#but this option only requires a thirty minute walk

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part thirty-nine] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst

word count: 3.1k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

“How much longer until we reach it?”

“You’ve asked that six times in the past ten minutes!”

“That’s because no one’s given me an answer!”

“Because no one knows, Felix! None of us have hiked this path before.”

Felix grumbled something behind his brother’s back but he must not have heard because he didn’t argue further.

The majority of the hike thus far had been uphill, something that the park rangers had neglected to mention when they sent you off into the forest. Thankfully, the mountains and canopy of trees provided some kind of shade but it was still scorching hot. And humid. And you were sweating like crazy. 

Everyone was. Minho had already taken his shirt off and Felix had completely sweat through his. That was probably why he was complaining so much. He refused to take it off, though. Something about not wanting to get sunburned again. 

“You doing okay?” Jisung asked, looking over at you. 

The two of you had found yourselves in the middle of the pack for once, walking behind his parents and in front of his brothers. 

“Yeah, fine,” you answered, trying not to sound as out of breath as you felt. 

“Did you bring your inhaler?”

“Um...”

“Why do I even ask?”

-

After fifteen more minutes of walking and a bathroom break, you finally reached the waterfall. 

Felix sighed. “That’s it? We walked all this way for this?” 

“Shut up, Felix,” Jisung snapped. “It just looks small from the bridge, it’s not actually that small.”

“I’d say it’s a pretty average size,” you added, “maybe even kind of big.”

Minho laughed behind you. Thankfully, his parents didn’t seem to hear your comment. To be fair to Felix, it wasn’t a huge waterfall. It certainly wasn’t the biggest waterfall in Hawai’i, but it was one of the few that visitors could swim under. That’s what made it so popular. 

And the bridge had made it look smaller than it really was. 

There was an area to rinse off before and after getting in the water so you all took turns under the showerhead. 

Nikki was the only one who didn’t want to swim, which meant that she was stuck with all of the bags. You felt sort of bad when Jisung handed over the backpack you were sharing but Nikki assured you that it was fine, that she would rather hold them for you than have you rent one of the rusty lockers to store it in. 

Waimea Falls required everyone to wear a life jacket, regardless of swimming ability. You knew it was a liability thing but you still couldn’t help but shiver when you slung on the cold, wet vest and buckled it around your chest. Who knew how many people had worn it before you today.

Shoes were optional so you left your sandals in the gravel by the bleachers and tiptoed your way back over to the edge of the water. The boys did the same. 

The five of you stood there, staring at the rocks leading down into the lagoon, trying to figure out how to proceed without falling. It was hard to determine the best way in as all of the rocks that were big enough to step on were either jagged and/or slippery.

“Ladies first,” Felix said unceremoniously.

You glared at him but decided to take a step down anyway. Someone had to go first and since everyone else was being a pussy it might as well be you. You moved at a snail’s pace, trying your best to move in a way that wouldn’t send you tumbling down the incline if you misstepped. 

The rocks seemed stable enough to hold your weight without sliding around in the mud but one of them wobbled under you upon stepping on it, making you nearly lose your balance. 

“Careful!” Jisung and Minho shouted at the same time, causing you to turn around and make a face at them both. 

They traded weird looks with each other before turning their attention back to you, who had made significant progress toward the water. By the time you finally reached the edge, the boys had started trekking down behind you, much more haphazardly than you had. 

You extended your leg out in front of you to feel it out, trying not to scream when your toes grazed the water. It was freezing, way colder than you expected, but you knew it would feel incredible once you were fully submerged. It was one of if not the hottest days of the trip and you had sweat through everything. Even the life vest they’d saddled you with was beginning to feel sticky. 

“How is it?” Jisung called from behind you. 

“Feels good!” you lied, not trusting yourself to turn around and show him your face. He’d know you were bluffing instantly. 

Since you didn’t want to hold up the line, you took a deep breath and pushed yourself off of the ledge, finding your footing with both feet in the water. The bed of the lagoon was also covered with rocks. They were more slippery than the ones on the path seeing as they were wet and covered with algae so you had to be extra careful. 

You moved away from the shore so that the boys could get in after you. 

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!” was Jisung’s shout from behind you.

You turned back to see him submerged up to his waist. He apologized to the people around him for cursing before glaring at you. 

“You little brat!” he muttered, lunging at you.

You let out a yelp as the weight of your best friend dragged you under. You both emerged with dripping hair, laughing and sputtering. 

“You said it felt good!”

“It does! It’s refreshing!”

“It’s cold as fuck,” he muttered, “and you knew that.”

“What, can’t take a little chill?” you taunted.

He splashed you. 

“Are we going to swim over to the waterfall or what?” Minho’s voice echoed from behind you both, sounding annoyed. 

Jisung smirked before turning around to face his older brother. 

“We don’t all have to go together. You could have gone on without us.”

Felix was the last to get in, gingerly stepping on the algae-covered rocks to make his way over to the three of you. Dom stayed by the edge, content to keep Nikki company from the water. He claimed to be too old to swim against the current just to get thousands of gallons of water dunked on him. 

“Let’s go, babe,” Jisung said, jerking his head over his shoulder in the direction of the waterfall.

Swimming to the base of the waterfall proved to be a lot more difficult than it looked. The current was strong and moving against it required a lot of effort. People who weren’t strong swimmers had no chance of making it all the way under. 

It was doable for you, but not without struggle. The boys seemed to be in the same boat, save for Minho, who was the fittest out of all of you. He was already several strokes ahead of the rest of you when Jisung called out for him to wait up. He paused and tread water while he waited for you and the twins to catch up. 

“I thought we were going together,” Felix panted bitterly. 

“Not my fault you guys are slow,” he rebutted. 

“Maybe we should hold hands,” Jisung suggested and pointed to another family who was making significantly more progress. “They’re doing it.”

“You think that’s going to work?” you asked. 

“Yeah, how do we know you guys aren’t just going to hold me back?”

Felix clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Minho-”

“You could stand to pull some more weight, K-pop boy,” Jisung pointed out.

“Tsk, fine. How should we do this?”

Minho obviously helmed the line. You were stuck between him and Jisung, with Felix bringing up the rear. You didn’t argue about your place in the order but it did feel strange to be holding both Minho and Jisung’s hands at the same time. You couldn’t tell whether they felt similarly but you had to assume they did. 

Minho tugged you along and you pulled Jisung in turn. They held on to you tightly so as not to lose you in the tide. You tried to focus on keeping your head above the surface instead of the feeling of both of their hands in yours. 

Jisung’s hand-holding strategy actually worked and you made it to the waterfall twice as fast as you would have on your own. 

Trying to get under the waterfall was another ordeal. The water pressure was so aggressive that you had to fight against the water in order to get up on the rocks right beneath the stream. 

“This kind of hurts!” Jisung shouted over the roaring of the water. 

“Yeah, I think I’m getting bruises!” Minho agreed. 

“You guys are pussies!” you yelled, even though it did hurt and you wouldn’t be surprised if was bruising you. 

“I think Mom is trying to take a picture!” Felix screamed.

Automatically, all four of you posed even though you couldn’t see where Nikki was and you could barely open your eyes under the stream. You grabbed for Jisung but got Minho instead, accidentally squeezing his ass in an effort to hold his hand. How you mixed up the person standing beside you and mis-approximated where their wrist was, you didn’t know, but you immediately let go once you realized your mistake and fumbled for the right person’s hand instead. 

If Jisung noticed what happened, he didn’t say anything about it. Minho definitely did notice and you could see him trying not to laugh out of the corner of your eye. 

“Should we swim back now?” one of the boys, you weren’t sure which, asked after you had stood there for what felt long enough for their mother to have snapped a couple of photos. 

“You guys can, I think y/n and I are going to swim around by ourselves for a bit longer.”

That was news to you but you weren’t necessarily upset about it. You hadn’t been in the water for long anyway and you wanted to make the most of it. And if Jisung wanted to be alone with you, you weren’t going to say no. 

Your number one priority was winning him back, making it up to him, as much as you could. 

You followed Jisung to a secluded part of the pool, letting him tug you along as you floated on your back. Minho and Felix either got out or fucked off to another part of the lagoon. You weren’t paying attention when you split up and you weren’t about to look for them. 

“Did you want to talk about something?” you asked your best friend. 

“No, just wanted some space from my brothers.”

“Oh, ok.”

“Did you want to talk about something?” he parroted. 

You made a face. “No, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

You could tell he knew what you referring to immediately from the way his expression shifted. 

“Not here, yeah?”

You nodded in agreement. He was right, you should have that conversation somewhere private. Still, you took his answer as a good sign. ‘Not here’ implied that there was somewhere that you would have that conversation, which meant that he was willing to have it. You counted that as a win. A very small win, but a win nonetheless. 

“What?” Jisung asked, squinting at you through the sunlight. 

“Huh?”

“What’s got you smiling like that? What’s on your mind?”

You hadn’t realized you were smiling until he pointed it out. 

“Just happy to be here with you.”

-

You had dinner at some famous burger place that night. You were too tired to pay much attention to what you were eating or what everyone was talking about but you’re pretty sure the food tasted good. 

The restaurant was in the middle of their dinner rush when your party arrived so you had to wait for a table. There was a small surf shop attached to the same building so you went with the boys to check it out while Nikki and Dom scoped out somewhere to sit. Everything was expensive so no one bought anything but window shopping kept you occupied for the time being. 

After dinner, you rode with Jisung’s parents back to the resort. He seemed indifferent to your presence this time, which you took as another win. He held your hand in the back seat and you rested your head on his shoulder. Neither of you fell asleep but you kept your eyes closed, enjoying the silence.

“We’re here, kids,” Nikki said softly once Dom had parked in the lot.

Jisung stretched, forcing you to sit up too. You thanked them for the ride, and for dinner since they paid, before Jisung asked if you wanted to take a walk on the beach. 

“Sure, let’s go.”

He led you by the hand through the maze of buildings to the hotel’s beach entrance. You passed other couples as you strolled past the pool and the firepits and it made your heart sink a little. You were jealous of them. Jealous that they could enjoy each other’s company out in the open like that. Jealous that they looked so happy. Jealous that they weren’t sacrificing one relationship for another. 

You were definitely projecting, they absolutely could have been in the same situation as you and you would never know but you refused to acknowledge that possibility because you were resolute on feeling bitter. 

The sun hadn’t fully set yet despite the late hour. Being that it was still the middle of summer, it wouldn’t get dark until much later than usual. You were also convinced that daylight lingered longer in Hawai’i than it did in other places but you had no evidence to back that up. 

“Here, I’ll carry your shoes for you,” Jisung offered, holding out his free hand for them. 

You paused. “Oh, are you sure?”

“Yeah, I know you don’t like the feeling of sand in your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

You bent down to undo your sandals and handed them to Jisung. He looped the straps around two of his fingers and resumed holding your hand. 

The sand was still warm, holding on to the heat of the day. 

“Are we going all the way down to the water?” you asked. 

“If you want to,” Jisung answered. 

“I don’t really feel like getting wet again.”

“That’s fine with me.”

You settled for walking along the outline of the tide where the sand was still dry. You followed the curves of the waves from hours past, tracing the remnants of high tide with your arms out like you were walking on a tightrope. Jisung trailed behind you for a few moments before catching up with you again. 

You had pulled your hand out of his grasp moments earlier to run ahead, distracted by the seafoam in the distance. You waited for him and put your arms back by your sides. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ditch you,” you sighed when he reappeared at your side. 

“I know,” he replied. 

Instead of offering you his hand this time, he gave you his elbow. You took it gently, resting your hand on his bicep. 

He was uncharacteristically quiet. You wondered what was on his mind. When he invited you down here, you thought it would be to talk, to finally have that conversation. Maybe it had been and he changed his mind. Or maybe it had never been his intention in the first place. 

You were starting to think you’d never get an answer when he finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry for what I said.”

You tensed but kept walking, not wanting to confront whatever expression might be on Jisung’s face. If you stopped, you would have to look at him or stare at the ground. If you continued walking, you could just look straight. 

“I... didn’t mean that shit... about wishing I never met you. Or any of it really. I wanted to mean it. But I couldn’t, because none of it’s true. I was just really hurt. I still am, to be honest.”

“I understand,” you responded. 

“I want us to move past this,” he continued, “but it still feels really fresh. I mean, I only found out about you and Min a few days ago.”

You nodded as you listened. He was right. It had only been a handful of days even though it felt like an eternity. Being at odds with Jisung was hell. He was your best friend, after all. You had lived life with him by your side for the past four years. You didn’t want to imagine what that would look like without him. 

“Right.”

He cocked his head to the side, lost in thought. 

“I’m sorry too,” you added, wanting to reiterate just how shitty you felt about the whole thing. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I know you are. I knew you were then too. I’m sorry for invalidating your apology-”

“Don’t be!” you interrupted. “My actions and my words... they don’t add up. I would’ve thought I was bullshitting too.”  

Jisung scratched the back of his neck and forced a laugh. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy to wrap my head around. But I get it, I think. There’s just something about Minho, isn’t there?” 

You snuck a glance at him but didn’t say anything. You had a feeling it was a rhetorical question. 

“You must have been miserable this whole time. Trying to push down your feelings for him and then finally acting on them but being consumed by guilt when you finally do.”

“It hasn’t been the best,” you admitted, “but it’s my own fault.”

“Not entirely,” Jisung reasoned. 

You were surprised he was coming to your defense but you figured he’d go up to bat for anyone if it was against Minho. 

“Enough of it is.”

Your best friend shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like you’re known for your decision-making skills.”

You scoffed and nudged him with your shoulder. He laughed a real laugh for the first time in days. You had missed hearing it. It made you smile too. You rested your head on his shoulder and for once it felt natural. 

“I really am sorry, Ji,” you sighed, your voice wavering. 

“I know. I can’t pretend that I’m over it... but I will be. I also know that I can’t ask you to end things with him...”

“You can-”

“No,” he murmured. “I can’t. You would resent me for it.” You opened your mouth to protest but Jisung shook his head and you closed it again. “You would. Maybe unconsciously, but you would. Things wouldn’t be the same.”

“Things won’t be the same if I don’t end things with him,” you pointed out.

“I know,” he agreed solemnly. Then he sighed as if it was something he had already come to terms with. “But you’ll still love me the same. And that’s enough.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

this story is my roman empire

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Ahhh yay thank you!!! I am so glad to see people invested in it.

66 for a impending Buddie reunion:

---

It could also be any other vampire that thinks he’s a threat. That thinks he’s against them. It could be someone from the church. Someone who genuinely is hunting vampires, realized his deceit, and has decided to do something about it. It could be an undercover cop. Law enforcement is allegedly trying to crack down on anti-vampire crimes, but it’s hard when anyone and everyone can cry self-defense. Buck could be a suspect in illegal activity. It wouldn’t even be false. 

There are countless options for who might be following Buck tonight. Only one of them is good. And even then, only potentially good. Only hopefully good. He needs to be careful. He’s not getting fucking killed this close to getting Eddie and Chris back. That would be some sort of sick joke. 

Buck devises a plan.

He sends Sophia his live location through iMessage. Tells her that he’s being tracked but is going to lead the stalker to one of the usual spots to deal with it. If he doesn’t send her their safe word within the hour, call the police. 

Sophia’s text back is filled with worried expletives and one final question.

Is it Eddie? 

He can’t answer that yet. 

It’s a seven minute drive from Hen’s house to Kenneth Hahn State Recreation Area. Most of it spent driving on La Cienega Boulevard. Buck tries to focus on keeping calm and not looking behind him too much. He doesn’t want to reveal that he knows he’s being followed. 

Although, the driver of the CRV doesn’t seem to be doing much to conceal their behavior. They’re as subtle as a building on fire. They only drive a car behind Buck. They signal when Buck signals. Merge lanes when Buck merges. Really, where did they go to stalking school? 

Several more texts ding through from Sophia as he drives. They pop up on the Jeep’s CarPlay screen. 

Buck?

Is it Eddie?

I know you said to wait an hour but if it’s not Eddie I’m seriously freaking out. 

He has to ignore them. He can’t deal with anything but this right now. He doesn’t have the required composure. She’ll calm down. The two of them have been in crazier situations than this. It’s just the added stress of knowing Eddie is nearby getting to her. He can’t fault her for that. Not even a little bit. He’s going through it, too. 

Buck turns into the main road for the park and holds his breath. Not even thirty seconds later, he can see in the rearview mirror that the CRV has followed after him. Okay. So this is happening then. It’s getting dark. It’s January. They’re about to be in a wooded park, alone. Buck has followed leads here. Dealt with this place at night. Experienced danger. He understands the risk he’s walking into. He’s just never brought the danger with him. 

He drives all the way down the main road and parks in the first long, oval lot to the right. Not the main parking lot by the playgrounds, but the one by the lake walking trail. He doesn’t wait to see if the CRV parks beside him. Slowing down, changing his cadence - that could all tip the stalker off. Again, if the stalker doesn’t already know they’re being obvious. So Buck does a quick check of his person to make sure his knives are where they should be, then climbs out of the car and starts walking. 

He turns to lock the Jeep behind them, using the motion as an opportunity to confirm that the CRV is pulling into the lot. Good. They can follow him around the lake, too.

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Purpose of Demos

With it being Next Fest on Steam and everything, I got to thinking. Because, like, most AAA companies won't actually give you demos anymore. I think the last one I saw for any of the franchises I actually like was Mass Effect 3, and I would have bought that game anyway (though honestly, I would have bought it on the strength of the demo too, so hey).

So while I was walking out to the shops (taking a break in the weather that has been incredibly bipolar today - bright warm sunshine to torrential rain and thunderstorm with little in the way of transition), I got to thinking about how many games I've picked up on the strength of the demos alone the last few years. Now, I've played around 90 demos according to my looking over of my "Thess vs demos" tag (though I'm sure I'm missing a few), and a fair few of those I haven't got simply because they're not out yet. So ... here's the list of the ones that I have picked up, solely on the strength of the demos, either from memory or from my demo tag:

Dredge (pre-ordered, one of my favourites)

Wylde Flowers (played under a different name, again one of my favourites)

Spiritfarer (another favourite)

Grim Tides (bought both games in the series on the strength of the demo)

A Building Full Of Cats (Devcats is awesome, and I just keep adding their games onto my wishlist on the strength of that one demo)

Logic Town (I have over 200 hours on that damn game and it is my ultimate Zen)

I Was A Teenage Exocolonist

Growing Up

Witchy Life Story

PACK MY STUFF

Sapiens

My Dream Setup (think this one was a gift)

Lake (this one was definitely a gift)

Fabledom

Boxes

Interior Worlds

Locked Up

Book of Hours

Room of Depression

Cook Serve Forever

Fall of Porcupine

Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical

Harmony: The Fall of Reverie

Street of Secrets

Venba

House Flipper 2

Code Vein (gift; not my fault I can't play it due to janky keybinds)

WitchSpring R (was fine until they made it controller only post-demo)

So that's more than a quarter of the ones on the list. Of those, sixteen aren't even out yet, five of the ones I played were more up front about requiring a controller than the two at the bottom of my list of purchased games, three timed out before I got around to playing them, and at least thirty didn't make the wishlist at all, either because too janky, not my thing, or other priorities. The rest ... well, the rest and the "not out yet" is why my Steam wishlist is exactly 130 games big.

It makes me sad, honestly. AAA companies will do all the flashy marketing stuff and prevent any reviews from coming out until at least release day, pushing for hype-based pre-orders and refusing to let anyone know what they're actually getting. Meanwhile, here's me buying all manner of games I'd never have otherwise heard of, much less touched, based on Steam going, "LOOK! DEMOS FOR GAMES!" Half the time I wonder if it's that they have no faith in their product. Then I remember that it's more that they don't care; they just want as many people as possible to buy it immediately on release if not sooner. They're perfectly happy to put up any barriers they can to an informed purchase for ... just as a for-instance, people like me, who is literally unable to play certain games and really need to have any given game in my hands for at least a few minutes to figure out whether a game is one I can play or not.

But ... like ... take Veilguard, for instance. It doesn't look like one I can play. Watching the gameplay left me with a migraine that still hasn't 100% quit yet because of all of the camera movement, and the ARPG feel of the gameplay looks like something I might find it fairly painful to do - maybe even impossible, depending on the day. But if I could have it in my hands, see the accessibility options, find a playstyle I could work with, I would be a lot more inclined to buy it. Now I have people all over reassuring me that the accessibility options will surely be enough (even though they're actually refusing to talk about those in Q&As at the moment) and that of course I'll find a playstyle that's right for me ... and yet I have the memory of playing the closed beta of Secret World: Legends and being unable to play. Of getting Code Vein and finding that the limitations they set on changing keybinds means I can't use an entire ability suite. Of buying WitchSpring R and having to return it immediately upon starting the game because while the demo didn't require a controller, the finished game did. Getting Jedi: Fallen Order and discovering just how ARPG it is and how hard it is to find keybinds that work for me given my limitations. Of having a game I really want - actually owning it - and being unable to play because of things I didn't know before I bought the thing (or it was bought for me, which is somehow worse).

So ... yeah, I'm frustrated that the AAA gaming space would rather obfuscate with marketing hype instead of letting us make an informed decision, with the end result that I either avoid games for a long time (if not forever) ... or risk ending up with a new addition to the collection of very expensive games that I only find out after the fact that I cannot play.

...Basically, MORE DEMOS, PLEASE.

[zenerrocksmc]

Notes; I think this is mostly done…? Idk youse tell me I’m way too fucking insecure, critiques are welcome

If there is any issues with readability lemme know too.

Again, if you’ve not read Network Effect, this counts as spoilers

Theme Warning: Implied Self-Termination Ideation (su*cidal ideation), general warning for corporate slavery themes

Chapter 1:

 Performance Reliability at 92%. Maintenance may be required.

  I did not know what I wanted quite yet, but it certainly was not this.

  Overall, I did not mind being on the station with Murderbot 1.0 and Peri’s crew. Despite that, being here alone, without even Murderbot 1.0, was not what I wanted. I only realised that after walking out of the line of sight of Peri’s hatchway- but I lacked a reason to go back. I did not know what was wrong with me. Murderbot 1.0 had performed this leaving on a station action and performed it on its own accord. My personal assessment identified that leaving had been a mistake. Which I was inclined to agree with considering what happened to its clients because it left, however when Murderbot 1.0 started talking to me about how this would be the best station to get off on and how to move around like a travelling human. Going so far as giving me its coded protocols to mirror human movements…

  Declining its orders had not felt like an option.

  It was hard. I still did not quite understand how to decline requests from humans, they still felt like commands. Declining another SecUnit who had done this before, survived and found their own squad of humans, was irresponsible. I did think I wanted my own humans… However, I enjoyed sharing and helping both Peri and Murderbot 1.0’s crew. And now I had no humans, no other Units, not even a ship. I sadly started longing for any human, I would not oppose a human supervisor at a minimum… which was not a logical response. It was still strange having all these emotions- they had always been there to a degree but limited significantly by the Governor-Module. Wanting things was strange. Wanting illogical things was exponentially stranger.

  Whilst trying to make myself useful, I had been reading during the cycles leading up to arriving here. I liked one book in particular titled “Mirror’s Tears”. A character in it who ended up in a medical facility said to their platonic partner, “If the world is all colours, why is it that all I see are grey undertones?” Apparently, it is a type of literary device. I have subconsciously kept gravitating to it at all inconveniences, especially this cycle. I think it is my “favourite”. That is also strange. It was overwhelming, feeling everything and nothing at once. Watching the serials Murderbot 1.0 and Peri favoured had helped contextualise concepts, and reading had helped with putting some intangible concepts into words, but the sensation that something was missing remained. Maybe I had a broken component somewhere. I had not worked up the courage to ask Peri to check, however. 

And now it was too late.

  I felt like I was failing on my first cycle of being a free-roaming rogue SecUnit in a completely human space, where the humans did not know what I was. My body was already doing strange things like my lungs feeling like they were being compressed and the thought of humans knowing I was a Unit, a rogue SecUnit. On my own, wandering around. It was making my organic components secrete moisture. Especially my hands. The skin overlay on my face would flush with heat whenever a human would look at me. Alterations to my form were not that new but the additional skin around my joints felt itchy within these clothes unlike before- I could feel every seam that was in contact with my bodily sensory organs. I never knew if I was making eye-contact for too long or too little because every second felt increasingly anomalous, more like thirty-minutes when it was a mere 0.3 seconds.

