. He had to find his target. Arthur Duchemin. He would find him and at the very least, torture him. Oui, even if it was the last thing he would do, even if France got to know how inhumane he had been with his target and throw him in jail for the rest of his days. Oui, he would do it, gladly. 

Lucien opened his eyes as he continued singing. His voice knew what it had to do, he had worked hard on it. It was mastered and disciplined. Thus he could focus on his eyes rather than his vocal chords. 

He observed his audience, which he could barely see, but like a panther, his keen eyes worked better in the dimness anyway. He didn't know any of those faces but still tried to record their features, carve them into his brain. Anyone of them could be the key to get closer to Duchemin. 

Most of the clients were looking up at him, couples of rich people, larger tables with business partners, colleagues or equally wealthy friends. Very few tables were occupied by single people. Lucien looked at those souls who might share their life with their own Solitude, unless his was cheating on him with all of those lonely people too…? 

"When you knew that it was over,

Were you suddenly aware,

That the autumn leaves were turning,

To the colour of her hair"

Oui, in that particular instant, Lucien wished he had someone he could mean his words to, someone he could address this poem to. 

He let the orchestra conclude the song and the audience applaud. People were visibly more than satisfied with his vocal performance. But he himself? Not that much. It wasn't bad, non, but it wasn't remarkably good either, even though he had given everything he had in him to make it all sound as best as he could. Lucien would have to congratulate the orchestra, they accompanied and carried his words masterfully. He smiled courteously and bowed to the audience.

"Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen." He bowed again and turned to applaud the orchestra before the thick red curtains rolled shut in front of him. 

"That was absolutely fantastic, Lucien! Breathtaking!" Andy shook his hand enthusiastically. "I think we can all agree that we haven't felt what we did today in years!"

"Yeah, Lucien that was great."

"Awesome work, mate." 

Lucien smiled to his colleagues. 

"Thank you all very much for your hard work, for your patience and the sweat of your brow, really. My performance would be nothing without yours." He answered. 

A few minutes later, the Frenchman was in his dressing room, resting and drinking some water when a knock interrupted him. 

"Oui?" 

"It's me." 

He recognised Frank's lovely voice and opened the door. 

"Good evening, Frank."

"That was one hell of a show, Lulu! I start to understand where your reputation comes from! Also, you mind following me? Some of our most faithful customers would like to have a chat with you."

"But of course." 

The Frenchman left his dressing room with a last glance at the man in the mirror, the slim one, wearing the black suit with the elegant wavy patterns, and with the piercing light blue eyes. 

[justfinishedreading]

My Androgynous Boyfriend by Tamekou

I bet this book will be popular (or already is popular) with all the manga bloggers out there… The cover is simply gorgeous (and photogenic, wink wink instagram), and the concept of gender fluidity is so hot right now. I admit the cover and the title got me first, and the blurb finished reeling me in. This is the story of Wako, a young woman and editor at a publishing house, and her boyfriend, Meguru, an androgynous male model.

The manga questions sexuality and gender stereotypes, and it (subtly) makes a lot of relevant comments. For example, Meguru loves fashion and make-up and he can easily be confused for a woman, but he’s a heterosexual man and feels very sexually attracted to his girlfriend. His colleagues in fashion accept and celebrate his androgynous nature but believe it would make more “sense” for him to present himself as gay to the public. The manga takes on a “show, don’t tell” approach; the main characters aren’t shouting, or complaining or explaining what’s wrong with society’s ideas of gender roles, instead the author shows us the character’s experiences and lets the audience draw their own conclusions.

What’s good about Wako’s character is that she is feminine herself, she’s just as interested in her appearance as her boyfriend (although not as elaborate and self-publicising as he is, after all that’s part of his job). Some might presume that if one member of a couple is effeminate then the other must be butch and be the complete opposite. I’ve often heard lesbian comedians joke about how many people ask them who is the “man” in the relationship, like in every couple there must be one who takes on the conventional female role, and another the male role.

One scene I thought was particularly well portrayed was when Wako was having a meeting with an ecchi manga artist at a café. She really wanted to work with him on a project, but he was more preoccupied with complaining about his wife and how she’d “let herself go”. When the meeting ends Wako thinks about her own appearance and decides to go on a diet. This is a brilliant example of how a woman, although not being directly criticised, can still be made to feel bad about her own appearance by hearing other women being slammed for theirs.

There are two negatives regarding My Androgynous Boyfriend; firstly Wako and Meguru get on a little too well. Wako is super understanding of EVERYTHING, and Meguru is the ultimate attentive boyfriend, they each feel moments of slight anxiety but together they are all smiles and kisses. While I’m not saying that their relationship should be some sort of unhealthy melodrama, I do think the characters need to go through the motions, show that sometimes some things can be tough but it’s possible to work through them, instead of quickly resolving everything without much worry.  

The second problem is that all the characters have similar faces, sure their hair is different, and their clothes, but the shape of their faces, eyes and nose are the same to the extent that I mistook some secondary characters for the main ones. Too many characters are cutesie and lack a solid visual identity. Meguru for example is said to be incredibly gorgeous and cute, and he is, but so are the secondary characters, the ordinary office people.

I’m not sure if I’ll buy volume 2, I’ll definitely look out for it. In this volume Wako and Meguru have already been dating for a number of years and seem to still be in a honeymoon period, I want to see more of their past, their struggles and eureka moments. My Androgynous Boyfriend has a number of great ideas, but it has as much gravitas as Meguru’s pastel-dyed hair.

Review by Book Hamster