  I was alone.

  There was an odd, clogged sensation in my throat that wanted to escape.

  I did not like it.

  They did not need me. They already had a SecUnit. They already had… well, a Peri… Although now I suppose I should refer to it as Perihelion, considering all current circumstances. I was not useful to them. I had no purpose to fulfil for them that Murderbot 1.0 could not already do. I could fly spacecraft short distances however with Perihelion… I had no modules they needed. Well, not since Murderbot 1.0 asked for any useful codes I had, and I had produced them without questioning its intention. I did not have anything they needed from me after that. I could have been a shipmaid, but Perihelion’s drones mostly took care of that. I thought they liked me. I thought they wanted me. I guess I was wrong. Maybe I had done something wrong..?

  Nothing in my logs inclined such, I even checked body language with the recordings of the humans. Everything was confusing and painful.

  The hollow feeling only worsened each time I checked to see if the station Sec-System alerted on me or not. Skimming through the feed drowning with so many echoes of every human and bot doing everything they use the feed for resulted in further performance drops. All it would take is for me to miss a weapons scanner or forget to remove myself from a camera showing I was in a space where people were not supposed to be and the entire station would know what I am. How much of a threat I was. That I was in their space. That I was alone in their space. Roaming aimlessly.

  Each time was a sinking feeling followed by the thought that I would not have to do this if I were still on duty on a Barish-Estranza ship- but I could not go back, they would disassemble me for parts if I did. Or worse. And what I wanted from being on-duty there was not there anymore- they were all dead. My squad. I was beginning to wonder if I should have died with them, although I could recognise that was simply stupid. Stupid because it would have meant my clients, Perihelion’s crew and Murderbot 1.0 would have likely died too. And that was not something I regretted- not entirely.

  I should be grateful, but it was hard to be right now. Everything just felt too wrong. Too much of not what I want.

  Even after making it to the private cargo docks, I simply stood there. I knew all the steps, Murderbot 1.0 gave me a What-To-Do list before leaving and Perihelion gave me keywords to focus on for how to bribe transports. I now owned a wealthy sea of media collated between what Murderbot 1.0 and Perihelion accumulated over their free time- beyond that, also things I had obtained during our stays at the stations we had been restocking at in Preservation Alliance. To put it simply, I could not make the next physical step- my body outright refused to move any closer toward the ship-locks. If I were incapable of securing my joints in place I think I would have experienced tremors. On contract I had seen human clients shiver in emergencies when there was no temperature-based reason to and not understood, I still did not quite grasp it yet, but I felt more sympathy for them now.

  A noise nearby made me skim the cameras and station schematics for an estimate- I had been standing long enough that the next scheduled personnel check was about to occur for the dock. It felt like nothing, just standing there staring, I had not even figured out where I wanted to go… Mostly because I did not want to go. And none of the options appeared appealing, I had not particularly researched them each beyond seeing exactly how far away they would be from Murderbot 1.0’s squads’ home and Perihelion’s crews’ home. Each of the places the ships were going to from here would be over a twenty-four-cycle trip. It meant that if they or their humans ever needed- or… wanted me… I would be so late and they would be so far away.

  There would be no opportunity for me to be useful to them again.

  I could not go back to Perihelion- they would all know I had failed Murderbot 1.0’s orders then. They would dislike me further. And I could not be caught here because that would be extremely worse than going back to Perihelion to face everyone- so I compromised for the nearby Supply Cubby. I already evaluated Sec-Sys, there were no cameras or sensors inside listed, no records for maintenance outside of internal storage work. So, before the incoming employees could discover a frozen, rogue SecUnit in the private cargo docks, I hid. Making sure that none of the automatic lights inside turned on.

  By the time they walked into the docks, I was rifling through the bag Perihelion’s crewperson, Iris, donated to me since Murderbot 1.0 had insisted I would need one. It mostly held clothes in it, however, Murderbot 1.0 insisted on letting me keep one weapon, a small hand-weapon, which would be better than using my internal energy weapons in front of humans. I was not sure why I had gotten it out. I had done a lot of standing and staring on contract, and a lot of sitting and staring off contract, and a lot of laying and staring since rendering my Governor-Module null. But this again, felt strange. I had all the notated schematics for this hand-weapon. Murderbot 1.0 and I altered it to increase its accuracy and intensity- I did not need to look at it with my eyes. I was, though. Turning it around and around in a dim red light on the wall- it was some kind of manual trigger for an emergency alarm.

  I stopped turning it with it aimed toward me.

  Switching the safety on. Then off. On. Then off. On. Off.

  I do not know what I was thinking at that moment, I do not particularly want to recall it because it was likely something stupid. Something astoundingly stupid. Apparently, the impulsive side-effect of your Governor-Module becoming inept is not unique to Murderbot 1.0. I do not think I would have made it out of that cubby if it were not for that ping. A distress ping. I carefully put the hand-weapon back in the travel bag and tapped for a Hub-Sys that was not there. Not that it would change anything, already having pinged back automatically out of habit. That was something I should have worked on before leaving.

  I did a little analysis- it was a directionless ping with a message string attached from a nearby feed address, likely from onboard one of the ships in dock. I got another ping back with a photo attachment which… Never had I felt my body make such a physical response to an image before. I could feel my organic systems rushing, my performance reliability dropped low enough that I got another maintenance alert. This time with it being outright required, “or risk Unit error”. Humour on you, Maint-Sys, I had already made many grave errors. There were plenty of things I had to witness being with Barish-Estranza but I had never seen something like… that.

  The strange thing was- the message was in machine code language. Like what Perihelion put on my helmet before retrieving Murderbot 1.0 on the colonist planet. That would limit the ping to only being readable by most machines unless a human sat down to parse it. Which… did not make sense, maybe there was a higher-functioning bot? Nevertheless, a bot would still have to be specifically instructed to send out a distress ping like this by a human… Especially attaching an image unless it was higher-functioning, the potential of that was just limited as most bots on station were general purpose or cargo-specific. The ping had targeted non-native bots only, no linking to staff or the PA bots… It could mean that they did not identify the station staff as safe? Or maybe it was a trap? Both?

  I do not believe I cared.

  At least now I had an excuse to ask Perihelion and Murderbot 1.0 for help, but I think I had also already made up my mind upon analysing the additional attachment regardless of what they told me.

  I was going to help. I was going to be useful. And maybe… they would want me. 

  Cautiously, I tapped the lingering feed connection to Perihelion, I did have its comm stored under my rib but I did not want to announce to everyone (the humans onboard) what was going on. And I wanted Murderbot 1.0’s opinion as well, forwarding on the ping and attachment, I believe there is a problem.

  Murderbot 1.0 responded 0.2 of a second later, I loosed a breath I did not realise I had been holding and the weight around my ribs lessened, That reads trap, even my borked risk assessment thinks so. 

  I was aware of that, as stated above. I do have my own functional Risk-Assessment and Threat-Assessment modules, this was also against all relevant protocols, again, I did not care, I want to help. 

  Perihelion finally replied to add in a voice more like it had used when Murderbot 1.0’s position was compromised, its crew had called it “cold”, If the information and attachment provided are reliable, I would encourage you to assist. Have you confirmed the authenticity?

  Right. I could trace and hack into the ship on my own accord, I did not need permission. Again, I was failing. I answered anyway, I have not entered the feed for the ship, but the image does not appear staged or altered. 

  You aren’t already in ship Sec-Sys..? Murderbot 1.0’s immediate confusion leaked through the feed despite the distance.

  Ignoring the query, I traced the feed address attached to the ping to the bay below the one I was currently at, one for recent arrivals in dock for cargo restocking. Based on the staff routes, there was an employee access near the cubby. I opted for scanning the cameras before, in and after the access as that seemed sensible- there would be a window in the next few minutes where I could utilise it based on projected movements. Humans move so slowly when relaxed. I brought up the manifest for the ship at the dock corresponding to the feed address location- some kind of smaller freight-merchant vessel. Scouring through the Station Sec-Sys for the cameras of the ship-lock to match the listed crew members.

  The two had begun bickering in the background of my feed about whether it was worth the risk to fulfil the request or not, Murderbot 1.0 notably raised its voice about if what I did was traced back to Perihelion. Or me dying. But I was focused on slipping into Vessel Sec-Sys now and backburnered them. I would have to make sure the crew members listed were all the crew members that had left- besides forwarding the manifest to them I paid them no mind.

   They went quiet momentarily to review which offered me more space to focus, I was not as confident at hacking as Murderbot 1.0 was. We were only allowed to under awfully specific circumstances and it rarely came up during my time of merely… guarding humans. Making sure they did not die, did not attempt to murder each other and, most importantly, did not try to leave. Oftentimes we already had system access to things like clients' personal devices. I had never experienced humans from outside Barish-Estranza as clients I was responsible for whereas Murderbot 1.0 had handled new human teams for each contract they held. I only ever held one contract.

  I had expected to die one day at that contract.

  Matching the corresponding time stamps of a few minutes before each cluster of crew members disembarked with the internal cameras and schematics confirmed my suspicions that only so many of the actual crew were listed on the public manifest. I counted 9 additional people and potentials- though all who had been listed were currently on station. The others appeared to be in their personal quarters and there had been no activity from them since the disembarking. Noting that, I adjusted the route I would take to compensate and forwarded the information. I could do this, I watched Murderbot 1.0 do it repeatedly throughout their logs. I could do this… Huh. I only ever saw humans use words of affirmation with themselves, never bots. Strangely, it helped.

  Perihelion finished reviewing the information and only said, I have never come across a ship that has been to the Origin System. It is curious how it got here so fast.

  I was not the only one who did not know what the Origin System was as Murderbot 1.0 said nothing. Perihelion began to elaborate but I would have to learn more about it later as I had only just successfully gotten into Vessel Sec-Sys pretending I was Port Authority Sec-Sys. I was successful, I had done it, and I was feeling… the opposite of Perihelion’s voice, warm? I do not understand how humans can convert their emotions into extremely specific literature. I want to learn how to… if this works out, at least. It would work out. I needed it too.

  The cameras were in odd placements aboard the ship, focused on exits, entries, walkways and the cargo-hold, not rooms. It did not take long to authenticate the image with the live view from the camera. I explicitly reviewed the metadata to ensure the recording was not looped or spoofed, overlaid with the public and private schematics to confirm positioning with the exterior visual of the ship-lock. Admittedly, the positioning was peculiar, it looked like a cargo-hold inside of a smaller shuttle- one designed for planetary atmospheres like the ones Perihelion had stored. Identifiable by internal engineering.

  It was not unusual for a ship to have one, all ships around the size of the freight that I had worked on had them, but the manifest explicitly stated that this Vessel was only for space trade. Not planetary trade. The fact it was a cargo-freight made me wonder if it was some kind of planetary craft altered to tug modules. The shuttle was not visible from the cargo-hold camera, specifically being hidden in a blind spot based on my estimates. My own unsettled expectations with how strange everything in general at that moment enabled me to dismiss it. For all I knew this was standard practice in this particular region, like how Perihelion does not publicly list its weapons.

  But I could not identify any bot in the cameras, the only one I could identify was the Vessel itself- as I could feel the Bot-Pilot present in the feed with me though it had not indicated noticing my presence. There were drones as well, specifically for maintenance and cleaning- unfortunately they did not appear effective for their purpose. I handed all the information over into the feed for Perihelion and Murderbot to parse and triple-check me as I continued to watch the camera and feel for the recordings of the last seven days. The silhouette was clear, peering out partially from behind a secured crate. Small enough to be missed if you were not looking for it, especially for a human crew. I had a small plan, partially based on a murder that happened on Preservation Station- which I know, sounded great.

  Sarcasm, I think that was what it is called? 

  Anyway, I prepared all necessary components for the plan that I could from my position and was preparing to leave the cubby when Murderbot 1.0 said, Do you want me to do it?

  No!... No. I had not meant to raise my voice, I had never shouted before, I did not know what emotions I was leaking through the feed, nevertheless I was certain with my whole constructed mind I did not want either of them to know. So, I hastily gathered up and reinforced my walls linked into their feed as well as the Vessel Sec-Sys for self-assurance. I did not want it there, I could do this, I could be useful, this could be my way to show I was useful. The skin on my face did that heated thing again as I felt the digital recoil from Murderbot 1.0, it did not withdraw from the feed, but I could tell it felt… Odd. I felt odd too. I produced an excuse, The route will be clear in the next 30 seconds, you would not be able to get here without exposing yourself. The situation is too sensitive to leave it for longer, they are just too fragile.

   Perihelion digitally hummed in agreement, but I could feel the scepticism still wavering through the feed from Murderbot 1.0.   

  … Are you able to provide tactical support? Maybe that would be good enough to get it to settle and it would be nice to work… not alone. And it would mean even if I horrendously messed up, I could still succeed. If I died, things would still be okay. It was a win. My Risk Assessment was not happy about any of this unnecessary risk-taking. It tapped an acknowledgement. The feed only did so much to block out the edged sensation from its end, but that was good enough for me. As I waited the last couple of seconds for the dock and elevator to be clear, I started bringing up the codes from Vessel Sec-Sys to open the lock. 

  Bag accessible, the uncalibrated drones that I was only supposed to awaken on the ship I was leaving with booting up, hand-weapon in reach, continuing to remove myself from the cameras, scanning for unanticipated movement, the feed connection to the others- all the inputs were becoming suffocating. There were not that many, it was simply more than I had ever been ordered to manage, everything I was doing felt slow and unfamiliar. I almost walked into the access door without opening it. Murderbot 1.0 silently slid into my feeds and started taking over my inputs for Station Sec-Sys, not only opening the elevator door but setting it up to arrive at the designated floor without the request reaching the Station Transport-System it was on.

  It managed so easily. I was not sure I would ever get to that point even with practice. Murderbot 1.0’s personal logs implied a superior prowess for not merely hacking but managing multiple inputs that I had never observed from any of the other Units I had come across or worked with. A sense of prickling through my input to Vessel Sec-Sys being the only indication it successfully entered too. I could feel it handing some information portions over to Perihelion although I had enough room to do what I needed to now and stopped paying as much attention. I was both dreading and grateful for the fact I did not have my armour now, it was confusing to have emotions on a job. Having more than one when you are supposed to be fully operational and cannot hide them from any human you come across- especially the ones that are conflicting, were exponentially worse. 

  There was some, what I would identify as, comfort in familiarity, this would be more like retrieving the kids that ran away from their designated housing after curfew, just that there were much fewer places to hide in the Private station docks. 

  Thinking about everything like that allowed for a focused calm for what I needed to do, that small peace allowed my performance reliability to climb back up to 96%. Still not within the ideal parameters for operations yet better than it stating lower than that. This should be swift. Easy. Simple retrieval. With a resolution for not only the distress signal but for my own… Strangeness. The doors for the access opened and I had already started the open hatch sequence for the ship-lock- it was oddly non-standard. Maybe that should have been another red flag. My threat assessment picked it up though neither Murderbot 1.0, nor Perihelion by proxy, brought it up. 

  I passed through the access doors and across the dock floor, still no further filed objections from Murderbot 1.0 or Perihelion.

  So, I simply walked right in.

[squeakyfir]

Stow-Away (Jaws 1975) (X Child! Reader)

Description:

Stuck on a populated island with an abusive father with only one way out but hard to reach.

A boat.

Born on Amity island and losing your mother at the age of two, it left you with your father who was caring at first but then became abusive. You had too escape. You thought about sneaking onboard to a boat but now that a massive man eating shark was threatening the waters, the town stopped the flow of boats leaving the harbors out of fear.

You were stuck.

Until…

You see a boat preparing to leave the island. That was your only option, jump aboard and hide until gets to another port.

But… Oh boy… What these men were doing was not what you expected.

They were out on the water… To catch the man eater themselves…

I do not own the cover image. All rights of that image, characters and story belong to Universal Studios™. I will be adding my own twists but the main things belong to Universal Studios™

Chapter 1

Next

An evening's heat was poured onto the small island of Amity. This town had little to no troubles at all. Most was just noise complaints, the local kids getting into mischief and a very few number of accidents. There was nothing to turn the heads and cause shock from the locals. All of the people on Amity island knew each other well due to it being a small town. It was peaceful and secluded.

But being secluded wasn't always the best. Especially in your case.

You didn't really have friends and wouldn't talk to other adults that much. You were always on the move that it was starting to become a bit concerning. You were mostly seen at the store and on the beach but that was basically it. You live with your father in a small house on the island and were always afraid of what tomorrow would bring. It was because of your father. 

"GET IT DONE, NOW! I'LL BE BACK IN THIRTY MINUTES AND IT BETTER BE DONE! GOT IT"!

"yes"

"GOOD"!

Your dad left the house and slammed the door shut. You were alone with the task of cleaning the house once again. You sighed and knew you had to get started. As you grabbed the broom, you looked up and saw a family picture of you and your parents. Your father looked so happy and so did your mother. You have a very very vague memory of her since she died when you were two. You are now seven years old and your father now despises you. He blamed you for your mother's death, deciding that you were nothing but a waste.

You stopped looking at the picture and got to work. It was too much for a young kid. Some of the work required you to be on a ladder, which is dangerous. You had fallen many times but your father didn't care. He only seemed to be concerned if you broke a bone, to which he would then sigh dramatically and take you to the hospital saying you accidentally fell but not from a ladder. Sighing once again after only a couple of things have been accomplished, you looked out the window and saw the beach in the distance. It was lifeless which was still strange considering what was happening on the island.

Amity island is known for its beaches but because of a man-eating shark, there was no way people were going in the water. Especially boats. All fishing and sailing boats were told to not go out into the ocean and could only sail in the channels until the situation was dealt with. It was a problem for you considering that a boat was your only way out. But anyways, you kept working until you heard the door slammed open. "YOU BETTER BE DONE"!

You didn't respond and only jumped down from the step ladder that was helping you be able to do the dishes. You ran and hid underneath the table and heard his heavy footsteps coming into the kitchen. You tried to keep your tears at bay and saw that he left the door opened. He walked into the kitchen and saw that the dishes were halfway finished and looked enraged. He marched upstairs demanding that you come out of your room at once.

Not wanting to deal with him anymore, you sprinted out the door and down to a harbor. Your little lungs were gasping for more air but you knew that your father would know by now that you got out. As you kept running, you had to stop to catch your breath and noticed that you were near cranberry hill road and also saw a boat with people putting supplies on it at the last boat house. They must be leaving! This is your only chance! You went over and hid yourself behind a wall to watch and wait for an opening. You could see the name of the boat.

"Orca"

It was a small and decent sized boat, but it looked like it could conceal you. As someone moved over, you could see the floor on the boat and saw two small hatch doors. It was big enough for you to hide down there. It would be hard to reach it but you had to take it. Once people had their backs turned, you sprinted for it and made it on the boat and quickly got through the door but that doesn't mean you were quiet. As you shut the door, you heard a man say, "What was that"?

"Somethin' must've fell".

You couldn't see anything except the bright lines of light that shined through the cracks of the door. You then heard a startling sound; the engine of the boat was right next to you, and you gasped loudly when the sound occurred. Luckily, it was loud, so it muffled your gasp. The loud sounds from the engine were silenced a bit and the boat started to move.

Not knowing what was going to happen, you kept your mouth and nose covered from the engine fuel and hoped that this would be over fast.

[gokitetour]

8 Stunning Islands in New Zealand You Must Visit

New Zealand is well-known for its spectacular scenery and natural treasures, but it also has numerous lovely islands that await exploration. These islands provide a wide range of experiences, from pristine beaches to rough wilderness, making them must-see locations for those seeking adventure and quiet. Nestled in the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean, these islands have distinct ecosystems, a rich cultural legacy, and unrivaled beauty. From the beautiful coasts of Waiheke Island to the Rocky Mountains of Stewart Island, each island in New Zealand has its own unique appeal and fascination. Whether you want to hike through natural woods, dive in crystal-clear lakes, or learn about Maori culture, there is something for everyone to enjoy. As you travel to these breathtaking islands, you will be intrigued by the rich diversity of wildlife, which ranges from playful dolphins to towering seabirds. You'll also get the opportunity to learn about the indigenous Maori people's rich history and customs, who have a strong connection to their land. Whether you want to relax on isolated beaches or have adrenaline-pumping experiences in the great outdoors, the gorgeous islands of New Zealand guarantee an amazing experience that will leave you in awe of nature. So pack your bags and prepare to start on a voyage of exploration to these magnificent islands in the heart of the South Pacific.

Here are some stunning islands in New Zealand you must visit.

1. Stewart Island: Rakiura Island is another name for Stewart Island. It is New Zealand's third-largest island. You have to visit this lovely island if you want to walk and hike amid amazing animals and breathtaking scenery. Thirty kilometres separate the island from the South Island. The island has only one settlement, Oban. Oban is located on the island's eastern side, opposite Halfmoon Bay.

2. Waiheke Island: One of New Zealand's most stunning and sizable islands is Waiheke Island. This is the island for you if you've always wanted to have a destination wedding or spend your honeymoon on an island. The island has unique beaches and gorgeous vineyards. The island has a large population. Accessing Waiheke Island is a breeze. In approximately forty minutes, you may get to the island from Auckland by ferryboat. The island is ideal for a day vacation because it is so conveniently accessible.

3. New Caledonia: One of the most breathtaking tropical islands close to New Zealand is called New Caledonia. The surroundings and experiences of New Caledonia are completely different from those found on the New Zealand mainland. It just takes two and a half hours to fly from Auckland to this tropical island. There is a white beach and crystal-blue water on this lovely island. Delicious meals and a European culture (French in particular) characterize New Caledonia.

4. Little Barrier Island: Established in 1896, the first nature reserve in New Zealand is located on Little Barrier Island. The preservation of the indigenous flora and wildlife depends critically on this island. Access to this stunning and significant island is very restricted. A unique certification issued by the Department of Conservation is required in order to visit Little Barrier Island. Following that, you will be able to board a car that is authorized to transport you to the island. The island known as "Little Barrier" lies 80 kilometres north of Auckland. It's the ideal location for bird viewing, diving, and snorkeling.

5. D’Urville Island: This island has the name of Jules Dumont d'Urville, a French explorer. Situated in the Marlborough Sounds, this breathtaking island. The eighth-largest island in New Zealand is D'Urville Island. This gorgeous island is the best option if you're searching for adventure activities in New Zealand. Activities on this island include diving, snorkeling, strolling, observing marine life, and cycling. The primary draw of the island is its unspoiled natural isolation.

6. Fiji Island: The most stunning island in the Pacific, close to New Zealand, is Fiji Island. One of the greatest tourist infrastructures is found in the Fiji Islands. This breathtaking island is the ideal destination for romantic getaways with your significant other. Indulge in some adventure sports, unwind with a stunning view of the ocean, or go diving into the water to witness amazing marine life on the remote islands of Fiji. From New Zealand, a 3-hour flight gets you to Fiji.

7. Rangitoto Island: Rangitoto Island in New Zealand is a great place to visit if you want to see an island that was formed just a few centuries ago by nature. One of Auckland's most distinctive natural features is the young volcano that sits atop Rangitoto Island. Six centuries ago, the water gave life to this island. Another reason Rangitoto is well-known is for its adventurous activities. Activities that you may partake in include bird viewing, sea kayaking, and hiking to Rangitoto Island's top.

8. Poor Knights Islands: Don't let its name fool you. The island has an abundance of rich flora and animals; thus, it is by no means impoverished. The unfortunate Knight Islands are the remnants of a few ancient volcanoes that have sculpted themselves into an amazing system of underwater caverns, tunnels, arches, and cliffs. Situated on the Tutukaka coast of the North Island are these breathtakingly gorgeous and magnificent islands. Diving and snorkeling are popular activities on these islands. There is a marine reserve on these islands. Thus, make sure to take advantage of the incredible aquatic life this island has to offer while you're here.

 Conclusion

The breathtaking islands of New Zealand provide a plethora of wonderful experiences for visitors from all over the world. From the vineyard-lined beaches of Waiheke Island to the rough wildness of Stewart Island, each site has its own distinct charm and fascination. There is something for everyone to enjoy, whether you want to relax on pristine beaches, go on an adventure in the great outdoors, or learn about Maori culture. Exploring these islands allows you to appreciate New Zealand's natural beauty while also connecting with its rich history and tradition. From learning about the indigenous Maori people to witnessing various species in their native settings, every time spent on these islands allows you to gain a better knowledge of this fascinating nation. For Delhi tourists who want to engage in this experience, acquiring a New Zealand visa is the key to discovering the beauty of these islands. With careful planning and the required papers, you can soon find yourself experiencing the magnificent landscapes and rich cultures that await in New Zealand. So, whether you're planning a solo journey of self-discovery or a great family holiday, don't pass up the opportunity to explore these breathtaking islands. Pack your luggage, apply for your New Zealand visa from Delhi, and prepare for an incredible trip in one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

Read more-: New Zealand Visa from Mumbai, New Zealand Visa from Kolkata, New Zealand Visa from Chennai, New Zealand Visa from Bangalore

[birdenpsikotik]

Lumbar Support Chair - Are You Sitting Comfortably?

The different kinds of lumbar support are the ergonomic chair, the adjustable back support chair, and the click here to learn more portable lumbar back support. You can even use a towel or small pillow.

Sometimes, back pain is the result of something that is quite easy to remedy. All you might be needing is a product that is specially designed to ease back pain problems. People have a tendency to slouch forward, especially when remaining seated for a prolonged period, which is why lumbar support chair options have become increasingly important. The slouching position that we often find ourselves in can push the lower back out, which is the opposite of your spine’s natural inward curve. When this happens, the structures in your lower back can become strained. Proper lumbar support when sitting in a chair is flush against the small of your back. The biggest benefits you can get from such support are that your ears, shoulders, and pelvis are kept in alignment and the natural curve of your spine is maintained.

Here are the types of lumbar support mentioned in lumbar support information and currently available in different types of office chairs:Ergonomic Chair – This is a type of office chair that is ergonomically sculpted with a built-in lumbar support curvature. To check if an ergonomic chair is right for you, sit up straight in the chair with your head, spine, and buttocks in proper alignment. Lean all the way back into the backrest. If the curve of the chair naturally follows the curve of your back, then it is the right fit. It is very important to test this kind of chair because its lumbar support feature can no longer be adjusted.

Adjustable Back Support Chair – This chair features a seatback that can be adjusted to fit the user’s needs. If you choose to use this kind of chair, you should make sure that the seatback is positioned such that the curve of your spine is properly supported by the curve in the back of the chair. If you are not the only person who will be using the chair throughout the day, then it is a good idea to buy one with adjustable back support.Portable Lumbar Back Support – This term refers to cushions or lumbar rolls that are fitted into the back of an office chair. These devices can be used almost all types of chair and carried around during travel. Some of these devices are inflatable, which means that you can increase or decrease the amount of support as needed.

A Towel or Small Pillow – In most cases, you don’t really have to buy a commercial lumbar support chair or device. You could simply take a small pillow or roll up a towel and then position it at your lower back to provide the needed support. This may be the best option if your work does not require prolonged sitting at all times.These are just some of the products that you could use to ease your ailment.

Aside from using any of the above lumbar support chair options, you can also avoid back pain by standing up, walking around, and stretching from time to time rather than remaining seated for more than thirty minutes at a time.

[hakesbros]

Homes For Sale San Antonio Tx

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[mimegrime]

Alright you fools, I was tagged by @transalbus​ to do this tag thingy and you know what, let’s go. Wowza.

LAST

drink – green tea phone call – a man trying to tell me my laptop had a virus; jokes on them, I haven’t been near a piece of modern technology since the 90’s. text message – a message from my friend that says “rest in peace” that I forgot the context for. song you listened to – the entire lighting thief soundtrack at once time you cried – like an hour ago cause I thought I had murdered my plants

HAVE YOU EVER hated someone twice – Uh I think so?? like “hate-is madly okay with-hate”, I don’t hate people often, but this one dude, hahahah. kissed someone and regretted it – not really, kissing is weird though if not with people I’m comfortable with.  been cheated on – I hope not lost someone special – I think most people have been depressed – yeah gotten drunk and thrown up – I once drank a whole twenty pack of apple juice boxes and threw up, does that count. made new friends – how else do you make friends? is there another way? fallen out of love – idk if I’ve ever been in love before laughed until you cried – I assume so???? found out someone was talking about you – both negatively and positively! It’s fun either way, but for different reasons obviously. met someone who changed you – I think everyone one I meet changes me somehow, I’m just very impressionable I think. found out who your friends are – I guess, I have friends so I assume I know who my friends are. kissed someone from your facebook list – what’s a Facebook list? kissed a stranger – depends on what you classify as a stranger and also what you count as a kiss drank hard liquor – nah, I hate the smell. lost glasses or contact lenses – on a plane, and I cried for like a week about it. turned someone down – yeah sex on the first date – lol no broken someone’s heart – Yup! had your heart broken – I kinda wish I have, like I know it sucks a lot, but I feel like it’s some growing up ritual. Maybe I’ll regret saying that, wowza. been arrested – in first grade, time out was also called prison time; it was kinda messed up, but childhood. cried when someone died – I cried when my dog died for like a month fallen for a friend – Don’t you need to have some level of friendship with someone before you like “fall for them”? Or is that stupid???? kissed on the first date – nope

GENERAL list 3 favorite colors – I don’t have favorite colors, I think any color can be as wonderful as any other honestly. But the fact people have favorite colors is so cool! like your eye receptors have grown to find certain shades more appealing than others, that’s remarkable! how many facebook friends do you know in real life – My one facebook friend is my sister, so all of them. do you have any pets – three! Two dogs, and one blessed fish. do you want to change your name – I like my name, but I wouldn’t mind changing it. I have no real attachment to it. what time did you wake up – when? Today? five days ago? This question is very vague, like I have no sleep schedule. what were you watching at midnight last night – my dog try to fight a box, only to find out in the shocking revelation, that the box could not fight back. He then proceeded to protect the box from my other dog who was trying to fight it. name something you can’t wait for – RAIN. Also for the next time I get to eat cereal. when was the last time you saw your mom – like an hour ago, we talked about child birth what is one thing you wish you could change in your life –I wish that I didn’t wish to change things, and instead actually went out to change things. what are you listening to right now – my neighbor’s doing questionable things in their backyard Have you ever talked to a person named Tom – Two different ones, and both are pretty chill. something that is getting on your nerves right now – I hope the sky doesn’t think that it’s stars are ugly most visited website – google is a website technically, so google. mole/s –I have like, four? There might be more, two on my face near my eyes, two under my leg/thigh area. mark/s – I’m kinda confused by this question, so I’ll just move on. childhood dream – to become the chosen one, fall in love with someone cute, and live rich. or become a hermit. There was literally no in-between. do you have a crush on someone – In kindergarten, I thought having a crush meant someone wanted to crush someone else with their bare hands. So when this poor boy came up to me saying he had a crush on me, I thought he was challenging me. It didn’t end well. So in the kindergarten sense, yeah I have a crush on someone.   what do you like about yourself – I had to restart my old wizard 101 account, and I’m already at level 9, that’s called dedication. piercings – Maybe when I’m older? But also it costs money and that’s money I could use on bad romance sim games. or food. blood type – probs just pure apple juice at this point. nickname – there are too many relationship status – tired zodiac sign – virgo, but apparently there’s like the new 13th zodiac or something, and I’m a leo in that version. So you can pick which one fits me best. pronouns – he/she/they, honestly anything. I’m in a pretty strong he/him time right now though, so ye. favorite TV show – AH. I love too many, and I guess some of them don’t even count as TV shows since they weren’t aired on TV, but still. There’s too many. tattoos – Nope, but like before maybe in the future. right or left hand – Either way my penmanship is trash, so you just have to choose the lesser of two evils. surgery – not that I know of to this date. hair dyed in different color – One time a sub tried to send me home cause she said we weren’t allowed to have dyed hair, cause apparently in the light my hair looked purple???? Anyway the answer is no, but I still get all the fun. sport –I used to do softball, track and field, cross country, basketball, swimming(I can’t swim anymore though), and soccer. Now I do nothing. vacation – ????? What??? What does “vacation” mean???? Where I want to go??? Where I have been???? What does this mean? eye color –a pretty dark brown, some kid said I had shark eyes so that’s super chill. favourite movie – the “sex ed” videos they showed us in school, which were hilariously hetro and also advertised that having your period causes you to be better at bowling. A classic.

WHICH IS BETTER hugs or kisses – Both! I’ve been so touch-repulsed for so long until recently, and now it’s wild cause physical interactions when you aren’t disgusted by it is like “woah” It’s gr8. lips or eyes – Both again, wowza, okay but like, people are just so pretty??? shorter or taller – Another question I shouldn’t be confused by but am, like in what context??? Both have their own advantages and such, it just depends on the scenario which remains ungiven. nice arms or stomach – Idk what “nice arms” or a “nice stomach” look like really. Like I think I understand the main key points, but not really to which those key points make sense to me. Any arm and any stomach can be nice, like bodies are so unique, isn’t that makes them so intriguing to artist and stuff? Idk I’m overcomplicating this question. sensitive or loud – Loud people can be sensitive too, my dude. Being one doesn’t cancel out the other. hook up or relationship – Uh, depends on what you mean by hook up and what you mean by relationship. troublemaker or hesitant – I’ve talked too much in this section so I’ll just say both, I know surprise, but ye.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN yourself – I try, but in the same sense I try to complete my childhood dream. With lots of doubt and incoherent voice notes I record for myself.   miracles – Nah mate, humans need to give themselves more credit. Or humans need to give nature more credit. Or someone more credit. love at first sight – Depends on what you define as love, but grand picture, it’s kinda an off-putting idea. It reinforces the idea of soulmates, and I kinda have a thing against soulmates. Santa Claus – Nope, but I feel like that’s for the better. Making one man responsible for not only judging every child in the world, but also the happiness of every child they deem as “good” seems like some level of hell.

Anyway, I hope someone enjoyed this episode of “I overshare cause it’s 1:49 AM and answer none of the questions correctly.” This was wild. Next in the suffering train is @freaking-out-is-my-okay @sockboxes​ and @elyciancosmos​ casue I don’t think I’ve tagged them before. Get pranked and now I’m going to sleep. 

[prael]

Twice Chaeyoung - I’m Like A Lawyer With The Way I’m Always Trying To Get You Off.

Word count: approx. 4,440 Masterlist

Her light frame clings to you—one arm around your neck, one arm around your back, legs locked around you like a python ensnaring its prey, constricting your waist. One hand supports her lower back, keeping her body close, the other fumbles in your pockets for your keys.

You swing open the door to your apartment carelessly. You pin the young woman against the inside of your door, slamming it shut. Body to body. Mouth to mouth. A clash of two needy souls locked in an endless war of tongues. Tonight, those needs will be met.

*******

Let’s recap how you got here.

As with any other Friday night, your colleagues and yourself were spending the evening winding down at a discreet hole-in-the-wall bar downtown—the downtown Dallas scene is popular with local businessmen. A wonderful variety of mid to upper-class bars provided great options for a night of social drinking.

The night started like many before it—with a seemingly endless supply of rum and coke, beer and those little flavoured vodka shots that went down with a kick, the consumption of which kicked off a series of jokes about the frustrations of dealing with hair-pulling cases and the shittiest clients, neither of which were mutually exclusive. Then, as it did every week, you expected the stench of alcohol, the dim lighting and the sense of comradery to transition to a lonely walk under the moonlight accompanied only by the stench of the sewer as you make your way to one of your old reliable booty calls.

For some reason, the guy who you have known ever since your very first law class, who seemed to only speak in clichés, chimed in with a comment that seemed almost prophetic “Expect the unexpected.”

You dismissed his comments with another drink—but as if by some divine intervention; the door swung open and the unexpected entered. A short, hooded figure completed her journey through the darkness of the night, arriving somewhere that fulfilled her two requirements; subtle lighting and a supply of whiskey.

It was rare for this bar to be visited by anyone other than the regulars and semi-regulars. You recognised most of the faces here, some of them only from your nights in the bar, others from work, and a select few are ex-clients, once victims of your jokes.

For the third time tonight, it came full circle, it was your turn to supply a round of drinks. Your new position moved you closer to the girl perched on the end of the bar. Her hoodie sat low over her face, keeping her identity hidden from many, but upon seeing you she raised her head. For a fleeting moment, you locked eyes. She seemed so different from everyone else, yet so familiar to you.

Sat back at your table, thirty minutes had passed. Thirty minutes of becoming increasingly distant from the conversations around you, trying to steal a glance from the mysterious woman at the bar. Several times, she sternly brushed off the advances of brazen men. Her gaze never noticeably moved from the tumbler of whiskey in front of her. Little did you know, however, she had stolen just as many looks at you in return.

Time was running short as the night wound down. If you didn't act then, your chance would be gone forever. Finishing the last drink of your rum and cola, the concoction of toasted sweetness with vanilla undertones, you stood and prepared to test your luck. You’re no stranger to meeting a woman in a bar, usually with success, but everyone had their limits. If ever you had a limit, this girl would be it, as you saw so many egos cut down to size tonight by this woman.

Or so you thought.

You leaned on the bar. She turned ever so slightly to ensure that it was finally you who approached. The movement allowed a lock of pink hair to fall from her hood. You opened your mouth, about to drop one of your classic lines from the bank of those that end in some play on words about you being a lawyer and how you can get her off. Barely a syllable had left your mouth before she interrupted.

“Here to take me home?”

“Actually, I was here to scam you with some crypto, but that sounds better.”

Lightly amused as she cracked a small smile, she continued her more direct tone, “you recognise me, right? You must have seen the advertisements about the performance at the arena on Tuesday,” she questions without ever looking up from her drink.

You pondered for a moment the billboard outside your building before it hits you: the Twice world tour. “I wasn’t sure, but now I can’t believe it.”

“Well, don’t get all starstruck,” she began, lifting her glass and finishing her drink, “tonight I’m not an idol.” She placed one hand on your arm, the other raised to her mouth, and she bit the end of her finger. “Tonight I’m just your toy. Use me as a fuck toy.”

*******

And now here you are, with Chaeyoung of Twice, pinned against your apartment door, ready to be used like a fuck toy.

You consider for a moment the journey to your bedroom—too far. Each step from here is arduous, another moment wasted when you could just rip off her clothes right here.

There’s no time to lose. You start with her zip-up hoodie, unzipping it and pulling down you expose her bare shoulders and angular collarbones separated by the fabric strap of her vest top. She drops one arm at a time, allowing you to methodically remove her hoodie.

The exposure shows off all the tattoos which decorate her well-kept skin. From the lips on her wrist to the shot-through heart behind her ear. Each image expresses her life. Symbolic of her freedom, her love, her members, her lust.

Breaking your kiss, Chaeyoung rests her forehead against yours. “Tonight I’m all yours. Use me, abuse me, make me feel everything. I’m your toy tonight.” Her lack of filter in her speech matches the drunken glazed look in her eyes. The whiskey in her breath spells out the exact reason she has lost all her inhibitions.

“You won’t be needing this, then.” With one hand holding her lower back, you use the other to grip the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up to her neck and then over her head, her arms raise to help it away from her body. She then busily unfastens the buttons of your shirt, pushing your sleeves away from your arms, and dropping the shirt to the floor. Skin to skin now. The cold flesh of her stomach against your own. Her grip on your back is tighter than before, followed by a renewed attack on your lips. You respond in turn with your tongue, tasting inside her mouth. A fencing match between two pink competitors that look set to play out to a draw.

She breaks your stalemate, saying, “and you won’t be needing these.” Her legs release from your waist, standing on her own two feet for the first time in a while. She drops her hands to your waist and hooks her thin fingers into the waistband of your trousers and underwear. Not to be slowed by undoing your trousers, Chaeyoung leverages her body weight onto your waistband. She drops to her knees, taking your trousers and underwear all the way down to your ankles.

“Oh my God,” Chaeyoung reacts to her first sight of what you hid under your clothes right in front of her face. “It’s so fucking big,” she continues, admiring it closely. She looks up at you with a ravenous look in her eyes. “It’s so thick, I can't wait to feel it inside me.”

Your only response is to place a hand on the side of her face, your thumb over her lips. You further smudge her red lipstick before pushing your thumb firmly into her lips, splitting them apart, resting it on her tongue. She licks lightly, playing with your thumb in her mouth. Pushing it deeper elicits no reaction, as far back into her throat as your thumb can reach—no gagging, no spluttering, no resistance.

“Wow, this is going to be fun to use.”

Chaeyoung smiles around your thumb at your compliment. “How about you use it properly?” she asks, spitting out your thumb and placing a hand on each of your hips. Holding on tightly, she knows that she’s in for a bumpy ride. Your now-free thumb pushes down on her jaw, opening her mouth wide. Using your other hand, you guide your throbbing cock into her mouth, slapping it down onto her tongue and into her cheeks. Slowly, agonisingly, you push further forward to the back of her throat. Contact. Her throat constricts the tip of your cock. You slide into her throat, slowly finding resistance. Unable to go deeper, Chaeyoung's head is pushed back against the door. Her jaw fights against your thumb, which holds it down. You release. Chaeyoung gratefully closes her messy strawberry lips around your cock.

Her cheeks hollow as she sucks hard on your cock as it throbs in her mouth. Not for a moment has she broken her intense stare as you pump into her throat, still looking up. You take it a little slowly, allowing her throat to adjust to your length.

You tried at least.

With her hands on your hips, Chaeyoung pulls and pushes your hips as you move, encouraging you to move more vigorously.

“Oh fuck! You are hungry for me!” you curse. In agreement, Chaeyoung continues to pull you deep into her throat. You oblige her request, fucking her throat as her head is stuck against the door. Finally, she splutters a little as her tight throat embraces your cock.

You have your way with her throat until she becomes visibly low on air. You release, allowing her to breathe deeply. She takes her chance to plead, “I want you to use my throat good. I’m your little whore. I want you to fill my throat with cum.” Immediately, she pulls your hips, taking your cock back inside.

You grip either side of her head. “I’m going to cum in your throat and you’re going to take it all.” You thrust hard and fast into her throat, using it for pleasure. Her eyes open wide as she begins to choke a little around your cock. Muted moans escape her mouth. She must enjoy how well you’re using her mouth. The vibrations of her moans drive you even closer to your high.

Any rhythm you had is lost as your cum shoots into her throat. “Oh FUCK!” you shout as your cock pulses inside her throat, each one draining your balls further. One of her hands grips your ass tightly, pulling you in so not a drop is wasted. Her other hand cradles your balls, encouraging you to release more into her throat.

For the first time, Chaeyoung closes her eyes as she savours the taste of your sweet liquid inside her. She swallows every drop. Continuing to suck everything you have.

You finally pull back, lifting Chaeyoung back to her feet. With her face closer to you, now you can see her glistening skin. Moisture has formed a thin film over her skin.

“I hope you have a lot more where that came from. I need that thick cock inside my pussy next. You aren’t done playing with your new favourite whore, are you?”

“Not at all. This whore has so much more to give me.”

“Take me then, use me!” she pleads with a fire burning in her eyes.

Use her, you will. One hand around her throat, you push her through your apartment. Guiding her into your bedroom. With a hint of aggression, you push her all the way to your full-length wall mounted mirror, slamming her body against it. “I like where this is going, but it will not get much further until you take these trousers off me.”

“You don't deserve my help. Do it yourself, I’m going to watch,” you demand as you take two steps back.

Teasingly, she unbuttons her trousers. Chaeyoung moves them down at an agonisingly slow pace. Her panties are revealed as the outer layer falls. Her black panties are soaked. Being used at your front door clearly excited her. Her panties could hold no more, shown by the liquid, creating a shiny slick on her thighs. Next, the full length of her slender legs is exposed. It takes all your will to continue to admire and not grab her tight thighs. She kicks her trousers across the room, the motion highlights the toned muscle on her slim legs.

Now only in her underwear, she takes a step away from the mirror and spins. In a movement that you could watch all night, Chaeyoung tilts her upper body forward at a painstaking pace. As she moves, she pushes her ass further out. Her skimpy underwear hugs her tight ass cheeks, leaving much of her cheeks exposed to you. She bends almost ninety degrees with her hands against the mirror. Slowly she sways her ass side to side, her tight ass moves in front of you, the change in tensions as she moves causing her ass cheeks to peek out further.

Glancing over her shoulder, she places a forefinger on her bottom lip. “What are you going to do now? Are you going to stand there and stare at my tight ass, or are you going to come over here and fuck me?” She fakes a giggle to tease you. “I really hope it's the second one. Your little whore really needs her pussy filled.” Moving her hand from her mouth, she bends a little further, lifting her ass into the air. Her hand slithers down her stomach, coming towards you and down to her wet panties. Her hand emerges between her stretched thighs. Chaeyoung uses two fingers to press against her pussy through her panties. Rubbing slowly to force a moan out of her mouth.

No more teasing. You step forth to claim what’s yours. “Is this what you want, huh?” You grip her panties on either side and pull them quickly down from her ass and drop them to her ankles. All the flesh of her small toned asscheeks are now on show. Her back arches downward away from you, creating a dip around her spine.

You rest your crotch up against her perfect, firm ass. Your hard cock resting over her ass, sitting in between her cheeks and onto her lower back. She bucks her ass upwards slightly, trying to grab your stiff length between her ass cheeks. She rocks ever so slightly, trying to create some friction.

“Look at you. So desperate. So needy. I bet you would let me do anything right now.”

“Yes! Anything! Please use me! In any way you want! Please! Please! PLEASE!”

You grab her by her neck, hoisting her head up close to yours. The head of your cock digs into her lower back. She keeps her body pressed against you. Some of the liquid drips from between her legs and onto your thighs.

“Look at yourself. In the mirror. What do you see?” For a moment in the mirror, she looks at your face beside her own, before looking at herself.

“I see someone who needs a good fuck.” You let out a little smile of approval. Chaeyoung continues, “I see a fucking whore who needs to cum all over a cock as it fills her up.”

“I see a dirty whore, too. One who’s so desperate for a fuck she's rubbing my cock in her ass cheeks as we speak. But I still see a bra.” You throw her body forward. She catches herself against the mirror. As you unfasten the fabric prison of her breasts, she drops her arms, allowing it to fall to the floor. You pull her back up, this time by her pastel pink hair. Her face shows a grimace in a mixture of pleasure and pain before returning to her smug smile as she admires herself in the mirror.

You don't even have to ask this time before she speaks. “Now I see a completely naked whore with her small tits exposed.” You take a moment to admire the new visual stimulation. She was right. They are small, just enough size in them to hang slightly from her body, but they are perfectly round and perky.

“Just small?” you ask, teasing her to compliment herself.

“I guess they are nicely shaped. They’re tight like the rest of my body. But the most important thing: like the rest of my body, they’re all yours.”

Content with her answer, it’s time for a reward. You release her hair and she gasps as the light pain is taken away. Her outstretched arms support her away from the mirror. She looks into your eyes through the mirror, biting her lips in anticipation. You push down a little on the small of her back, bending it slightly to push her ass all the way out, providing you access to her dripping pussy.

You pull back, preparing to enter Chaeyoung for the first time tonight. You slide the head of your cock up and down against her wet slit, teasing both her hole and clit. As you wedge your spear into her opening, the warmth on the end of your cock is tantalising. You push deeper into her pussy. Barely the entire head enters before the tightness becomes too much and you can go no further.

“AH! Fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck-f-f-FUCK!” Chaeyoung curses again and again as you stretch her tight hole.

You retreat a little, relieving the pressure. “Holy fuck Chae, you’re so tight. How can such a whore have such a tight pussy?”

“Maybe your cock’s just the biggest I’ve ever had. Now get it in me, I need you to go deeper!”

Again and again, with slight movements, you push your cock forward into her hole. Her copious juices provide the necessary lubricant to stretch her out. The constriction of her pussy is severe. Her short height and tight body are sufficient indication that her pussy would be tight. This, however, was narrower than anyone you had felt before. But it wasn’t a tightness that tried to deny your entry, it was a grip that begged you to never leave.

Chaeyoung's head drops forwards. She appears to be struggling against the concoction of pain and pleasure that must be within her. You refuse to let her look away, pulling her hair to lift her head so she must look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes roll back, and her pretty face twists in ways you didn't think possible. Her jaw swinging open and closed in inaudible gasps, occasionally biting her lip as you push further. You place two fingers into her mouth, providing yourself with a way to hold her head up and Chaeyoung with a distraction to suck on as you tear into her pussy.

All of your cock now rests inside her. The vice grip of her walls clinging desperately to your length. Any tighter and the grip would cut off the blood flow. You pull back slowly, almost all the way out. Hot air around your hand as Chaeyoung sighs in both relief and disappointment. In a swift, constant motion, you push deep into Chaeyoung; her wet lips meeting the base of your cock.

“Fuuu-aaaAARRRGHH!” Chaeyoung’s mouth opens wide as she lets out a scream of pain and pleasure. She attempts to throw her body forward as she loses control, but your hand on her body and fingers hooking her cheek prevent her from falling. The pure ecstasy on her face is clear to see in the reflection as you penetrate deep into her. Her whole body shudders at the action. Her hands attempt to grip the mirror, causing her nails to scratch at the glass.

Your next few deep thrusts return a response with less of a scream and more of a moan, somewhere in between. You pull her ear closer to your mouth before uttering, “so the horny little whore finally has her pussy filled. Tell me how it feels.”

“Ah-Ah-Amazing!” A full sentence must be too difficult while your cock pumps inside her. “Fuck … so … big … I’m so … full!”

The reflection in front of you would be your most treasured painting. Chaeyoung's pale skin has gone flush with heat. Her short pink hair has fallen over her face as it bobs up and down in reaction to you pumping her petite body. The sweat on her body has caused several strands of hair to stick to her face, like swipes of pink paint across a masterpiece. It is impossible to make eye contact as her eyes roll back and forth in her head. Her eyes focus on nothing in particular; most likely seeing stars. Her jaw has fallen wide open to allow her stream of moans to escape. Your fingers tug at her cheek, occasionally contacting her tongue as it hangs out of her mouth.

Her perky tits swing rapidly up and down in time with your increasing pace. The pink nipples atop the mounds become a blur as they shake violently up and down. Her tight stomach does not move, and her slim frame maintains its slender, exquisite look despite the dirty deed being committed to it. Between her legs you can just see the top of her spread pussy, her swollen clit exposed slightly. Below that, your cock pumps in a piston-like motion.

The image in front of you is so enticing, so delectable, a sweet treat on a cheat day. Your now rapid action inside her sheathlike pussy caused that knot to form in your stomach again. Your second high of the night rapidly approaches. So close to filling Chaeyoung with your seed. It’s your duty to make sure she finishes. Realising this, your free hand that has groped almost every available inch of your desire has a new target—the swollen clit between her legs. You lick your fingers to ensure they’re wet enough, tasting Chaeyoung's sweat. You slide your hand down her back, over her firm ass, swirling around her hip and round to her small pussy. Feeling her petite frame as you go, relishing the figure of your stunning little whore.

Your fingers meet her clit, rubbing in circles to provide further stimulation, timing each quick rotation with each pump of your cock. Your fingers slide effortlessly because of the build-up of her juices between her legs.

Quickly, the pitch of her moans rises. She loses control of her body, unable to stand. You have to move your hand from her mouth to the underside of her body to keep her upright. Your hands slide past her playful breasts and up to her neck. Grabbing lightly on her throat, you recreate the same enjoyment she felt earlier choking on your stiff cock. The perfect combination of stimulation causes her to lose it.

“I’m gonna-“ is all she can muster before she breaks out into a scream. Her body shakes violently. Your arm is being pressed on by her upper body. Her ass pushes further back, pressing her pussy to the hilt of your cock. Her tiny ass shakes violently against you. It’s hard to believe that her walls could have gotten any tighter, but they did. Her pussy clamps down hard on your cock.

You fuck her right through her orgasm. As one finishes, she begins a second, no longer in control of her own body. Anything from her mouth is a complete mess of syllables and moans. The same violent shaking of her ass. The same clamping tightness of her pussy. This time, however, her legs give out. You’re now holding her slim body on the end of your cock. This was no longer sustainable, but you knew how you wanted to finish in her—deep.

Light enough to easily carry. You hold her spent, shaking body in front of you, carrying her to the bed. For a regretful moment, your cock must exit the most comfortably fitting sleeve it has ever been inside. You spin her around and place her on her back on the bed.

“Please cum in me. Fill your little whore,” she whispers, using all her remaining strength.

Time to exploit her flexibility to your advantage. You push out one leg spread as wide as possible. Taking the other on your shoulder as you lean forward, leaving her legs spread inexplicably wide. Her tiny frame contorted in a way to give you maximum access.

You enter again. It’s a little easier this time, but only a little. The change in angle pressures your cock in a new way, providing exciting stimulation again. Looking down at her exhausted, glowing expression, you begin to pump her with your cock, reaching as deep as possible, pressing your cock all the way to the hilt.

The state of blissful euphoria on her sweaty, flushed face only adds to her beauty. Her exquisite face and undeniably sexy body provide all the visual stimulation you need. The pressure building in your lower stomach is so extreme that it’s impossible to hold back. Burying as deep as possible, you shoot stream after stream of cum inside Chaeyoung. Her smile widens, feeling your cum fill her up. Her tight pussy accepts the gift you leave behind gratefully as you pull out, falling backwards from the edge of the bed, twisting around and sitting on the floor.

Her foot falls off the edge of the bed too, suspended to your side. You turn to face her lean leg by your side. Turning around, you trace your eyes up her inner thigh to her pretty little pussy. A little of your cum falls out as her tight, satisfied walls contract. Chaeyoung lifts her head just enough to see you over her perky tits, grinning wildly, looking down at you.

“That was fucking amazing! I didn’t know it would be so good…” she trails off as her head falls back, her energy spent.

[bandaigaeru]

song of the summer - bang chan

→pairing: ceo bang chan x gn reader

→genre: kinda strangers to lovers

→synopsis: he runs one of the biggest music companies in the country, yet he inducts you to help aid him and his friends, each of them deemed as representatives of the ‘big three’, for their next official comeback.

→word count: 12.5k

→ warnings: swearing, shitty father figure

i.

A single question hangs over the dim conference room you’ve somehow scored a seat in. Does the general public want to see 3Racha? Bluntly, the answer is right in front of you. Glowing against the whiteboard from the overhead projector, the carefully curated slideshow answers the rhetorical question.

One of the dance representatives from the back of the room twirls his pen between his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he apathetically wonders aloud, “So it’s true, then?”

“What’s that, Mr. Lee?” the marketing representative, a Mr. Choi, holds his remote between both hands as he leans toward the table. The word ‘full’ dances across his face as he steps in front of the projector’s path.

“That they’re making a comeback. A full one?”

Mr. Choi nods, scanning the rest of the patrons’ reactions with squinted eyes as he says, “That would be correct.”

Of course, the three who would walk onstage and perform aren’t here. Mr. Bang is probably running around, abiding by his role as the professional CEO who never skips a beat. Regarding the other two, you’re not sure. They’re not as predictable.

The project is pretty tight in terms of what needs to be met. Summer is around the corner, and everyone and their mother will be fighting to hold that mere title of having the temporary greatest hit. When the general public awaits their yearly easily digestible, flowery songs.

“Keep in mind that we are all under Bang! Entertainment,” Choi remarks, clicking to his next slide displaying headlines questioning the company’s next move. “It should go without saying, but all eyes will be on us as the season turns.”

You stare at the bolded words, trying to digest each of them. Joining the company was likely the best decision you’ve ever made, outside of adopting a cat named Loba. When you got scouted as a producer, you were under a different company. Bang! offered a contract, but didn’t require an interview because they ‘didn’t want to invalidate or question a talent they’ve already seen.’

It was an ego boost.

“I’m sure you all know what your roles are in this,” Choi says, taking glances around the room to make sure each face isn’t lost or distant. This is 3Racha we’re talking about. Everything must be perfect.

You take a glance of your own. A few belong to the dance department, some to hair and makeup; however, you are the only producer here.

You raise a low hand to garner Mr. Choi’s attention. “Why am I here?” you subsequently ask, dropping your hand and crossing it against your chest as before.

“The team personally requested you,” he says.

Connections, you instantly understand. In a place like this, in a time like this, they’re a necessity. Nepotism is practically required in the world of music, hence why it sucks for most aspiring indie artists. You didn’t choose to befriend a guy who happens to be best friends with one of the big three here. So, you cast a blind eye.

It’s all a game of luck.

The meeting doesn’t run much longer. A concluding statement with hints of a threat if anyone messes up rings through your ears. A project end date of July 20th, when the album is supposed to go live. You’re not nervous, per se. Simply blindsided given the lack of information. What’s the song about? When’s the due date? Will 3Racha come to you first, or do you have to take time out of your day to the CEO’s harrowing office? The uncertainties aggravate the impulse of opening a new document on your computer and delving into your producer rituals. You can’t create someone else’s project out of blankness. And that irritates you to no end.

Someone throws their arm around your shoulder in an attempt to throw you off your purposeful stride.

“Congrats,” the belonger says.

You glance over to look, even though you know the voice well. He is your connection, of course.

“Thanks.”

Minho pulls you back to a slower pace. Familiar faces from the meeting pass you to the elevator, a majority in a meaningless chatter. They expected an appearance on this project.

“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asks, stopping altogether and dropping his arm from your shoulder.

You shrug, looking curiously at him. Minho’s not one to beat around the bush.

“Hypothetically,” he starts, “how would you feel being invited to bro night?”

“And actually witness you or Felix puke on the lawn instead of hearing about it? No thanks,” you scoff, making an attempt to abandon the situation by following the distancing crowd.

He grabs your wrist, spinning you back to him. “Please?” His eyes are pleading, glaring back at you like an innocent kitten.

You tip your head and sigh. “Why?”

Instead of cutting to the chase, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ll pay you.”

An eyebrow cocks. Regardless of your amusement—a desperate Minho doesn’t appear often—worries consume you. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”

Wary eyes jump around the hallway before they land back on you. “Follow me,” he mumbles.

His steps are calculated as he guides you to the elevator and presses the floor his office resides on. The ride is silent, as is the walk down the hall. You step into the room first, and he closes the door behind him. Despite the urge to ask if he’s about to murder you, you bite your tongue and take a seat on his upholstered couch. Identical to the one in your office.

Gently, he lowers himself into his chair. A few minutes pass of you simply staring at each other. Nerves crawl up your spine and you disguise them with a snarky comment. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to bribe me into spending time with your friends?”

In the time he takes to respond, you think about how the only mutual friend you have is Jisung. Sure, you know everyone on a name basis; but it’s not like you’ve known them as long as Minho. He doesn’t have other, more qualified, friends to drag to bro night?

“Chan’s kinda in a mood right now,” Minho’s words are slurred by the breath he releases as he speaks.

“And?” you press.

“I want you to see it before you work with him. And for him to understand you in advance. Y’know. You’re a little,” he hesitates, “forward sometimes.”

You should take this as an insult, but you can’t because words’ owner knows you too well. Minho never speaks unjustly.

“Touche,” you nod. It’s better to own up to your flaws. If you don’t, that’s how you end up walking into a carefully curated narcissistic personality.

His features loosen as he presses his forearms on his thighs. “So. You in?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you emit a wry laugh. All in one sentence, you’ve managed to prove his point. It’s simple, really.

“You see, I’ve already told the boys you’re coming. Either way, I would’ve gotten you to go. The only other option would have been to threaten you with a knife,” he admits. As you gawk at him in awe, realizing you stand in the same boat, a proud grin grows on his face. With time, you begin to mirror the ones you admire. Friends, for example.

“I think Seungmin will like you,” he adds.

“Why do you say that?”

All you know of Kim Seungmin is that he’s in the vocal department, along with his younger counterpart Yang Jeongin, and that he’s a menace. Minho’s words.

“You’re both evil.”

That’s the last straw. You stand up without a word and stomp for the door.

His laugh echoes behind you, striking a quieter one of your own. Still, you stay in character and slip out into the hallway. Minho has won too many of these scenarios.

ii.

Loba sneaks into the kitchen as you wait impatiently for Minho. Thirty minutes. That’s how late he is. You consider texting him, but acknowledge the possibility he’s stuck in traffic or something. Agitation tells you to do it anyway since he only lives two blocks over.

The orange cat paws at your calf for attention, momentarily distracting you as you set your phone down on the counter. Minho’s chat is wide open. She, too, finds excuses for him.

Her head nuzzles against your palm as you scratch behind her ears. She meddles successfully enough to trick you into feeding her a few treats. While you reach for the top shelf of your pantry, a pair of footsteps sneak up behind you. Heavier than Loba’s.

“Did the cat convince you to spoil her again?”

“Son of a-” you recoil, whirling around to greet the man, the myth, the late bastard.

The familiar appearance of a sly smirk, mischievous eyes, and an outfit that makes him look like a casual runway model, pierce your vision.

“You’re late,” you mutter, stepping past him and scooping Loba up. You rest her head on your left arm, cradling her like a baby. She tilts her head up to stare back at Minho. Traitor.

Minho grabs the bag of treats for you.

“Sorry, I had to pick up Jisung. He’s in the car,” his voice trails as he slips his thumbs between the plastic fold and focuses on opening the difficult seal.

“Damn it,” he curses. Karma arrives faster in deserving situations.

“It took you thirty extra minutes to pick him up?”

He deadpans, “You know he likes to be presentable for the boys.”

When you don’t give him the satisfaction of a single laugh, let alone a change in emotion, he whines, “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“You trick me into going to your stupid hangout, and now you have the nerve to show up late?”

He sneaks a few treats to Loba. “You’re really not mad at me right now, are you?”

“Irritated, at the least,” you admit.

“Well, then I’m sorry. Jisung got off late so I had to wait at Bang! for him.”

The words sink into your skin, but you don’t acknowledge them further. The anger fades on the walk down to the car, a great distance separating you and Minho. It’s practically dissipated by the time you climb into the backseat of Minho’s Kia Soul.

Jisung turns in the front seat and offers his hand at an awkward angle. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

You hold your seatbelt in one hand, accepting his with the other as you force a measly smile. “Same for you. Thanks for suggesting me to Mr. Bang.”

Confusion warps his face, twisting his eyebrows in a weird knit as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. Must’ve been Chan.”

Minho drops himself into the driver’s seat, suspending any further questioning.

Jisung returns to his original poise as when you approached the car. Eyes focused on his phone, actively typing something out.

You click your seatbelt into locking. An unnatural feeling plagues your gut. Mr. Bang wanted you on the team? It feels unlikely, but you know Jisung wouldn’t joke like that. Even if he were the type, his acting of unawareness gives away the truth.

Minho glances back at you in the mirror. “Ready?” he asks as his hand rests on the gearshift.

You press your lips into a line as you nod. “Mhm.”

You stare down at your hands carefully folded in your lap. For the first time since before producing, the itch to create is drowned by an intense, overwhelming brew of something lingering in your veins.

The expectation of you has pierced through the roof and is shooting out of the stratosphere.

Chan—Jisung quickly advised you to drop all formalities, so you’re rewiring your thoughts—has a home in Gangnam. Fitting for his status, but smaller than you expected. It’s still able to fit at least four of your apartment in it, though.

Jisung and Minho walk ahead of you up the stairs. The elevators in rich apartments on this end can only fit two people if you really scrunch together. What’s the money for, then?

“Today’s Monopoly night, right?” Jisung examines Minho’s side profile as he cautiously lifts one foot after the other. The stairs here are steeper than any you’ve seen. Hiking sounds better than this.

He hums in approval. “I guess we’ll sort teams later. We probably won’t live through the night with last week’s.”

A brash laugh escapes Jisung’s lips, subsequently echoing against the walls and bouncing back to your ears. “Right.”

You tune out their conversation for the rest of the climb, settling for watching your shoelaces sway with each step.

Jisung pushes on the door for the fourth floor, holding it open until you’re fully into the hallway. “Chan’s the second door on the right,” Jisung nods to one of the identical doors along the hall—appearing more expensive than your monthly rent with its rich stain.

Minho doesn’t bother knocking, instead opting for trying the doorknob. It allows access to the gigantic living space and the loud chatter previously muffled by walls.

You must be the last to arrive, but you probably could’ve guessed such.

“Hey,” Jeongin looks up from his conversation, inspiring a round of greetings from all the others.

“You all know each other enough so I’ll skip the introductions,” Minho glances between you and the group, starting for an empty end of the couch.

When Jisung follows his lead, you take a headcount. It appears everyone’s present except Chan—his birth name still feels awkwardly informal in your thoughts. You glance down the dark hallway to your right, counting one, two, three closed doors. Nature drags you into curiosity.

Seungmin, your alleged evil twin, waves you over.

As you take the empty spot beside him, he says, “Sorry, you looked a little awkward just standing there. Thought I’d save you before Hyunjin said something.” He shoots a pointed nod at the long-haired blond lounging between Changbin and Minho.

“Oh. Thanks,” you force a little smile that imitates gratitude. You didn’t feel awkward observing, but maybe your aura screamed otherwise.

Jeongin leans slightly over Seungmin’s shoulder with an inquisitive eye. “How did Minho convince you to come?”

“Blackmail,” you nod. Not attempting to summon a laugh, but managing so in the process.

“That’s Minho for you,” Seungmin tips his head in a slightly disbelieving manner.

“It’s okay, though. We’ll make tonight fun for you,” Jeongin raises his hand, and you meet it with a high-five.

Bro night might not be as bad as you thought.

“If only Chan comes out from his room,” Seungmin mutters, particularly to himself, as he leans his arm on the back of the couch and twists his body to look back into the hallway.

Questions. You want to ask them, but then Minho’s words return in full, blaring effect. Forward, he said. Meaning: blunt. In your face.

You bite your tongue. Redirect the temptation, you think, as your eyes scan the room. Admittedly, it’s odd seeing all these people away from their respective passions. However, Changbin’s phone is cradled in his hands, and his fingers are typing away potential lyrics. Felix, too, is hiding the fact his fingers are mirroring the directions of his recent choreography. Maybe passions are always a shadow of you.

“Should we just fix teams?” Minho says above the impatient silence.

“We can,” Hyunjin leans his forearms on his thighs. His hair falls in front of his shoulders like he’s some kind of Greek god.

“Team captains?” Seungmin asks.

“Let’s do the oldest of each unit, but since Chan’s God-knows-where, Changbin can represent,” Minho nods, glancing around for looks of satisfaction.

“Sure, rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?” Seungmin pushes a strand of hair out of his eye.

Short story short, Minho wins the first round with a victorious cheer of, “Easy!”

“You only say that because you know they always pick scissors first,” you accuse.

Minho points a finger at you, “Allegedly.”

You land a spot on Minho’s team since he got the first pick of the litter. Then, by Minho’s attempt at matchmaking, Chan lands on your team.

As you’re moving spots, you shoot Seungmin a sad, unmoving look.

He laughs, pushing you towards Minho. “Maybe next time.”

“What?” Minho glances between you. “Are you planning a coup against me?”

“You wish, Lee Minho,” you sigh, falling into the empty space beside him.

After a few beats of silence, for good measure, Minho leans down to your ear and says, “I told you you’d like him.”

“Yeah, he’s like a better version of you,” you turn to see the predictable look of offense on his features.

“Fine then, get Seungmin to drive you home,” he pouts, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his back into the couch.

“Oh come on,” you nudge his elbow, laughing at his exaggeration.

You see a smile tug at his lips before he breaks, letting a chuckle break through his barrier.

In the remaining meantime that you wait, Minho calls dibs on the cat. Seungmin’s team claims the dog, with an offhand comment from Minho going, “You would choose the dog.” Finally, Changbin’s team chooses the hat.

“Is that a joke because you’re so short? So you can gain a few inches with the hat?” Hyunjin jabs.

Changbin reaches over the couch to try and hit him.

From this end of the couch, you can look directly into the dark, mysterious hallway. You watch as the second door knob slowly turns. You focus on it, and the shouting dispute fades out in your ears.

Chan steps out from the room, carefully closing the door behind him so as to not bring all the eyes on him at once. You fight your facial expressions to remain neutral as you take in his appearance—which is shockingly normal. Suits are his workplace fashion, and consequently, all you’ve seen him in. Now, he wears black basketball shorts and a black tee. His hair is even loosening into curls. Is this the same man who runs a massive music company? Are we sure?

His cover is blown the moment he steps into the light of the living room. Jeongin warily points a finger in your direction, “You’re on their team.”

Chan presses his lips into a makeshift smile as he approaches you and Minho. He pushes out a small ‘hey’ before taking his spot on the other side of Minho.

His reclusive figure makes your heart wrench. You wish you could have talked Minho out of going. To him, you’re just an outsider he has to put a front up for. But, the thing is, he isn’t trying to build a barrier. It appears that he doesn’t have any more energy to try.

You catch yourself staring when Minho nudges your knee with his. “You take the first roll.”

Collecting the die, you notice your hands trembling a little. Not good. You manage, somehow knocking Seungmin’s dog in the process. He feigns shock, whining in an accusatory tone, “You’re no different than Minho.”

The choir of laughter shuffles you back into reality when you glance back at your accused teammate, catching the look of the other. The corners of Chan’s lips are slightly turning up into a smile.

Whew. You’re amazed by the amount of relief that little smile gives you.

iii.

The game trails into the early hours of the morning, and a few times a boy will point at Chan and say, in an attempt to be lighthearted, “This is all your fault.”

To the dismay of the rivals, Changbin’s team manages to win. Jisung, a member of Seungmin’s team, flips the board twenty turns too late at the news. “This game is stupid!” he laughs through his words.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Changbin says as the money flutters to the rug beneath the glass coffee table. A cue for the group to laugh blinks above their heads, each varying in intensity. Hyunjin even claps a few times, for his vocal contribution pales insufficient.

Jisung slumps to the ground, “I know.”

Chan lifts himself from the couch to aid him with a lingering smile from all the laughs. As the night progressed, he seemed to slowly inch into his ‘normal’ state, as Jisung had referred to in the car.

Minho slips his phone out from his pocket. At the single-digit time, nearing close to sunrise, he heaves a sigh and pushes himself up. “Guess I should get you home.”

He extends a hand to help you up.

“You’re leaving already?” Seungmin asks.

“Uh, yeah. It’s like three A.M.,” Minho squints at him, turning his lit home screen at him for proof.

Chan snickers as he stacks all the thousands. “That’s early for me.”

See? He’s even making jokes now. This is a weird normal, considering all you know of him is his status, but admittedly better than whatever funk he was previously in.

“See you on Monday, I’ll just spend the night,” Jisung lifts his hand in a semi-wave.

Chan doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks up at you and sticks his hand up. “Can’t wait to work with you,” and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach churn.

You take his hand and mirror his smile, though it’s rather genuine in comparison to the one you offered Jisung.

Minho has the decency to wait to call you out on it until you’re in the soundproof safety of his car.

“I saw that,” he says.

“What?”

“The smile. Don’t like Chan. That’d be way too awkward for me.”

You laugh, examining his twisted face of disgust as he starts the car. “Why?”

You’re not asking out of curiosity. You don’t like Chan, and you don’t see yourself liking him anytime soon. Or in the far future, for that matter. It’s just so easy to mess with Minho.

“Uh, my best friend dating my other best friend? That’s third-wheel central. I’m too hot to be a third wheel.”

Later, as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt to venture into the apartment building, Minho mumbles, “But, I mean, if you like him it’s whatever. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide anything from me.”

You punch his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re getting all sappy on me again. You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, dude,” you frown. Above anything Minho can say to you, his insecurities taking over his words hurts the most.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, then adding, “Unless you want to come over sometime this weekend. I’ll be home.”

He smiles, though you sense the differing thoughts behind his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say before shutting the door.

iv.

In all the wrong ways, Monday comes too fast. Faster than you can process Friday night, essentially.

You try to scramble your remaining thoughts into order as you walk into the lobby.

Is Chan going to be normal today? Hoping so. Why was that relief so astonishing? Did Minho catch onto something-

“Hey, Y/N!” Jisung intercepts your thoughts.

Your eyes involuntarily widen as he pops out from seemingly nowhere. Your gaze drifts to his outstretched hands, offering you one of the drinks each brandishes.

“I didn’t know which you’d prefer, and Minho wasn’t awake so I couldn’t text him. So, I got coffee and tea.”

You take your pick and nod a ‘thank you.’

“How was your weekend?” you find yourself asking as he leads you to the elevator.

He shrugs, “I did absolutely nothing other than a brain detox for this project. You?”

Despite his back being to you, your chin twitches into a nod. “Same as you, pretty much.”

“I think Chan’s in a good enough mood,” Jisung glances back at you as he reaches for the up arrow on the elevator’s panel.

“Sweet.”

Minho is your gateway to an easy conversation. Of course, he’s not here, but you slightly wish he was. You’re forced to meander in an abrasive silence until the elevator takes you up to the eighth floor.

Eight, because Chan detests the idea of being too close to anyone. He doesn’t want his presence to divide anyone’s attempt at creating their best. An icon in distancing, Minho joked as during your first week under Bang!

Jisung sucks in a deep breath as he turns into a room whose door is partially cracked. “Here goes nothing.”

On the far side of the room is an L-shaped couch. Resting upon the vertical side as if he were in his own bed is Changbin. A laptop sits in his lap, closed, but his phone is inches away from his face as he types.

“It’d be more effective if you used that laptop,” Jisung comments, resting his drink on the coffee table and sitting by Changbin’s feet. Giving Changbin the perfect opportunity to wedge his foot between the younger’s ribcage. A cry of pain shoots out of Jisung’s mouth. Truly, he should have seen that coming.

“Dude!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and clutching his side.

“I told you not to mess with me,” Changbin’s eyes narrow into a warning gaze, but Jisung laughs anyway.

“You are not scary, bro.”

You start for the opposite end of the couch, pressing your back into the armrest as you watch the scene unfold. Cupping your drink with both hands, you’re unsure if the warmth stems from it or the sibling-esque fight before you.

Changbin slides the laptop off of his lap and pulls himself to his feet. He stands before Jisung, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then, as his eyes flutter open, he brings his fists up.

“Come on. Fight me.”

Jisung takes a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Changbin shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Jisung’s eyes flit around the room for help. It would be that when the muscle man wants to fight, the only person physically capable of pacifying him isn’t here. Pure, unadulterated luck.

“And when you break my arm, then what?” Jisung’s eyebrows raise in taunting interrogation.

“Then I break your arm? What about it? You can perform with a shattered humerus. Right, ace?”

By chance of a higher being granting Han Jisung a break, Chan enters his office with a manila folder in his hand. Only a few steps into the room, he has to halt. His hand finds his hip, releasing a big sigh as he clutches the folder. To no surprise, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Black, of course. But with a surprising navy undershirt, which you give him credit for.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cause injury in my office? Can you imagine the lawsuit? Would you do that to your beloved friend?” he asks a stream of questions.

He seems relatively happy.

Changbin drops his fists to his sides, gaze dropping back to his abandoned laptop. He scoops it up before reclaiming his spot. To fully conclude the argument, he opens the laptop’s lid. “Jisung started it.”

The accused boy looks at Chan and silently pleads his case. His hands clasp into a prayer.

Chan waves him off with a smile and a breathy laugh before starting for his desk. He acknowledges you with a small raise of his hand.

“Ah, where to begin?” he asks, to no one in particular, as he tosses the folder onto his desk and sinks into his chair.

“Han, can you turn the projector on?” Changbin takes the initiative, reaching over the couch’s back to grab a white USB cord.

He does as told, warily trying to avoid another pseudo-fight, before rushing to the light switch and fading the room into a mass of darkness. Chan must not like having his blinds open. Black world he lives in.

Changbin’s screen presents against the vacant wall across from him. A pre-written document appears, with the title ‘TT Ideas’ and a dashed list. 1.5 spacing, you admire.

“Okay, I did my homework,” he sighs, dragging his cursor over the highlighted ideas for the title track. “These are my personal favorites, but I’m up to debate.”

Jisung shivers at those words. Debate. Meaning: duel.

In the darkness, Chan steps in front of you. He sits halfway between you and Changbin, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the list. You notice that his lips pout as he focuses, and his eyes squint a little.

You shift your own attention, for you’ll lose pacing if you stare at Chan the whole day. Changbin has highlighted unrequited love, turning the aura of summer into a song, unique abilities, and simply ‘flexing our equities’.

“Yeah, I definitely think that last one will go over well,” Jisung sardonically comments.

Changbin sighs in defeat and drags his cursor over his beloved idea, hitting the backspace in pity, “I knew you’d say that.”

“Can you elaborate on the unique abilities?” you ask, quieter than anticipated but still reaching its aim.

“Not to tute my own horn,” Changbin starts, running a hand through his hair, “but we’re sought after. When people see our names on tracklists, they immediately know the song is going to be good. They don’t sit and wonder if they’ll be disappointed, because they know with 3Racha that’s unpalatable. Hell, I saw someone tweet the other day that their favorite artist was spotted here, and the fandom went fucking crazy.

“People know what they expect from us, and that’s excellence. We deliver. You can’t say the same for a lot of producers. Doubt is inevitable for a lot of them, even if it’s only personal.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Jisung smirks, leaning his extended hand out to Changbin for him to high-five.

“What if we did it with an,” Chan hesitates, tilting his head at the screen to try and ease out the right words, “unnatural sound.”

“An experiment no one else could attempt,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear. His head snaps over to you, snapping, pointing a finger, and nodding.

“Exactly.”

The boys look between each other, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We can do that,” Jisung grins.

“You know, I had a feeling you would say that,” Changbin slips his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it and opening his notes app. “So I’ve already written my verse.”

“No way,” Jisung cocks his head at him.

“Okay,” Changbin mutters, “I had verses written for all the highlighted ones.”

“You are insane,” Chan chuckles, but not in an insulting tone.

From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.

v.

Until Jisung pats the pockets of his jeans two weeks later. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing back at the elevator you had just come from.

Midnight was around the corner and Jisung had promised Minho they’d go see the late-night showing of the latest horror film.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He turns to you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “I think I left my phone in Chan’s room. I’m gonna be late. Minho’s gonna kill me.”

You cease his rambling by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it. Just tell Minho to text me when you’re done so you can pick it up. ‘Kay?”

So what if Loba’s waiting for you at home, probably pawing at the front door and meowing like, “I’m hungry”? You have a profound soft spot for Jisung. And not because Minho threatened you if you ever showed any disliking. Plus, Loba’s spoiled in all other walks of her life. She can handle you coming home a little later than usual for one night.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at the high ceiling in some kind of grateful manner. “You are a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you smile, starting back to the elevator as he continues his path.

The company is rather unsettling without its daytime bustle. It’s even worse on the eighth floor. A usual ghost-town, except with an increased darkness and an odd chill trailing down your back.

The hallways feel stuffy as you get close to Chan’s office, your gaze set ahead. A sniffling sound seeps into your range of hearing, though you don’t think much of it. You can get colds in summer.

Naive to think a man as esteemed as Mr. Bang would succumb to a measly cold.

As you sneak your head between the cracked door, placing your hand around its width and slightly pushing forward, the view sends your heart crashing into your stomach. Chan’s head is lowered, either hand cupping his head as incessant tears drip from his nose.

Awkwardly stepping forward, you clear your throat.

His glossy eyes, rimmed with red and slightly puffy, jump up to you. Instinctively, he attempts to discard the evidence.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he croaks, pulling his sleeve over his hand and gliding it across his damp cheek.

That’s something he could learn. If someone’s a witness, you can expect them to ease into questions. It’s only nature.

“Do you need a hug?” you attempt. Don’t be forward, don’t be blunt, don’t be mean. Minho’s reminder blinks across your vision.

He laughs, “Maybe.”

A pitiful smile creeps onto your lips as you step around the desk. Your arms link semi-awkwardly around his shoulders. He presses his cheek against your collarbone, silently crying a little. You take careful breaths, trying to stabilize your chest for him.

“Does anyone know?” Your hand rubs soft circles against his back. He shakes his head against your body. A small hiccup shakes his frame.

“You can tell me if you want.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he manages through his tears.

You pull back a little for him to look at you. “I will smack sense into you if you say some stupid shit like that again.” In spite of his eyes crinkling into a smile—looking at you like you’re a childhood friend who he knows like the back of his hand—you try to recover. “I swear, you won’t burden me.”

He takes in a shaky breath. A blaring thought curses the forefront of your eyes. “Do you mind if we go to my apartment, though? I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”

Your arms retreat to your sides as he nods and drags the back of his hand across either cheek. “Yeah, no problem.”

You glance over at the couch, and the object of your mission stares back at you. For a second, you swear it’s glowing gold and screaming, “Your quest ends here! Bring me to my owner!”

You shuffle for the couch and scoop it up. When Chan looks at your hand in confusion, you offer, “Jisung left it. I’m the delivery service.”

“Right.” And he smiles. Comfort engulfs your body when you notice the flood has stopped.

Since you normally walk or ride the bus to work, Chan drives. His shiny sports car looks rather alien beside your used, well-used, car.

“I should warn you,” you turn to him as you push your key into the lock, “Loba’s a cuddler.”

“Sweet. I’d feel bad asking you for more hugs,” he jokes.

Sure enough, Loba is lying before the door. She scrambles to her feet and stares up at her guardian and the new intruder. Conveniently misplacing her cries for food, she scopes out the new man.

“What’d you say her name was again?” Chan asks, squatting in front of her and scratching behind her ears.

“Loba,” you say, opening the fridge to dish out Loba’s expensive special food. Adopting a cat with stomach issues, am I right?

“Loba?” Chan repeats, stifling a laugh.

“I didn’t name her,” you turn to him in defense.

Chan lowers himself, crossing his legs as Loba climbs into his lap. The love-hungry cat doesn’t even notice when you set her ceramic bowl next to her water station. She’s too absorbed in her newfound friend.

Rather than forcing them to relocate to the couch, you sit offset from them on the tile. Smiling down at the orange cat, you admit, “She’s not even like this with Minho.”

“Really?” Chan’s amused face stuns a vibration in your chest.

You appeal confirmation.

“That’s crazy. I’m a dog person, normally,” he coos down at the lovebug.

Don’t let this distract you from the task at hand, you remind yourself.

“So,” you drag. How do you say this without tempting the tears again? Admittedly, it would be nice if you had an ounce of insight. You’re walking into a minefield without a blueprint of where they lie.

Chan sighs, acknowledging his cue. “My dad doesn’t really like me all too much,” he wryly laughs.

“He seems stupid then,” you offer, not thinking further than trying to comfort him, “You’re very likable.”

“Thank you,” Chan drags his tongue against his bottom lip.

He continues, “Moreso, he dislikes his father. The one who skipped a generation when trying to continue his legacy. By association, I kind of take the brunt of it.” He looks at you through blurry eyes as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you were the only person who could have continued the company. Your dad seems,” you hesitate, “insolent. You, on the other hand, are an ace.”

“I try to tell myself that. He makes me go to all of his business parties to keep his reputation up, as well as mine in a way. You don’t want the broken family running a huge corporation,” he mimics what he’s been told.

“So you can’t tune him out,” you echo.

“Yep,” he drags the word out, prompting a heavy sigh.

“I’m not really good at the whole comforting thing,” you study the creases of your palms. “But I’ll say that you are, by far, the most amazing person I could work for. You’re really admirable. Plus, Minho really likes you. You’re kind of like the brother he never had.”

“God, you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs, staring up at the light as he pulls a hand away from Loba to wipe at his waterline.

“I’m serious,” you chuckle. “Would I blow smoke up your ass if you’re crying on my floor with my cat in your arms?”

When he hesitates to respond, you do it for him. “The answer is no. I don’t even do that for Minho.”

“That’s comforting,” he admits.

“I’d hope so. Now, hand me your phone,” you stick your hand out.

“Why?”

“So I can give you my number. Text me if stuff goes downhill, now that I’m in the loop.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“What? Do you think I’m going to let you suffer in silence now that I know?”

He leans to the side, cradling Loba protectively, as he draws his phone from his pocket. Unlocking it before he hands it to you.

As you type in a new contact, you say, “Do you want something to eat? I can order a pizza.”

vi.

Unfortunately, peace is temporary. Always and forever.

When you enter Chan’s office a few weeks after the father debacle, prepared to start the official recording of the album as decided on the previous day, you’re met with two confused men. Admittedly, you’re a little late, but not enough for them to be lost.

Changbin looks up at you as you cross the threshold. “Have you seen Chan?”

You shake your head.

“Heard from him?” Jisung follows.

Again, you shake your head.

“Shit,” they both fall back against the couch cushions in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” The grip on your bag tightens. Despite your inquisitive words, your gut gives you a fair answer.

“We haven’t heard from him since five this morning,” Changbin looks at Jisung for confirmation on the details.

“No one’s seen him?” you follow up.

“No one. He won’t answer our group chat either.”

Your foot taps against the floor as you try to remain composed. He texted you last night about his dad’s upcoming gala but was sparse about details. Or about the fact he would straight up disappear. Obviously, you can’t offer this information to them. A promise is a promise, even if half unspoken.

“Should we work through it? Get his parts whenever he decides to show up?” Changbin speaks.

“We can’t exactly meander anymore. Tracklist goes out at noon,” Jisung shakes his phone as annoyingly clear evidence.

“And you still need to learn the choreo for the title track,” you add. There’s only a month left. You bite your tongue, allowing the pain to slightly calm you down.

“God, what horrible timing,” Jisung laughs, but no joy laces through his tone.

You point harsh eyes at them, heavy steps leading you to the microphone stand designated for recording. “Come on then. Let’s get ahead before we can fall behind.”

vii.

You leave work the moment recording is done for the day, a discovery pulling you from focusing on anything else. Chan shared his location with you a few days ago when he offered a reciprocal to what you’ve done for him. “So you can always find me,” he said via text.

Though not for the right purpose, per se, you’re going to find him. And when you do, you might have to smack sense into him this time. With love, you convince yourself as you pull up to the stadium.

Who in their right mind rents an indoor stadium for an evening party? Rich people, evidently.

You find Chan’s car, among its shiny counterparts, and park as close to it as you can. As you get out, you pull your phone out of your pocket and call him. Not expecting him to answer, honestly.

“Hello?” his voice penetrates your ears.

“I’m outside,” you say, fighting the heavy heartbeat echoing in your head. Your hands tremble at the thought of him here, all dressed up and acting like nothing’s wrong.

“What?” he mumbles.

You look up to the big screen above the gate. “Gangnam Public Stadium, right?”

The background noise slightly fades as he says, “Wait where you are, I’ll come meet you.”

“Parking lot,” you offer before he hangs up.

You step into the shade and lean against a brick wall.

Today’s one of the finer days of summer. It’s mid-June. The solstice is just around the corner. A light breeze brushes against your skin and gently ruffles your hair. It probably helps that you’re surrounded by wealthy cars. A mood booster, in a weird way.

Quick, heavy steps draw closer. You turn your head to the source.

Chan drops his hands onto his knees as he pants. “You shouldn’t be here,” he manages.

“You should’ve told someone why you wouldn’t be at work. We all have our regrets,” you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare at him.

“God,” he mutters, straightening himself before standing next to you against the wall.

“You’ll get your suit dirty,” you comment, but he doesn’t care.

“You should leave.” His eyes, heavy with an emotion akin to irritation and sadness, scan over your face.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did this,” you stand your ground. Just like Minho would hate in a moment like this. “To get to a person, you have to ease them into it,” he guided at one point. Frankly, you couldn’t care less right now.

He avoids your eyes as he tries to flatten his staggered breathing. In due time, he composes himself and finally looks at you. His features have loosened, and you note his brow is no longer creased.

“I didn’t want to lose my cool in front of them,” he admits.

“Scared to?”

He nods. “It was scary enough having one person see me cry.”

The place between your heart and ribs begins to pulsate heat.It begins to spread across your bones and through your muscles. For once, you have to think about what to say next. You can’t be mad at him, for his reasoning makes more sense than it had before. God, this is irritating.

“Let’s make the song of the summer, then,” you reassure him with a curt nod. “Pull you out of this monster field around you and let’s make history.”

The dark surrounding encasing him cracks away as an unbelievable smile finds its place. One like you have never seen. One that pierces your heart with its joy. “Let’s do it.” And he drags you into a hug. Despite the roles taking a quick turn, you feel comforted. But he’s squeezing the life out of you.

viii.

You’ve done all you can do for 3Racha within the next week. The album is complete, as far as instrumentals and lyrics. All that’s left is promotion, along with all the theatrical elements left to be discussed. But that’s separate from you.

It feels bittersweet that it’s come to an end. You know that sometime in the future you’ll return to the studio with them, working alongside creative geniuses to invent a piece. Together. That’s the key. But it feels so far away.

You sit in your empty office, staring at the broad window as raindrops fall down the glass. Recounting the process in your head with distant gratitude. Title track: God’s Menu. You’re proud of it, viewing it as your child. Watching it grow into a real song, with real words and sounds attached to it. Wow. You catch a glimpse at the meaning of life as you watch two raindrops race down. It’s this: blossoming art from a tiny idea. Admittedly not entirely your own, but the principle remains.

The other tracks enlist an equal amount of precious memories for you. Late nights felt normal with the unreal energy coursing through your veins. You notice the products of effort as you consider all those extra hours. Admiration shoots through your body, leaving it numb.

It was all them, though, you acknowledge. You were only there as a caretaker, offering your own hint to mark the music.

3Racha is like a shooting star. It's fantastic, in a sense. Not everyone can say they’ve seen a shooting star in the same way not many can say they’ve witnessed the production process with three of the most talented producers in the game. They’re unreal.

A knock against your doorframe shocks you out of your thoughts. You drag your foot against the floor to turn your chair.

Chan, dressed in an outfit similar to that of boys’ night, awaits your attention. Sweat lines his forehead, glistening his skin. You can guess where he’s been.

“Hey.”

“I need your help.” His words were trailing your simple greeting so close you could say he interrupted you. Seriousness brings his face into a dimness, slightly intimidating you.

“With?” you prompt.

He leans against the frame with his arm, replaying his words in his head over and over before spitting them out, “I kind of told my dad I’d bring a date to his next party.”

“Oh?” you say, slowly realizing. “Oh.”

“Will you do it?” His features twist into a nervous reflection.

“Sure, if you pay for my outfit.”

You say this as a joke, but he fails to convey it this way. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Does Loba need a cat tree by any chance?”

He doesn’t await your answer as he slips back into the hall. Was that conversation even real?

An indistinguishable whiplash conquers your body into a sudden realization. You turn to your desk, scooping your phone into your hands and texting Minho, beginning with, “When you see this…”

ix.

Certainly, Chan is a man of his word. From the mere month you’ve known him, you should have gathered this. But as you stand in his living room, decked out in some outfit he carefully chose for you, it blares against all of your senses in bright, evident clarity.

Minho’s message buzzes against your palm.

Lee Knows: Loba’s conked already, two minutes after she ate. Have fun ;)

You: Lol thanks again for taking care of her.

Lee Knows: Of course. Anything for my bestest friend in the world. Now, a night of yearning!

The only way to describe this feeling rooted in the base of your stomach are the words: raw emotion. It’s a cluster. Jitters mixed with a blend of uncertainty and a weird elation? To be fair, you are about to lie your way through expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres. What even are those?

Regardless, one thing is certain. Minho was right. It’s...discouraging to admit. Frankly, you’d ignore it for as long as possible if you could. But adoration is difficult. In your face. Forward, some would refer to it as.

God, this is all Minho’s fault.

“Ready?” Chan’s shoes click against the hardwood as he departs from his dark hole of a room. He looks stunning, though his attire isn’t much different from his office wear. A small sign of rebellion appears in his appearance, which ignites a flame in your chest.

Chan brings a hand to where your eyes are burning a whole into—his hair. The curls are there, less accentuated than bro night, but evident. “Ah, I didn’t really want to straighten it. I’ve already had fried hair one too many times in my life.”

“It looks nice,” you smile. Your throat tightens as you swallow. “You look nice.”

“Same for you,” he allows a prolonged scan of you. Sheepishly, you do one of those cheesy twirls you always see in the romance movies before Prom night or whatever expensive evening the protagonists are attending. Sincerely, with all the love rampaging through your chest, you’re going to kill Minho for cursing your life like this.

He snaps out of his trance, starting for the door. “We should get going.”

Aside from the quiet hum of the radio, the ride to the venue is silent. It wouldn’t be complete without hitting every redlight, either. Jisung’s luck must have rubbed off on you when you had that group hug.

You sit at one now, red gleaming against your face as you stare out at the sidewalk vacant of pedestrians. No one’s even at any of the other lights.

“You okay?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you turn back to him.

“Good,” he nods, instantly averting your eyes.

Perhaps you should have found a way to decline. Even Loba would have been a better date option. At least she has chemistry with him.

x.

To no one’s surprise, the venue is huge. Potentially larger than the stadium. From ceiling to the carpeted floor, decorated properly with the black tie theme.

Chan reluctantly grabs your hand before you tackle the crowd. If you were cold, the warmth radiating against your palm is sufficient for heating the rest of your body. Unluckily, though, you aren’t cold. Your hand feels clammy in his. If he wasn’t attracted to you before, he certainly isn’t now.

You stare at your shoes as you follow.

“Just a heads up about my dad,” he glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there, despite the tether between you, “he most definitely thinks we’re dating, so be prepared for questions.”

“Oh great,” you mumble. How do you cure a lovesick heart? What an ambiguous question offering up to a plethora of potential answers. One incorrect answer, though: acting out romance. In real time, too.

“Sorry, I probably should have told you sooner. Kind of slipped my mind,” he squeezes your hand in apology.

Even when you break out into a free space, his hand doesn’t pull from yours. Instead, he slightly tightens the hold as he approaches an older man. Without any prior knowledge (ie. not Googling his dad after he cried on your kitchen floor over the bastard), you could guess this is his dad. They practically have the same face. Striking differences, however, given some context.

“Hey,” the man grins, eyes shifting curiously between you and his son.

You dip your head in respect. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bang.”

His hand claps your shoulder as you look up. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Silence hangs onto the end of his sentence as he glances at Chan for help.

“Y/N,” Chan offers. Your name sounds pretty coming from him.

“Y/N,” his father repeats. You want to sock him for saying your name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Would have been nicer if Chan had given a little notice,” he laughs for you, alternatively offering a subtle, but not unnoticeable, glare to Chan.

Reflexively, your unoccupied hand clenches until you feel your nails pressing sharply into your skin. Discreetly, you nudge Chan’s arm with your elbow as a sign that you’re here. Slightly, his hand loosens in yours as his nerves slowly ease.

“Sorry, it’s kind of recent,” Chan laughs. His eyes crinkle into a faux delight.

“Of course,” his father nods. “Haven’t seen any articles about it yet, which is good. You might not want this being exposed to the GP.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Chan manages through gritted teeth, albeit hidden in a way only you could notice.

Then, as if the attack didn’t have a cooldown, he reaches up and tugs at one of Chan’s curls. “Your hair looks...interesting.”

It’s really difficult trying to remain neutral in the face of backhanded advice and compliments. Especially in front of this man, who shouldn’t even be given a title as esteemed as that. He’s scum stuck to the back of your old, rusty car that won’t go away in spite of however many power washes.

“Mr. Bang,” a waiter appears behind him, stealing his attention long enough for you to drag Chan in the opposite direction. He’ll find his way into a business conversation soon anyway. With no recollection of what he said to his son whatsoever. Considering his words will always stick with Chan, your face heats up.

You ignore Chan’s repelling tug, and his words that go in one ear and out the other. A hidden area near the bar is the only place where he has enough courage to stop you. But only because you let it happen.

“If we stayed there much longer, I would have caught an assault charge,” you huff.

“You handled it well, though,” he admits, “Even if you were about to break my hand.”

In the face of anger personified, he manages to smile and crack a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, finally pulling your hand away from his.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, glancing back at the bartender serving an established looking woman a margarita. Likely strawberry from its tint.

You shake your head, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, then, I’ll be back,” he reaches out to rub your shoulder before slipping back into the crowd. You’re jealous of the effect he has to just become invisible.

You pull your phone from its hidden spot and open Minho’s awaiting text.

Lee Knows: Has he made a move yet?

You: Why would he?

Lee Knows: Idk you’re kind of obvious.

Before you can answer, an incoming notification from Seungmin pops up.

Seungmo: Is it true that you like Chan?

Minho. Lee Minho. You grimace.

You: No comment.

Seungmo: Sweet. Jeongin owes me twenty bucks. But ew. Who would romantically like Chan?

The text really ties together with the barfing emoji.

“Who’s that?” the subject of both text logs peeks his head over your phone.

You snatch it back, instinctively turning it off. “Seungmin.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” Chan observes, placing the black straw between his lips. His drink is also tinted pink, but not in a margarita glass.

“Minho built the bridge during bro night. Now we plot behind his back,” you joke, promptly making Chan choke. He coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he sputters.

“Don’t do that when I’m drinking!” he laughs.

Your chest heaves as you try to stifle the laugh building up in your chest.

“Oh come on, you’re even gonna have the nerve to laugh at me?” he tips his head to look at your quivering frame. He finds this funny, but he can’t just not tease you. That’s not in the rule book.

“I’m not laughing,” you try to convince him, lips pressed into a fine line as quick breaths leave your nose.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes.

If he were being honest with you, he was doing this as a ploy to take your mind off of his dad. Honesty isn’t one of his finer points, though. So he stays quiet.

“Do you want a sip?” he offers the fruity looking drink to you.

“What is it?” you ask, but accepting the glass anyway.

“Just a strawberry mimosa.”

Again, if he were honest, he’d tell you he only got it to share with you. It was a shot in the dark, neutral enough. But, again, not one of his stronger urges. Minho would refer to this as him ‘making a move’, unbeknownst to you.

You take a quick sip. Humming in approval, you hand it back to him. “It’s good, I can barely even taste the alcohol.”

He fixes his hair absentmindedly as a passing conversation arises. Subject: Minho. Goal: offering both parties ammunition for his next offhand comment or prank.

“Did you know that Minho talks in his sleep?” you laugh.

Chan pulls at a curl, pulling it straight. “He seems like the type.”

You reach up and flick his wrist.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about what your dad said,” you scold. The nerves in your stomach dissipate as your hand ruffles his hair, fluffing it out. He looks more relaxed as you pull away.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t apologize, or I’ll punch you next time.”

“I can see why you and Minho get along so well.”

xi.

By the time you’re set free from the hell of socializing with all of Chan’s dad’s friends who last saw him when he was ‘this high’, the effects of the single mimosa wear off. Luckily for Chan, you drank most of it, so he’s set to drive.

“My feet hurt,” you complain. Maybe it would have been smart to break in the fancy shoes Chan invested for you before the event.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Chan asks, turning to you.

Against all voices inside of you screaming to decline, your pain receptors answer for you. “That’d be great, since you're offering.”

He bends his knees slightly and holds his arms slightly out. When you jump onto his back, he doesn’t even react.

“Do you religiously workout or something?” you joke, though true curiosity shines through your words. You’re pretty obvious.

“Duh. Every breathing moment I’m not working or crying over my dad. It’s a stress reliever.” Your arms, hanging from his neck, feel each vibration in his chest as he laughs.

As he readjusts his hands beneath your thighs, maintaining a steady hold of your body against his, your body grows warm and you can envision your cheeks glowing red. Minho was so right. And the field day he’s going to have with the upcoming weeks until the joke grows stale. You shiver at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Chan asks.

“Oh, no, I was just thinking about Minho.”

“Scary,” Chan mimics his own shiver at the mention.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, his steady steps drawing your eyes shut.

The silence you find is unparalleled to the one in the car earlier. This one is comfortable, homely even. So much so that you feel yourself fall asleep.

xii.

When you get to his apartment, he nudges your shoulder.

Your eyes slowly open, fighting against the dull light from the roof of his car.

“You can spend the night at my house. I’m not confident in pulling a sleeping body out of a car. Putting you in was hard enough,” he chuckles.

You manage a smile and hazily push the passenger door open. From the rest, your feet should be fine walking to the elevator (since there’s one less body than bro night, you’ll fit) and to his apartment. Still, he wraps his arm around your shoulders to steady you all the way up to his front door.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he says as you fall onto his couch. You didn’t acknowledge how comfortable it was just from sitting on it. Honestly, it feels like a normal mattress.

He returns from his room quickly with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both black, as you could have guessed.

You walk to the bathroom and sleepily tug your fancy outfit off, careful not to ruin it. As you pull his shirt over your head, a rush of his cologne hugs you. You fight off the ‘I could get used to this’ comment that floats through your head.

You don’t remember walking back to the couch. But you remember Chan pulling a blanket up to your chin.

xiii.

Chan pokes your cheek, drawing you away from your precious dream of living in a cottage on the seafront—conveniently with him. You whine, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to ward him away. Dream Chan is waiting for you.

“Y/N, come on. You can’t sleep on my couch all day.” The worst part is: you can hear the faux pout in his voice. And potentially worse: you definitely could sleep on this couch all day if your life depended on it. Even if it didn’t, to be honest.

“Go away,” you grumble.

He sighs. His presence beside you disappears for a few moments, long enough for sleep to momentarily return. The bubble of peace pops eventually.

“Hey, Minho,” his voice returns, slightly muffled by the distance and the cloth pressed against your ear.

This is enough to spring liveliness into your bones. You sit up, hateful eyes shooting in the direction of the voice. When you see him laughing, his dark phone pressed against his ear, you reel. “One of these days, I’m gonna leave your company and then your stocks are gonna plummet,” you groan.

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” he counters, dropping his hoisted arm to his side.

“I have more, but they're still closed off. You know, since you’ve rudely interrupted my sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Not really, though. It’s like noon.”

“And?”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he laughs.

“What, do you have a date to attend?”

Awaiting his response, you reach for your phone on the coffee table. Two missed calls. A few Snapchats from Seungmin, likely pictures of his new puppy, but no matter.

“I wish. I have to meet up with Jisung. Pressing news he has to tell me, too confidential to be told over text.”

“He’s gonna confess,” you shoot him a look.

“Yes, because Han Jisung would be in love with me,” he starts for the kitchen. An extended arm pulls at the fridge, and he pulls two waters out.

“To be fair, if I were Jisung, I’d probably be in love with you,” you say, obviously without much thought behind it.

Okay. In your defense, you were a little too focused on reading Minho’s latest string of confusing messages. Trying to decipher the code, Chan’s response passes right through you like a ghost.

Lee Knows: Y/N you won’t believe this.

Lee Knows: Loba’s gonna be so happy.

Lee Knows: I know you’re probably cuddled up with Chan or whatever but call me ASAP.

Chan lowers himself beside you, tossing the cold water in your lap. He peeks over your shoulder. “Huh. That’s pretty much what Jisung said to me.”

“Why are you invading my privacy?” you glare at him, considering elbowing him precisely between the ribs. Ultimately deciding against it, of course. Through tense internal conflict.

“Really? You’re sitting on my couch, in my clothes, refusing to leave, and you wanna talk about privacy?”

Just because he has a point doesn’t mean he should voice it. Plus, he offered the clothes. And the couch for you to sleep on. It really just seems like a self jab to you.

“Should I call him?” Your finger glides across your bottom lip as you look at him for an answer.

“Sure, why not?” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Let’s see what Jisung and Minho have conspired this time.”

The ring echoing sparks a nervous pit in your stomach. You pick at the sticker of the water bottle. It feels like forever by the time he answers.

“Morning, sunshine,” Minho’s sweet voice reeks of sarcasm.

“You’re on speaker, by the way,” you close your eyes to avoid looking at Chan’s burning eyes.

“Oh perfect, you are too,” Jisung joins in, a dry laugh escaping his throat.

“We have some questions,” Minho begins, but fails to continue.

“Such as?” Chan prompts.

“Are you guys dating yet?” Jisung bluntly jumps to the case.

Your heart rams against your chest. That ‘yet’ tugs at your insides.

“Uh, no,” you draw out.

“The media sure thinks otherwise,” Minho jabs.

Chan’s already searching for the articles by the time you can react.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back against the couch in frustration, tilting his phone towards you so you can see.

CEO Bang Chan Lands a Date Weeks Before Comeback.

Bang Caught With Employee?

Bang Chan, CEO, Makes a Striking Appearance at Dad’s Gala.

“What? Did you really think there wouldn’t be journalists there? Come on Chan, do better.” You never knew Jisung had this cutting edge to him. If the words were aimed at you, you know you’d break down. It’s a miracle that Chan is this composed.

“Can you calm down? My god,” you say without realizing. “It’s not like we can’t fix this.” How, though, you ponder?

“If it makes you feel any better,” Minho reluctantly says, like this sentence could put his life on the line, “you looked cute.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. In any other circumstance, you’d be quick to mock him. Well. At least he’s not outwardly making fun of you. Another one of Minho’s late night insights seeping into your thoughts: see the positive.

A text notification drops down against your screen. Despite having the luxury of using his voice, it’s Minho.

Lee Knows: Would now be a bad time to out you?

You: Horribly.

“Well,” Jisung draws in a sharp breath.

“Good luck,” Minho finishes for him.

After he hangs up, promptly after letting you know he fed Loba this morning, you pick up the water bottle and place it against your cheek. The shocking chill redirects your nerves momentarily.

You try not to look at Chan, but you know he’s looking at you.

After a moment to catch your breath, he sighs, “I have an idea.”

It takes an effort to pull your attention to him. A war against yourself.

“Play along with me for a second,” he says, pulling his leg beneath him as he repositions himself beside you. Fully facing you, taking in your entire being—which doesn’t help your burning skin. You’d give anything to be invisible right now.

“What if,” he starts, “we go along with it?”

You laugh in his face. “Are you sure that wouldn’t blow up even worse? Imagine people finding out we faked it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”

He messes with his fingers, suddenly finding an intense interest in the linework of them. He rubs his thumb against the crease of his ring finger. “I don’t think anyone would have to find out it’s fake, per se.”

“How are you so confident?” You look at him in awe. Even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense and under pressure, he looks like a god. Calm as ever. It’s horrifying for your heart. And for common sense, but that’s not as important right now.

“I don’t think Minho would lie to me.”

“What does Minho have to do with this?”

His dimple shows itself as a measly smile crosses his lips. “He may have told me.”

Regardless of what he may have spilled, you know instantly. “You’re kidding me,” you huff. What was the point of his dramatic message, then? A distraction, maybe.

“I mean it’s okay. It’s not like it’s not reciprocated or anything.”

“You are unbelievable,” you shake your head. “How did you know and not say a single thing?”

His hands shoot up in defense. “To be fair, I didn’t find out until after you fell asleep last night. For the second time. He texted me with this whole ‘I know something you don’t’ facade. I wasn’t going to act on it until I had a stupidly romantic plan, but then this happened,” he gestures around the room, as if it’s the decor’s fault. He’s quick to add, “And I couldn’t do that as soon as they said anything about the articles. That’d kinda ruin the mood, don’t you think?”

So Chan’s probably not good with looking amazing under pressure—he very well could be, but you wouldn’t know that right now. Which slightly irritates you, but no matter.

“Well,” you sigh. “I guess that solves the problem.”

He nods, looking at you solemnly.

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed, though,” you comment, and he laughs.

“I know.”

Funny. As soon as the problem jumped at you, the imminent solution scared you just as fast. Your head hurts from the whiplash. That must be a pattern with him.

“You know what’s kinda perfect about this?” he says after a moment.

“Tell me.”

“We can write love songs together now. Isn’t that cool?” The sheer joy in his face shatters any aggravation left in your veins. A smile creeps up on you.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re madly in love with a nerd so I don’t see what your point is.”

You pull the pillow out from behind your back and chuck it at his head.

“Oh so you’re trying to kill your beloved love interest? Real classy, Y/N.”

“Please just shut up and kiss me already,” you lean over halfway and wait for him to meet you.

Kissing a major CEO doesn’t feel much different than kissing a normal person, but there’s a striking flare of passion to it. Maybe that’s a personal thing.

His lips fit against yours in a way that makes your soul instantly tethered to him. You hope he can’t feel your heartbeat against your lips, for it’s pulsing rather loud and antsy for you.

Chan radiates warmth in every piece of his body, extending all the way to his aura. If it wasn’t for your pesky lungs running out of air, you’d never pull away.

xiv.

In spite of his idea for a romantic confession going down the drain as soon as he decided to think one up, he makes up for it with incessant gestures. Bringing you snacks when he should be in meetings. Buying you sweets when you get stressed. Purchasing Loba a huge cat tree, even though she doesn’t need to be spoiled further. Spending the night at your house even when his is way more comfortable for the sheer reason that Loba would feel lonely.When you mention taking her with you, he’d say, “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with the new environment.”

He even postponed bro night because you got sick and wanted to be the one to take care of you.

You don’t need reminders that he loves you, but it’s all the while heartwarming when he says it.

Even now, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, he’s thinking aloud in romance land. “What if we went on a vacation to France for Christmas? Isn’t Paris the city of love?”

You watch the TV, but his voice drowns out all of the dialogue. “I don’t know, Chan. Why can’t we stay here?” you shift in his arms to roll over and face him. This close, as you’ve grown accustomed to these past months, you can count all of his eyelashes. And you can see tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks. It must be an Aussie thing.

He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “We can stay here. I’m fine with that.”

Loba jumps onto the bed, her collar jingling with her sudden movement to warn you she’s arrived. You pull away from Chan a little to make room for her between you. “Here comes the princess,” you feign disappointment with a sigh.

She claims her spot between your chests and curls herself into a ball, burying her face in Chan’s chest. Per usual. She often forgets who feeds her around here.

“Anyway,” Chan leans over her, kissing your lips gently, “I’m okay wherever. As long as you’re with me.”

After a beat of silence, you cup his cheek delicately and say, “Let’s go to the moon.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “Let’s go to the moon.”

xv.

He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, setting a bottle of water in front of you.

Jisung gags from across the room. “Get a room,” he complains.

“You are a grown man and you can’t handle a couple being affectionate?” Changbin criticizes. “Get a life, dude.”

“Yeah,” you chime in, “Just ‘cos you live a poor, single life doesn’t mean you can hate on us.”

“Jeez, I didn’t sign up for slander on this Monday morning.”

“You definitely asked for it, but let’s get to work.” Chan draws his phone from his pocket and prepares for the official meeting regarding 3Racha’s next comeback.

God’s Menu was well received from the public, sending Chan’s dating scandal into the shadows. Minho basked in the compliments on the choreography. Seungmin whined when no one on Twitter noticed he was the vocal coach—and Minho didn’t make it much better by rubbing his glory in Seungmin’s face every chance he got. And you couldn’t get Chan to stop showing you funny Tweets and praise for nearly a month. Likely longer.

Here you sit in Chan’s office at the beginning of the new year. A lot of things can go south during six months, but things can shoot north too. Generally, for you, it’s been pretty north.

This time around, Jisung has calculated his homework and broadcasts his thoughts onto the wall.

“I already know what you’re gonna choose for the title track, so let’s choose B-sides,” he adds the disclaimer before anyone can mutter a peep.

“I don’t know about you all,” Chan dips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against his desk, “but I’d say I’m pretty confident in writing a love song right now.”

You groan alongside Jisung. “Stop talking.”

Here we go on the hunt for the song of the new year. Conquer the competition before anyone has a chance. Like you did in creating the song of the summer.

[zenerrocksmc]

Some Notes: This is set following the events of Network Effect. So spoiler warning for anyone who hasn’t gotten there yet.

I am curious if this is some that would interest youse.

This is not a final edit, if there’s anything you think of or notice feel free to mention it.

Chapter 1:

Performance Reliability at 92%. Maintenance may be required.

I did not know what I wanted quite yet, but it certainly was not this.

Overall, I did not mind being on the station with Murderbot 1.0 and ART’s crew, but being here alone, without even Murderbot 1.0, was not what I wanted. I only realised that after walking out of line of sight of ART’s hatchway- but I lacked a reason to go back. I did not know what was wrong with me. Murderbot 1.0 had done this and done it on its own accord. My personal assessment identified that leaving had been a mistake. Which I was inclined to agree with considering what happened to its clients because it left, but when Murderbot 1.0 started talking to me about how this would be the best station to get off on and how to move around like a travelling human, giving me its coded protocols to mirror human movements… Declining its orders had not felt like an option.

It was hard. I still did not quite understand how to decline requests from humans, they still felt like commands. Declining another SecUnit who had done this before, survived and found their own humans, was irresponsible. I did think I wanted my own humans… However, I enjoyed sharing and helping both ART and Murderbot 1.0’s humans. And now I had no humans, no other Units, not even a ship. I sadly started longing for a human supervisor at a minimum… which was not a logical response. It was still strange having all of these emotions- they had always been there to a degree but limited significantly by the governor module. Wanting things was strange. Wanting illogical things was exponentially stranger.

Whilst trying to make myself useful, I had been reading during the cycles leading up to arriving here. I liked one called “Mirror’s Tears”. A character in it who ended up in a medical centre said to their platonic partner, “The world is all colours but all I see are grey undertones.” Apparently, it is a literary device, and I have kept gravitating to it. I think it is my “favourite”. That is also strange. It was overwhelming, feeling everything and nothing at once. Watching the serials Murderbot 1.0 and ART favoured had helped, and reading had helped, but the sensation that something was missing remained. Maybe I had a broken component somewhere. I had not worked up the courage to ask ART to check, however. And now it was too late.

I felt like I was failing on my first cycle of being a free-roaming rogue SecUnit in a completely human space, where the humans did not know what I was. My body was already doing strange things like my lungs feeling like they were being compressed and the thought of humans knowing I was a Unit, a rogue SecUnit. On my own, wandering around. It was making my organic components secrete moisture. Especially my hands. The skin overlay on my face would flush with heat whenever a human would look at me. Alterations to my form were not that new but the additional skin around my joints felt itchy within these clothes- I could feel every seam that touched organic components. I never knew if I was making eye-contact for too long or too little because every second felt more and more anomalous, more like thirty-minutes when it was a mere 0.3 seconds.

I was alone.

There was an odd clogged sensation in my throat that wanted to escape.

I did not like it.

[deadmunds-ghostbee]

Is Love Doesn't Burn the college fic or the one where they meet in his aunt's house?

I’ve tabled the “meeting in Kent” fic for a bit bc the inspiration never really struck to fill in the details. Love Doesn’t Burn is another modern one (bc let’s be honest they’re waaay easier to write, low hanging fruit and all) and since it’s a braided story of ‘Then’ and ‘Now’ it’s only half college au.

Still only chugging along at 40K, but here’s the first thousand or so bc I’m feeling spontaneous and want to keep myself accountable! We begin in the present

Now:

For most of his life, Anthony thought 30 would be the beginning of his end.

Eight years. Less than a decade left of family brunches and empty nights; fewer than 3,000 afternoons going through the motions, and even less mornings where he would wake up and feel for only the quickest second that maybe he was made for more than just this misery.

That was, of course, before dread drew him back into the hollow cavity of himself and he hoisted himself from bed.

On those many cold mornings he would blandly ponder the ceiling and wonder, when it came time for him to die would he wheeze to the floor like his father did, or merely collapse in on himself?

Questions.

Ones, he now knew, probably wouldn’t be answered.

Because he was thirty.

Because he finally knew better.

Because he’d managed to train the brain that constantly told him he was the unluckiest motherfucker in the world to see the truth of that same indifferent world: that he was so lucky.

Modern times came with highly trained mental health professionals and the option of a well-timed Xanax. And that helped.

He was also rich and liked his job and had the biggest most annoying family in existence, which also helped. And somehow, with distance and maturity (and the help of more highly trained mental health professionals), they were all getting along.

So it had taken the privilege of wealth, familial love and understanding, and a somewhat functioning healthcare system to make him slowly realize that he might have more than 3,000 days to live.

Grown men shouldn’t require that much support to merely not self-destruct, but that was shame he would painstakingly unravel the next time his therapist saw through one of his cryptically self-degrading comments.

Hell, it certainly wasn’t something he wanted to unravel at his thirtieth birthday dinner, but he also couldn’t help but acknowledge that this day, this moment—looking down the long table dappled with his siblings and their disagreeing pouts and loud guffaws and shooing hands and the suspiciously empty bread basket in front of Colin—was an inflection point.

It may not be the beginning of an end or some equally melodramatic thing, but it was significant.

Proof itself would walk through the doors in only a few minutes, after all.

But in the meantime, Anthony felt new (and old, so old) all the same.

It left him staring down the face of thirty not with regret, but with dreary eyes. That was because, while saner, healthier, and dare-he-say happier (it was a low bar), looking out at his long life stretched before him was a fuckton more boring.

Forcibly turning oneself away from hopelessness didn’t restore hope itself. An entire convention of highly trained mental health professionals probably couldn’t help that and neither could his family. He had to do it himself, and to be quite frank, he wasn’t sure he had the energy.

He loved his family. His siblings had grown into smart, kind and loving people who somehow couldn’t behave themselves in a restaurant. Him and his mother got on well for the most part and began talking about his father outside of midnight screaming matches in the study. Things were fine, fucking splendid even, and while he loved them he was very sure he’d never love anyone else.

The kind of love that wasn’t woven into the fabric of your being, the kind that wasn’t gentle or unconditional, the kind that only defined itself in negatives—it simply wasn’t for him:

Romantic love, to be horrific about it. No doctor or chemical rebalance could convince him otherwise.

He knew this because he could have. Could have loved with every goddamn nerve-ending in his ticking time-bomb of a body. Could have bared his too-soft teeth and presented his heart in his palms in all its bloody, heaving glory.

One of them might’ve taken it in her bare hand and shoved it right back in his mouth, but he didn’t even let them try.

That was the real nail in the proverbial coffin: he’d failed. Twice. One even worse than the other.

So as he did that dull-eyed once over at the too-full life before him, he acknowledged the negative space where hopelessness used to be. Thirty years stared back, a taunting of ‘Look at all you’ve squandered. Look at all you have left.’

And then fate—or maybe something even more cruel—smacked him in the face.

The door opened. Innocuous footsteps crossed the restaurant floor.

A catch of breath and a lick of heat, reflexive and rooted deeper than he remembered.

“Kate.”

—

Lol and then we cut back to seven years earlier to the start of our journey.

Anthony is maybe being very cynical and dramatic but don’t worry about him so much, good things are coming 😉 Kate’s doing well in the present too, just moved back to the city and got herself a hot date, so what could go wrong?

Hope you enjoyed! 😊

[panda-noosh]

taste test {kaz brekker x reader}

   there are guests today.

    little information was given to you, but you don’t mind; you’re not here to entertain anyone. you’re here to do your job and move on. who the king associates with is honestly none of your concern. 

   you’ll leave the assassins to the royal guards.

    you wake on the day to witness the palace in hysterics. chefs bustle around like headless chickens, maids and butlers ironing uniforms that have not had a crinkle in them since the war. the scent of food - a cacophany of it - rises to the surface, making you crinkle your nose at the onslaught of different options. all you want is a slice of toast to prepare you for the day, but the thought of walking into that kitchen has you cuddling up in bed for a few minutes longer.

    you’ll have to eat that food pretty soon. just a small bite, just enough to get a taste. a hint. 

   you close your eyes.

    the peace doesn’t last long, because it never does. a knock sounds at your door, startling you from your reverie. you roll over, not even bothering to cover yourself when you call out, “come in!”

    a palace guard - rico - peaks his bald head round the door and raises a brow. “still sleeping?”

   “clearly not.”

    “good. you need to be up and at your post in thirty minutes; we have guests today.”

   you pull the quilt over your head. “don’t remind me.” you peak an eye over the top, raising a brow. “who are the guests?”

   rico narrows his eyes. “you haven’t been told?”

   “well, no. i never really asked.”

    “then i’ll leave it as a surprise.” he claps his hands, like you’re some kind of dog. “get ready. i don’t want to come back up here again.”

   “then don’t,” you reply, but he’s already disappeared.

    you drag yourself from bed to do as he ordered. there’s no point arguing with the palace guards - they seem to think they own the place, even though they live basically under the thumb of every other individual walking the grounds. even you, the lowest of the low, can manipulate them into doing what you want if you just try hard enough. a few sweet words and a confident tone, and they’re like putty in your hands.

    but the truth is, you don’t care enough about todays events to put on that confident tone. you pull your clothes on, fiddle with your bow tie, and head downstairs to see what the day has in store for you.

    breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

    a risky day ahead.

    you’re required to be at the kings side long before the guests arrive. you’ve never questioned it. the rules of the palace have never made any sense to you, but you go along with them, because you don’t want to get into any more trouble than you already have. that’s why you find yourself stood by the kings side in silence, hands clasped in front of you, trays of delicious breakfast foods being delivered by hasty, sweaty porters.

    the dining room is swathed in beautiful decor. banners hang from the ceiling, red and gold colours matching the grand wallpaper all around. the fancy carpet has been rolled out, tucked beneath the long, mahogany dining table and stretching all the way to the double doors ready to greet the guests. 

   even the king is dressed well for the occasion, which is another surprise. though the king hardly looks like a peasant, he makes a point to put in as little effort with his appearance as possible, just to show people that he can get anyone to fear him from personality alone. his riches and fancy fabrics have nothing to do with his power.

    but today he wears his finest silk coat, the buttons straining against his round stomach. his beard has been freshly trimmed, and you watch his hand rock back and forth amongst the hairs. a few stray ones float from his chin to the table, and you quickly swipe them away. the king doesn’t even notice; he continues staring at the doors, one dark skinned knuckle tight around the arms of his throne-like chair. 

     finally, after what feels like forever, the double doors up ahead are pushed open. two palace guards dressed in red hold them in place, and a man is ushered in.

    a man you recognise immediately.

    he’s got a cane now, which is different. there’s those gloves on his hands, the sides of his head still shaved, with that shaggy, dark mess still perched on top, a school boys haircut that looks most out of place on someone with blood on his hands. he’s frowning, because that’s what kaz brekker does - the king shows his power through his booming voice and cruel choices. kaz brekker shows his power through his expressions. 

    you don’t meet his eyes, though you don’t look away. kaz has his gaze on the king, not even noticing you standing at his side, and for that you are thankful; you don’t think you want to look into those blue eyes again. you promised yourself you wouldn’t, not before the nightmares disappear.

    the king slowly stands. he rubs his beard one final time for good measure before saying, “you’re late, kaz.”

    “call me mr brekker,” kaz replies, before gesturing to an empty seat at the end of the table - the seat farthest from the king. “shall we sit?”

    you swallow; you’re familiar with this attitude from him, but you’ve been in the kings presence too long now to pretend kaz isn’t on thin ice. 

    the king, however, is clearly in a docile mood, as he nods and sits down. the food in the centre of the table goes unnoticed for a while as the two stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack and begin the conversation. you fiddle with your fingers, uncertain whether kaz has seen you, whether he recognises you, whether he’s just keeping a straight face because he’s kaz, and he’s a professional.

    finally, the king clicks his fingers at you. “stack my plate. you know the drill.”

   you burst into action, bustling round the table, scooping up different assortments of breakfast foods you know the king enjoys; he’s got his bacon, and his eggs, and the bread, pancakes on the side. you slather beans along the rim of his plate and place a single hash brown in the residue, just as he likes it.

   and then you sit down, and pick apart the entire thing.

    you can feel kaz’s eyes burning into you as you work, but you pay him no attention. you have to focus, because this is kind of a life or death situation. you sniff the food first, though this very rarely shows you anything you might need to worry about. it’s too fresh, still warm in your fingers when you lift it to your nose. you can smell only the warmth of it all, but you take the precaution anyway, just to show the king you know what you’re doing.

    and then you nibble the edges, heart thumping with nerves rather than poison entering your body. that’s what you’re looking for - poison, an assassination attempt. even in his own palace, the king is paranoid. his own staff have turned against him before. you’re not entirely surprised.

    you chew, swallow, pause, repeat.

    “all clear.”

   you hand the plate back, tuck your hands in your lap and look down at the table at kaz. he’s staring at you, an eyebrow raised, and you understand immediately that he recognises you, probably knew you worked here before he even entered the premise.

   was he here for you?

   you banish the thought and look away. you wait until the king has started digging in before excusing yourself and exiting, your job for the morning complete. at lunch, you will have to repeat the process, and again at dinner, but until then, you have the morning to yourself.

    you walk through the gardens, because fresh air is all you need right now. your heart is hammering, and you curse yourself for it - kaz brekker has not been in your life for months. he shouldn’t have a grip on you. he shouldn’t even know you are here, and yet he does, because of course he does. kaz doesn’t step foot anywhere until he knows the ins-and-outs of the entire place. he keeps his ducks all in a neat row, and you were a fool to believe you had escaped it.

    it’s not like kaz is a bad man. he’s evil, certainly, with horrible actions under his belt, but you can understand his reasoning. he kills a man, and maybe that’s an overexaggeration, but the man was also seconds away from traumatising a poor woman walking home from work. kaz takes a life, saving the day in the process. it’s how he works, how he’s always worked for as long as you’ve known him.

   and you’ve known him for a while.

   you haven’t been by his side in months, but someone like kaz brekker is someone you never forget. once you know kaz, you never stop knowing him, which is a curse more than anything else. oh, how you wish you could wipe the slate clean, pretend you never got involved with him and his gang in the first place. but that was your decision - your stupid, careless decision - and you need to face the consequences.

    having him here, at your place of work, was a consequence.

    you sit down by the stream just outside the palace grounds. a duckling struts past, paying you no attention whatsoever. a stray lilipad floats gently through the water, spurred on by the tiny breeze ketterdam has for you today.

     you like to come here sometimes, just to clear your head a little bit. nobody else bothers with the nice scenery and the nature; they think it’s a waste of time. if it wasn’t for the gardener, this place would be a wasteland, left to shrivel and disappear into shadow. you’re thankful it’s been kept pleasant, though - it’s a good place for someone who wants to have no thoughts for a little while.

    you lean down and run your fingertips along the water. it’s cold, and a weed gets tangled between your fingers. you lift it from the water with a wince, flicking your wrist to get it off-

    a cane clamps down on your fingers, shoving your hand into the grass.

   you inhale sharply, straightening up but not turning around.

    “so easy to startle,” kaz hums. “you’re losing your touch, y/n.”

    you twist your hand and catch the bottom of his cane, using it to pull yourself to your feet. kaz doesn’t stumble, but you never expected him to; kaz doesn’t stumble. he’s much too stubborn for that.

    you whirl around, and there he is, that frown on his face, his head tilted like he’s analysing you even before you’ve said two words. a heat festers in your belly. you don’t know if you want to hug him or slam your fist into his nose. 

    “so this is where you ended up, is it?” he glances at the grand gardens, the glistening lake, the ducklings swimming past. “you’ve surprised me, i gotta say. i never thought you’d be into such grandeur.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, cheeks heating up. you will admit, the palace is certainly not the place you thought to find yourself, either; after living in the barrel your entire life, you had grown used to dirt stained clothes, weeks without washing, hunger pains. this was different. this was a different type of hell, a hell in fancy clothes.

    “cat got your tongue?” kaz continues, swinging that stupid cane back and forth. “shame. i think we have a lot to talk about.”

   “why are you here?”

   “ah, asking the right questions now!”

   “just tell me, kaz. tell me, and then we can go our separate ways - just like you wanted.”

    his expression falters for a moment, so quick that it’s clear he doesn’t want you noticing the power you still have over him, even just a little. 

    “fine,” he says. “let’s walk.”

   you do just that, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted down. it’s easier to talk to him when you’re not subject to his facial expressions, too - handling both of them is too much. 

    “you want to know why i’m here,” he begins. “i’m here looking for you.”

    your stomach drops, even though that was kind of what you were expecting. 

    he pauses, giving you a chance to fill in the silence with your own thoughts, but you don’t even look up.

    he barrels on. “we had a tip-off from someone that you were working here now. no one else believed it, but me? i know you a little better than them. i was surprised, but i could picture it. you’ve always been irrational when you’re desperate.”

   you wince. “you don’t know me at all, kaz.”

    he smiled at the sky in response, like you had walked into his trap.

    “i hope you didn’t come here thinking you can coax me back to the barrel,” you continue. “that’s not going to happen.”

    his jaw clenches, head still tilted towards the sun. his skin is a little darker now, a little more tan. he’s probably been out and about, you think, causing havok in the sunshine, ruining people’s holidays because he can.

    “i thought you would say that,” he says. “so i’m bringing the problem to you.”

   you nearly stumble. “what?” freezing in the middle of the path, you grab his arm and whirl him around, forcing him to look at you. “what have you done, kaz? what problem?”

    “she asked for you.”

    “kaz-”

   “inej is sick.”

    your breath falters. those words, so simple, yet so . . . unexpected. inej ghafa - the wraith, your best friend, the girl designed to be indestructible. that’s why kaz picked her. that’s why she worked alongside you. that’s what made you the best damn crew in ketterdam.

    “sick.” 

    kaz nods, shrugging his arm from your grip. “sick. ill. not well. poorly. whatever you want to call it. she’s not doing good, and the only person she’s asking for is you.”

    “so where is she?” you whirl around. “is she here?”

   “not walking alongside us, no.”

   you scowl. “i mean at the palace, kaz. is she at the palace?”

   “she will be.” kaz pulls a golden watch from his pocket. “in about three hours. that should give your employer plenty of time to set my room up and make some space in the hospital wing, don’t you think?”

   you close your eyes, trying desperately to steady the thumping of your heart. he could be lying, and you know that, but what if he isn’t? what is inej really is on her death bed, and you never even got to say goodbye?

    the thought terrifies you to the point your hands begin to tremble. when you open your eyes, kaz is staring at them, and you’re almost certain there is something close to pity sparking there.

   you quickly snap your arms behind your back and nod. “fine. okay. i’ll see her. but once i’ve done what i can, you leave. both of you.”

    kaz studies your face. the fire in your stomach burns even brighter, forcing you to look away and keep walking.

    kaz follows, all soft footsteps. “i’m not here to bring up the past, y/n. i hope you know that.”

    “you can understand why i find that hard to believe.”

   “well, yes. but i’m serious. what we had, it means nothing now. you’re a different person, and so am i. we can let it go.”

    you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pretend those words are exactly what you wanted to hear. but a knot twists in your heart, almost to the point of pain.

   you take a deep breath and glance at him over your shoulder. he’s only a few steps behind, but his presence is so large, so there that you nearly trip. 

   and then you say, “we never had anything, kaz. remember that.”

----

   it’s like you’re trying to hurt each other.

   that’s how it’s always been between you and kaz, but at one point, it felt natural. it was a bit of fun. a few snide remarks here and there, followed by kaz confessing he thinks your eyes are a very pretty colour. a bit of sparring, followed by you telling kaz he’s the most important person in your life. 

   this time, however, the mere sight of him is a torment, one you don’t find fun in the slightest.

    the king tasks you with leading kaz through the palace. this was a job you fully expected to be given, but it doesn’t make it any easier. kaz stops to examine every little thing, tracing his fingers along artefacts you would be murdered for touching.     

   you swat his hand away when he reaches for a bust of the kings father. “stop it. if you knock that over, he’ll have you hanged.”

    kaz raises a brow before touching a gloved fingertip to the stone. you groan and march off, trying to ignore the butterflies at the sound of his soft, hidden chuckle echoing behind you.   

   you show him his room, a beautifully decorated space much grander than any room the king has ever given you. kaz whistles when he walks in, looking at the wine bucket on his chest of drawers, and the freshly made bed with the thick linens, and a view to die for.

    “spoiled,” he says.

   you roll your eyes. “i’ll leave you to get comfortable.”

    “or.” he whirls, catching your arm. his fingers slot in the crook of your elbow, the leather of his gloves sparking unwanted familiarity within you. “you can stay, and we can talk some more.”

   “i have things to do, kaz.” you rip your arm from his grip. “the king will be having lunch soon, and i need to be there.”

    kaz scoffs, slowly sliding the knot out of his tie and slipping it from beneath his collar, like undressing in front of you is no big deal. “so you can do what? potentially die? you know, y/n, i once thought you were a tough son of a bitch, but the longer i’m here, the more i’m realising just how weak you are.”

    ouch.

   “we’ve all got to make a living somehow,” you reply. “you murder people, i keep the king safe.”

    “the same king you wanted to assassinate a few months ago?” he tilts his head, pursing his lips. “what a drastic change of heart.”

   “go to hell, kaz.”

    he raises a hand. “wait for me outside; i’ll come to lunch with you and your king.”

   you pause. “has he invited you?”

   “i don’t need an invite.”

    “you’re not permitted to be there-”

   “i’ll be there.” he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “i want to watch you in action. you’ve always been very good in action.” he smirks, and you know he’s just teasing you, trying to get a reaction. your cheeks heat up, but you quickly turn on your heel and scurry out before he can notice. 

    you don’t wait on him outside. instead, you hurry to the dining hall, where the king is already seated. he looks up when you enter, fingers already tangled in his beard. his wife sits beside him, grand and tall and everything a queen should be. she scowls when you enter, but you ignore her, immediately taking your seat by the king and fanning a napkin over your lap.

    “sorry,” you say. “kaz brekker kept me.”

    “it’s mr brekker,” the queen snaps. “have some respect for our guests.”

   “y/n can call me kaz.”

   you close your eyes, listening to the thump of his feet and cane against the carpet. 

   “y/n can call me kaz,” he repeats, lowering himself in the chair at the head of the table. “mr brekker is a little too formal for them.”

     “mr brekker,” the queen exclaims, fanning her reddening face. “i wasn’t aware you would be joining us for lunch!” 

   you nearly roll your eyes at her flustered state - okay, so kaz is attractive. he’s also half her age.

    kaz leans back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together. “oh, no, i’m not eating. i’m just here to observe.” at the confused silence, he shrugs. “i have nothing better to do, and i’ve always been fascinated with the hobbies y/n takes on. such a talented soul they are.”

    you’ve never heard kaz speak so formal before, and you have half a mind to laugh. instead, you glance over to see his own lips trembling in his attempts to keep a straight face - he finds this just as amusing as you do. messing with the royals, it’s all a game to him. they are the fools. 

    “do you two know each other?” the king asks, handing you his stacked plate.

   “no,” you snap. kaz grins behind his glove, staring at you over his fingers as you hasten to add, “no, we don’t. i just met him today.”

    the king nods slowly, not quite sure whether to believe you or not. you don’t give him a chance to doubt any further before picking up your knife and fork and cutting a small chunk from a slice of tofu. you go through the usual routine with everything on his plate, but all the while, kaz stares. you feel his eyes like a fire sinking into the side of your face, putting you off from paying proper attention. you pop the cut-off’s in your mouth and chew, turning to meet his gaze, as if making eye contact with him is some kind of power move. however, he actually looks a bit. . . worried? concerned? you’ve never seen that expression on his face before, and it makes your stomach flip as you swallow the food.

    you give a final nod, handing the plate back to the king. you repeat the process with the queen before standing, straightening your trousers and excusing yourself.

    kaz’s chair screeches as he stands.

    “mr brekker, would you not care for some lunch?” the queen asks.

    “no.” he turns and follows you out the dining room, catching your arm when you try and run. “what the hell?”

    you spin, snatching your arm away. “can you stop grabbing me?”

    “what happens if their food actually has been poisoned?”

    “then i get poisoned.”

   he raises a brow, skin paling. “and do they have someone on hand for if that happens?”

   “on hand to do what?”

   “don’t play stupid, y/n. on hand to save your fucking life.”

   you scowl; it’s been a long time since you’ve heard kaz curse, and it shames you to feel the same thrill run over you. 

    “i get sent to the infirmary,” you reply. “but it’s never happened before.”

    “never happened-” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “this is the kind of life you want to live? you left the barrel for this?”

    “no life is as bad as the barrel.”

    kaz’s lips tighten, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he opens them again and says, “you left the place where people loved you, cared about you, and you came here. to this shit hole. you’re risking your life for them, and you have the nerve to tell me this life isn’t as bad as the barrel?”

    even to you it sounds ridiculous, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. 

    “the barrel wasn’t a life,” you say. “the barrel was a beginning for me, but i’ve moved on.”

    “you don’t move on from that.”

   “maybe not mentally, but i can damn well get away physically.” you lean in, lowering your voice. “i just wish you’d let me.”

    his eyes scan your face, drawing attention to just how close you are to him. his breath fans your cheeks. you can make out every line on his lips, every crease in his face. you could lean forward if you wanted to, close that distance.

    you step back, once again straightening your trousers. “tell me when inej arrives and i’ll come meet her in the infirmary.”

    kaz doesn’t say anything. he watches you leave, and part of you - a retched, traitorous part - is disappointed he doesn’t follow. 

   ----

    inej really is sick.

   “so it’s true,” you say, sauntering into the infirmary. “the wraith has been beaten.”

    you’re trying to jest, but there’s little humour to be felt when she looks like that. her dark skin is pale and sickly, warm drops of sweat clinging to her forehead and rolling down her neck. she’s dressed in only a thin night gown, revealing collar bones and stretched skin where her muscles once were. 

   she looks up, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and even in sickness, she manages a smile when she sees you. that’s enough to have you breaking. you rush to her bedside and bundle her in your arms, nearly sobbing with relief at the feel of her pressed against you, her hands in your hair, her mouth inches from your ear.

   she whispers, “it’s you.”

   you pull away, nodding. “yes. it’s me.”

    “what are you doing here?”

    you pull a chair over and sit down. “that’s not important.”

    “yes, it is.”

   “i’ll explain later.” you lean forward, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “you talk first; what’s going on?”

   inej coughs into her elbow; something rattles in your throat, and you try desperately to hide your wince. “i just got sick. i fell in the brig a few days ago, and i don’t think the water was very healthy.”

   “of course it wasn’t,” you grumble. “it’s the barrel, you stupid girl. what did you expect?”

    “i cleaned myself pretty well afterwards,” she defends. 

   “clearly not well enough.” you place a hand to her cheek. “has anyone come to see you?”

   “some man in a coat,” she replies, nuzzling down in the pillows. “he checked my temperature and my blood pressure and all that stuff. said he’d be back soon.”

   “and he didn’t seem . . . concerned?”

   inej shrugs. “i didn’t look him in the eye. men like him don’t sit right with me, y/n. i let him do his job, but i’m not looking at him. i’m not giving him ideas.”

   you nod. there is a silence, but those are okay between you and inej. 

    finally, you reach over and take her hand. her palms are clammy, cold, but her grip is strong. 

    “i’m sorry i wasn’t there to help you.”

    her head snaps around, eyes widening. “y/n-”

   “i know you always say you understand why i left, but it’s just. . . i don’t know. i feel guilty about it. i feel selfish sometimes, and you’ve had to travel all the way here whilst you’re in this state all because i wasn’t there to-”

    “has kaz been making you feel guilty?”

   your mouth snaps closed. “i don’t. . . i don’t think so?”

    inej sighs, head dropping back into the pillows. “don’t listen to him. i understand why you left; i always have. kaz just. . . i don’t think he ever got over it when you disappeared. it was like a part of him went with you.” she shrugs. “a part of him did go - you.”

    silence again, because you have no idea how to respond to that. kaz was hurt when you left, and you know that, but he’s kaz. he’s tough. he’s been through everything a person should never have to go through. the thought of his final straw being you is almost laughable to think about.

    “he loved you,” inej continues, even though you don’t want her to. “he really, really loved you.”

    “past tense,” you whisper. “not any more.”

    inej smiles sadly, and that’s all you need to see to understand you’re right - he’s moved on. he’s here with you now, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. he’s here on business. he doesn’t care about you, and he said it himself - whatever the two of you had is gone, non-existent. you thought you had come to terms with that, but seeing the confirmation on inej’s face makes you feel suddenly exhausted.

    “well this isn’t about kaz and i,” you say, pulling your shoulders back. “come on. tell me what’s been going on since i left.”

   ---

    you’re trying to sleep when you hear the bang.

    trying being the key word. always. every night, you put your best efforts into drifting to sleep, but it never seems to work how you want it to. you toss and turn for hours on end, drifting in and out of your associative state, but not really falling asleep. time just passes, and then it’s day time, and you’re working again.

   tonight is no different.

   the bang is loud, just next door to your room. your ears immediately prick - the palace guards aren’t moving towards it. you’re already awake, so you may as well see to it yourself.

   you swing your legs out of bed, grab your dressing gown and walk into the hallway. glancing back and forth, you see nothing out of the ordinary.

   the bang sounds again.

   you narrow your eyes, walking further down the hallway. turning a corner, the bang sounds one final time before a pair of shoes flies at the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap.

   you rush forward, eyes wide. “what the-”

   kaz spins, another pair of expensive shoes already in his hand. “oh. did i wake you?”

    dazed, you snatch the shoes into your possession and toss them to the floor. “what the fuck are you doing, kaz? people are trying to sleep!”

    “i was also trying to sleep,” kaz replies. “i am one of those people, so why are you yelling at me?”

   you rub your eyes in frustration - sometimes talking to him is like pulling teeth.

   “oh, come on,” kaz says. “i was just doing a bit of late night cleaning. this room is a fucking shit hole.”

    you raise a brow, sighing. “what are you on about? this room was pristine when you came.”

    “yeah, well, i thought so too. and then i found this.” he motions for you to enter the room, and though you know it’s a bad idea, you do so. he hooks his foot around something beneath his bed, and pulls out a box overflowing with expensive shoes.

   you narrow your eyes. “what’s the problem?”

   “rich men shoes,” he says, like that explains everything. after knowing kaz as deeply as you do, it kind of does make sense.

   you sigh again, kicking the box back beneath the bed. “go to sleep, kaz.”

    “i can’t.”

    “try.”

   “you know i can’t.”

   you pause, overcome with a sudden chill. you wrap the dressing gown tighter around your body, trying to refrain from looking at him - he’s still dressed in the fancy clothes he wore this morning, but the top button is pulled loose, and his hair is a mess. his eyes droop a little, evidence that he really wants to sleep, but genuinely just can’t.

   and you know why.

   “i’m not asking you to stay with me,” he continues, grabbing a pair of socks from the floor. “i’m just saying - you have no right telling me to sleep when you know what it’s like.”

    “are they bad again?”

    kaz purses his lips. “they’ve been bad for a while.”

   a while. that’s how he always phrases it. when he says it’s been a while, he means it’s been a while since you left the crows, left him. 

    you swallow, looking to the ceiling like the intricate design will give you clarity. “i can get you tea or something. a fresh blanket. whiskey.”

    “trying to get me drunk?”

   “kaz, i’m serious.” you meet his eyes. “you look terrible.”

    he laughs, a sly sound that reeks more of danger than amusement. “thank you.”

    “let me get you something.” you turn, but he catches your elbow. you glance back just as he drops his hand like your flesh has burned him, an uncharacteristic redness adorning his cheeks.

   “didn’t mean to touch you,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “but i’m serious; i don’t need anything. it’s useless anyway.”

    everything is useless. every remedy he’s ever been given has never worked. the only remedy for insomnia that has worked for kaz brekker is you.

   but you can’t do that to him. you can’t do that to yourself. 

    “okay,” you mumble. “just. . . stop making so much noise, alright?”

   “did i really wake you?”

    “i couldn’t sleep either.”

    you stare at each other. it’s like you’re waiting for the other to break. you hate that you kind of want him to break.

    his adams apple bobs. “make yourself some tea, then. i’ll be a bit quieter.”

    you nod. “thanks.”

   “how’s inej, by the way? did you see her?”

    “i did. she seems. . . okay.” you shrug. “the doctors are going to do everything they can to help her get back to normal. then you can go back to the barrel.”

    kaz nods, though his movements are slower this time around, shoulders a little more slumped. neither of you say anything else as you walk out, tugging your dressing gown a little tighter around your body. 

   you don’t take his advice. you don’t need tea, or whiskey, or a fresh blanket; with kaz’s words and his expressions and him, you know there is no way you’re getting to sleep any time soon, no matter what remedy you use.

    ----

     “good morning, royalty.”

    the king looks up from his breakfast, the very breakfast you have just tested for poison. it sits weirdly in your stomach this morning; after a sleepless night, your appetite has deserted you, but you have no choice besides eating.

   kaz strolls into the room, dressed in a suit. his white shirt sits against his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the crow tattoo on his arm. you awkwardly rub your own crow tattoo, suddenly very aware of how permanent it is.

    “good morning, mr brekker,” the king says. “again, you surprise me with your presence. we weren’t expecting you for breakfast.”

    “i am just full of surprises.” he sits down in his usual seat and meets your eyes. “how are you this morning, y/n?”

    “y/n was just about to leave,” the king replies, as you knew he would; he likes hearing your voice as little as possible. 

    kaz, however, keeps his eyes on you. “i asked y/n. not you.”

    you stare straight at him, a silent warning. “i’m good, mr brekker. well-rested.”

    “you can call me kaz.” he leans back, grinning. “i’m glad to hear it. maybe you and i can take a walk amongst the duck pond again later on.”

   there he goes, putting on that god awful formal accent that he thinks is so funny. 

    you scowl. “i’m a bit busy today, mr brekker.”

   “kaz.”

   “he asked you to call him kaz, y/n,” the king snaps.

   kaz nods. “i asked you to call me kaz, y/n.”

   you bite your lip, pushing back the retort that so desperately wants to rise. he’s just sat there, grinning with no shame. the king is looking straight at him, and he doesn’t even care.

    “any duties you’ve been given today can be postponed until later,” the king says. “mr brekker is our guest, and if he wants your company, your company he shall receive.”

    kaz’s grin gets wider, and oh, you want so desperately to punch him square in the face. instead, you force a smile, turning to the king to tell him just how honoured you would be to give kaz brekker your company on this fine morning.

   and that’s how you find yourself strolling through the gardens with kaz, yet again.

    “you’re unbelieable,” you mumble, arms folded over your chest like a school kid having a tantrum. 

    “i’m good,” he replies. “you know i’m good, y/n. i don’t know why you act surprised.”

    “he’s the king, kaz,” you hiss. “can you not tone it down a little?”

   “tone what down?”

   “the-” you gesture vaguely, though the only word you can conjure is flirting, and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that slip into the conversation. “the shit. tone down the shit!”

   “i’m not scared of him. i know you want me to be, but i’m not.”

    “oh yes. how could i forget? kaz brekker isn’t scared of anything.”

    kaz scoffs. “kaz brekker is scared of plenty of things - men aren’t one of them.”

   such a kaz thing to say. the most frustrating bit about it was that he was telling the truth.

    “i told inej what your job is here,” he continues after a moment of tense silence.  

   “oh?”

   “she understands. says you’ve always been one to do anything to survive.”

   you shrug. she’s right. 

    “that worries me, you know.”

    “nothing worries you, kaz.”

   “the thought of you in danger does.”

   you shake your head. “don’t start this now. you said it yourself; what we had was nothing.”

    “why can’t i worry about you without it having to mean something bigger?”

    “because everything you say means something bigger.”

   kaz falls silent. he knows it’s true, and so do you. kaz has never been able to speak his full extent, always letting people think less of him so he can take them by surprise when the time is right. you have learned first hand how frustrating that can be, but it was also a part of him you grew to love. it was what made him so intelligent, so cunning. it was what made him kaz. 

 “are you not ever worried you’re going to get unlucky one day?”

   you glance over. he keeps his head ducked down, one hand curled around the head of his cane, the other tucked into his pocket. “i know what i signed up for. getting poisoned was kind of part of the risk.”

    “since when did you even know how to identify poisons?”

   your lips twitch. “jesper taught me.”

   kaz rolls his eyes skyward, running a hand through his hair; the sun glows against his tan skin. “of course he did. honestly, the shit you two got up to when i wasn’t around-”

    “we had fun,” you say. “we could only do that when you weren’t hovering over our shoulders.”

   kaz glares. 

   you look to the floor, afraid to smile at him, afraid to open this conversation into something even mildly pleasant; if you can get through this entire visit without thinking of kaz fondly, maybe it will make all of it a bit easier. maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself into thinking you’ve moved on, grown stronger since your time in the barrel.

        “how is jesper?” you ask, because you suddenly feel like you can’t help it.

   kaz shrugs. “how jesper always is.”

    “worse?”

    “for a while. he didn’t take you leaving very well, but he straightened himself out.” kaz tugs on his lapels. “he always does.”

    “yeah. he does.”    

    you wonder about jesper sometimes. it hurts to know he took your leave badly, though you should have known; jesper has never been one to handle his feelings well. that was your job on his behalf. you would often sit with him at night, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. you once handcuffed him to his bed post to stop him heading out into the gambling hall of the hotel you were staying in.

    he was the only one you could ever really properly speak to about what was going on between you and kaz. inej understood kaz, but jesper was kaz’s right-hand man. he was the one kaz would go to about things like that.

    “does jesper know how to make your brew?”

    there is no moment of confusion, like he was expecting the question. “i’m sure he does. i never ask him to make it, though.”

    your nostrils flare. “kaz-”

   “listen, the nightmares aren’t going to disappear,” he says, raising a silencing hand that you swat away before he can think it works. “i don’t need some special brew helping me sleep.”

   “no, you’ll just stay awake until you drop dead.”

   kaz grins, sharp as knives. “that’ll be the way to go, won’t it?”

   you shove his shoulder, suddenly furious. he looks over, still grinning, because kaz has always found your frustration amusing. he used to say you looked like a chipmunk who just got their nuts stolen.

    “for someone so smart,” you hiss, “you’re pretty stupid.”

   “because i won’t indulge in your famous sleep remedy?”

   “because you’ll let yourself suffer before asking for help.”

    his smile fades. “i only ask certain people for help, y/n. it’s not my fault those people keep leaving.”

    your heart drops; there he goes again with the impersonal little jabs, knowing he’s cutting you so, so deep. you don’t even humour him with a response, instead quickening your pace until you begin to feel like he isn’t even there.

    but that’s impossible, because he’s kaz brekker. he’s yours. even when he truly isn’t there, it’s like he’s walking right beside you, and you’re beginning to get very annoyed by the attachment. it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on kaz, but neither of you seem able to help it.

   you continue walking until the cold gets a little too much. then you head back to the palace in silence. 

----

    final meal of the day. you will make sure it’s not poisoned, and then you will go to bed.

    kaz is there, as per usual. the king and queen don’t even act shocked any more, simply welcoming him into the dining hall. oftentimes, he’ll stroll in by your side, his cane clicking against the marble and that smug little smile playing on his face. you always ignore him, even though the king says it’s disrespectful to do so. 

   tonight, you do just that. you take your seat beside the king, gather up his food and start the process. the beef is smothered in gravy, making the scent test a little difficult, but you give it a go anyway, because it’s protocol by now. 

   kaz watches from afar, one finger pressed to his lips. he’s lounging back like he’s comfortable, like sitting in a palace is what he does every day. his eyes are narrowed, focused.

    you pop the beef into your mouth and chew; nothing.

   you move onto the potatoes. nothing.

    finally, you dip your fork into the sweetcorn and raise it to your lips.

    kaz slaps the fork from your hand. he makes no noise. one minute he is sat at the head of the table, and the next he is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you from your seat.

   the queen shrieks as the fork flies directly at her, sweetcorn and all. a glass of wine tips over when kaz pulls you to your feet, your knee slamming against the underside of the table. palace guards run inside, but none of them know what to do - nobody in the room shouldn’t be there, and so they stand by the door, glancing at each other.

   your eyes, however, are trained on kaz.

   “what. the. fuck?” you hiss under your breath as the king tends to his startled wife.

   kaz meets your eyes dead on. “you really need to get better at your job.” he grabs your arm and starts for the door. the king hollers after him, demanding to know what is going on, but kaz pays him no attention, and you have no idea why you’re not fighting any of this. your heart is hammering in your chest at a million miles per hour, and you have so many questions, but it’s just reflex by now to trust kaz. 

    he drags you through the halls until reaching his room, where he pushes open the door and leads you inside. it is only then, when it is just the two of you, that you come to your senses, replaying that scene over and over in your head.

   you whirl around, yanking your arm from his grip so harshly that you stumble back. “what the hell was that, kaz?”

    “how much training did they actually give you before throwing you in to risk your life everyday?”

   “why do you care?”

   he starts pulling his tie loose, not even looking at you. “just tell me.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, trying desperately to keep your attention away from the way his gloved fingers tug and pull at the knot on his tie. “i did a course at the start where i could identify all the different types of poisons.”

   he quirks an eyebrow. “that all?”

   “it was enough.”

   “if it was enough, y/n, you would have noticed the soft spots in the sweetcorn.”

    your head snaps up. soft spots?

   he hums, despite you saying nothing in response. “wilde yolk makes food go soft in certain places. it also kills people in about ten seconds if consumed in even the tiniest amount.” he looks up, flicking his tie off completely. “did you not learn that in your course?”

   you bite your lip and look away. you were so distracted at that dinner table these days, focusing mostly on kaz brekker at the end of the table. you had no idea he was examining your food just as much as you should have been. you had no idea he was keeping an eye out for you.

    “so is this experience enough to get you to move back to the barrel?”

   your eyes snap up. he’s staring right at you. he doesn’t even look fazed by his question.

   and that makes you so, so angry. in seconds, you have gone from grateful to furious; only kaz can elicit that response from you.

   you step back, glaring. “so that’s what this is then? you came all the way here to drag me back to the barrel?”

     “well, no. i came here to get inej help, but she seems to be healing up pretty well with all the goods your people are giving her.” he shrugs, bottom lip protruding. “so i thought i’d try my hand at this.”

     “you are unbelievable.”

   kaz raises a brow. “are you getting mad at me?”

   “you are unbelievable!” you want to throw something at him. you want to break down and cry. you kind of want to go with him. “it’s like you haven’t listened to a word i’ve said. are you that self-centred, kaz?”

    “you know i am.”

    you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. maybe you’re overreacting. maybe you really are better off in the barrel, where you were born and raised, where you learned everything you ever knew. but here, with kaz being the one to drag you back - it reminds you so harshly that you’re his. you are his, and that is all anyone will ever see you as, and that thought. . . you don’t know how to feel about that thought.

     “this isn’t the life for you, y/n,” he continues. “you know it isn’t. once the barrel has you, it doesn’t let you go. we’ve all learned that the hard way.”

   “is that what you are?” you spit. “the hard way?”

   he shrugs. “you should be grateful it’s me and not someone worse.”

   “there is no one worse, kaz.”

   his lips twitch, the only sign that your words have actually struck a nerve. “you mean that, do you?”

   “don’t act like you’re the good guy. you know you’re evil. you’re proud of it! that’s why i had to leave. that’s why i’m in here risking my life every single fucking day! i wanted to get away from you!”

   and oh, saints, this isn’t going how you wanted it to go. the words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them, mind racing too quick for your mouth to catch up. his face continues falling with every word, but you don’t stop. 

    “saints, kaz, when are you ever going to grow the fuck up? you walk around pretending you have everything under control, that you own the place, but you’re nothing - nothing - without the rest of us. you would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for that little crew of yours, the people you have under your god damn thumb.” you step forward, teeth gritted. “kaz dirtyhands brekker can’t even take his own fucking gloves off.”

    “is that what you want?” he steps closer, so close your chests are almost touching. his face is red, a line of sweat glittering upon his upper lip that only ever shows itself when he’s furious, out of his mind with anger. “you want the gloves to come off? fine.”

   and then he plucks the gloves from his hands and throws them on the floor.

    his hands. the hands you have seen only twice in the years you have known him, the hands that have never touched your bare skin. suddenly they are in full view, free reign to do whatever you want with them, but all you can do is step back, one hand covering your mouth as you try and process what you’ve said, what kaz has done, how the situation could have taken such a harsh, grim turn.

    but kaz isn’t finished. kaz is never finished. 

    “is this what you want, y/n?” he demands. “you need me to bear myself completely for you to believe i’m in love with you? or is this not enough?”

   “kaz-”

    “what else is it going to take, huh? tell me.”

   “kaz, i’m-”

   “what about this?”

   he’s crazy. he’s crazy, and making mistakes, and you know this because he reaches forward and cups your face in his bare hands, flesh against flesh. shock ricochets through you, eyes widening as kaz lets out an anguished groan, his own eyes slipping closed. you feel his fingers trembling upon your skin.

   you wrench away from him, gasping.

    he immediately spins around, clutching his hands to his chest. he groans low in his throat, pressing his head against the wall. sweat trickles down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. you catch a single tear run down his cheek that he can’t wipe away because then his fingers will be touching his skin, and he hates that. it kills him. you know it does.

    you rush forward, placing a hand safely on his jacket-covered shoulder. his breathing is ragged and shaky.

   “kaz,” you pant. “oh god, kaz, i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry. why did you do that?” you whirl around frantically. “your gloves. where are your gloves?”

   he doesn’t reply. you’re talking to yourself at this point. you spot his gloves on the floor and grab them, immediately handing them back without so much as a brush of your fingertips against his. he’s hurried and distressed when he tugs them back on, clenching his fist over and over again, as if to ensure his hands are safely hidden beneath the leather.

   he doesn’t turn around. you stand behind him, one hand pressed to your chest, eyes swimming in tears you didn’t even feel rising to the surface.

   “kaz,” you whisper. “i’m. . . i didn’t mean. . .”

   “you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he mumbles, straightening up. “i’m not asking you to return to the barrel with me so you can serve me, or whatever you think this is. i’m asking you to return so i can have you there. so we can be together again.” he glances over his shoulder. “as it should be.”

   you stare at him, wanting to respond, wanting to tell him to go to hell, but you can’t lie. never before have you been able to look kaz in the eye and lie, and maybe that’s why you say nothing. he’s right in every sense - you and him are meant to be by each other’s side, no matter what. barrel born and raised, nobody understands you quite like he does.

   but admitting that, throwing away every barrier you have worked so hard to put up . . . you can’t do it.

    kaz waits a moment longer before laughing half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything else. he lowers his head, black hair falling in his face before he swipes it out of the way, looks at you and says, “get out.”

     “kaz-”

   “stop saying my name.” he turns, tossing his tie onto the bed. “get. out. inej and i will be gone tomorrow.”

    you swallow thickly, pushing away the tears. and then you do as he said, because standing in his presence for much longer is going to send you into a spiral you don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out of again. you’ve been down that road before, and it took everything in you not to be consumed.

    ----

    “why do you look like you’ve been crying?” inej asks. she’s sat up now, a tray of soup perched on her lap. the colouring has come back to her skin, and she stands up whenever she wants to. whatever the palace medics did for her is working wonders, which you suppose is one thing you should be grateful for.

    you lean over and dip a slice of bread in her soup. 

   “are you checking if it’s been poisoned?” inej jokes, and when you don’t respond, she sighs. “you and kaz have a fight?”

    you wince, which is answer enough.

   “what about this time?”

   “he wants me to go back to the barrel with you.”

    inej pauses, eyes still cast to her soup. you look at her, stomach curling in sudden realisation.

   “wait,” you say. “did you know that was his plan this entire time?”

   “no,” she replies, though she looks sheepish. “i genuinely was sick. kaz just. . . came along for the ride when he heard you were here.” she looks up and groans. “you can’t act surprised, y/n. what were you expecting? for him to just walk out and leave you here?”

   “that would have been the right thing to do, yes.”

   “well,  you know kaz better than that. use your brain.” she waves a hand in your direction. “pass me another slice of bread and tell me about this argument.”

   you don’t want to. all day you have been thinking about the feel of his hands on your face, his flesh against your own, the anguished groan ripped from his throat. he put himself through that to prove - what? that he loves you? that’s what he said, but it was only a few days prior he was claiming what you and him had was nothing. it was forgotten, and you were happy about that for the briefest moment. if kaz moved on, you could too. 

    but then he took the gloves off, and it was just. . . messed up again. you were left confused and guilty and pining, and you hated yourself for it. it was as if all that hard work you had put in to forget about kaz had been thrown out the window - trust kaz to come in and ruin everything.

    “i can see what you’re thinking, you know,” says inej suddenly.

   “can you?”

     “take it from me,” she says. “kaz is never going to get over you. he’s never going to let you go. he’s never going to stop trying for you. he’s a stubborn bastard, and a stubborn bastard is even worse when they’re in love - which kaz is. disastrously, madly in love.”

    “he said we were nothing.”

    “he’s a stubborn and prideful bastard.”

    you close your eyes, heart thumping. “i don’t know what to do, inej.”

   “well, do you love him back?”

   your eyes fly open. “what kind of question is that?”

   she shrugs. “an obvious one, but i want to know the answer.”

    you know the answer. your brain screams it at you. you have felt the answer in your bones every day since you left the barrel, and yet speaking it aloud feels like a betrayal of yourself from yourself.

    so you look away, and as inej always claims, she can see exactly what you’re thinking.

    a soft chuckle slips past her lips. “the barrel never leaves a person, y/n. and apparently, neither does kaz brekker.”

    “what are you suggesting?”

   inej shrugs. “kaz and i are leaving for ketterdam in the morning. there’s definitely room for a third person.”

----

   you don’t sleep that night. neither does kaz.

   you can hear him pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt replaying the days events over and over in his mind in the same way you are. his hands against your skin, his eyes piercing your own, those words he spoke that left you tingling all over.

    even now, laying in bed, you can’t get over what he said. i love you. that was the jidst of it, and though you had heard that confession from him a few times in the past, it was different this time around. it was kaz trying to prove himself, which he never did before. if someone didn’t take kaz at face value, he wouldn’t bother. 

    and you have to admit, hearing him say those words was like a shot to the chest. they are the very words that have been on the tip of your tongue for months now, spoken only in dreams when you finally allow yourself to sleep. you can say them to no one else - just kaz. always, always just kaz.

   and maybe this realisation is the reason you find yourself getting dressed at six in the morning. maybe this realisation is the reason you pack all your things into the ruck sack you came to the palace with. maybe this realisation is the reason you tip-toe to the courtyard, avoiding the eyes of the staff who all look at you like you’re some kind of prisoner escaping your cell.

    it’s still dark. the grass is wet beneath your thin shoes, the jacket you have pulled on doing little to protect you from the icy winds coming from the ocean just feet away from the palace’s front door. hovering on the banks is a boat, a boat you recognise as The Mast, one of the many boats kaz has won from different people around ketterdam.

   you nearly cry at the sight of it.

   you don’t waste time waiting on kaz and inej - you don’t want to have this discussion with either of them until you’re safely on the water, until you can’t change your mind. 

   you clamber onto the boat, giving a sheepish smile to the stunned crew member - Daryl, you think he’s called - as he stares at you approaching. he offers you a hand when you finally reach the deck, his eyes never leaving your own.

    “morning,” you say. “i’m y/n.”

   “i know,” daryl replies, before tipping his hat. “it’s wonderful to have you back on board.”

    you smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond; how much do the crew actually know about what happened between you and the crows? how many people bore witness to that god awful aftermath?

   you decide not to wait around to hear the answer. instead, you tell daryl you’re going down to the cabins, and he doesn’t argue. you disappear beneath the deck, finding the first room with a bed and immediately claiming it as your own; despite the lack of sleep, you are not tired in the slightest. you can’t get kaz out of your head, how he is going to react when the boat eventually docks and he sees you strolling off of it, greeted by that rancid ketterdam air. back in the barrel.

    you lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. you will fall asleep eventually. you’ll trick yourself into it.

    and then the door opens.

    your eyes snap open with it; you must have fallen asleep eventually. groggily, you lift your head and look at the intruder - and your heart immediately falls.

   “kaz.”

    he looks crazed, hair stuck up, eyes wild. behind him stands inej, grinning from ear to ear, though the minute kaz steps into the room, she disappears into the shadows, leaving you and dirtyhands alone.

    his eyes never leave yours as he approaches. he marches to your bedside, grabs your hand and pulls you up.

   “kaz-”

    he shoves you against the wall, gun pressed to your temple. you inhale sharply, though you can’t claim to be surprised or scared. you stare into his eyes, watching his own trace your features, looking for any sign that you are here in bad company.

    “kaz,” you whisper, because it’s always his name that fights past your lips. “it’s me. i’m going home.”

    his grip slackens. the gun crashes to the floor, and before you can say anything, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. you are careful to rest your head upon his shoulder, not touching his flesh, but feeling him nonetheless. tears spring to your eyes, dribbling down the bridge of your nose and soaking the shoulder of his fancy suede jacket - one he stole from the kings wardrobe, you notice.

    but you don’t pull away, afraid to go without his touch for another second.

    “is this what you want?” he asks, voice muffled by your hair. “is this really what you’ve decided?”

    “yes.” you pull away, hands sliding down his arms. “you’re right, kaz. the barrel is . . . it’s a shit hole, but it’s where i belong. it’s all i know. and you and me. . . we have to do this thing together.”

    he narrows his eyes. “what thing?”

   “everything.”

   the corners of his mouth twitch. you can imagine kissing those lips, drawing him close and embracing in that way lovers often do. however, you’re content, happy even, with the way things are. you hold his gloved hands, and he says he loves you. you confide in him, and he confides in you, and sometimes you fight like children, but in the end, he will have your back no matter what.

    “everything,” he repeats. “yeah.” he slips his gloved hands into the sleeve of your jacket, tracing his fingers along your crow tattoo, the one he matched, the one everyone matched when they decided to let the barrel take them over. you shiver, biting your lower lip. “you still have it.”

    “i could hardly get rid of it,” you reply. kaz looks up, and you sigh. “i would never get rid of it, kaz. no matter what.”

     he nods, rolling your sleeve back down. he pulls it over your wrist, covering your fingers before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the soft, rain soaked fabric. 

    he looks up at you again. “yes. no matter what.” 

[mooniefics]

in the grand scheme of things [ 3 ]

pairings : zeke jaeger / reader, referenced eren jaeger / reader

word count : 5.5k

tags : unhealthy relationships, relationship discussions, implied cheating, drinking, break ups, mutual infidelity, dubious morality, love triangles

warning : descriptions of alcohol and drug use

summary : you and eren hadn't been doing the best these past few months, and no one that you knew seemed to have any answers for you, or pointers in the right direction. who better to offer you some sound, insightful relationship advice than his older brother. or so you thought.

— originally posted 1 / 28 / 21 on ao3 —

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sasha  3:47 pm hey u down to party tonight?? jean told connie he could get us into another one of the azo parties again

you sighed at the sight of the notifications on your phone from its place on the passenger's seat, pensively drumming your fingers on your steering wheel. the most recent party of the most popular fraternity chapter on your campus you'd attended had been the last party you'd subjected yourself to attending—the halloween party where you'd gotten ditched out and subsequently cheated on. though you could admit that it had been fun in the moment, especially when you had caught the struggle between sasha and historia when she saw your roommate snap a picture of her kissing the standoffish sophomore that always helped her with her english lit homework, ymir, rather than the fraternity guy she was meant to be with.

the memory of that night, at least the time before you'd realized your boyfriend and his annoyingly attractive best friend were nowhere to be found, made you consider. classes did start back up next week, and the most eventful thing you'd done over the break was your quaint little family get-together for new year's eve—and your two rendezvous with zeke, meetings that you were slowly beginning to feel more and more skeptical about as time went on—and you were sure that your second semester would drown you in work just as much—if not more—than you'd had in your first semester. so as soon as you came to a stop at a red light, you picked your phone up to shoot her back a message, laughing to yourself when she replied instantly.

               you  3:51 pm party on a wednesday?                            really?

sasha   3:51 pm come onnnn please??? i heard nikos gonna be there! ur rlly gonna make me go all alone??

so that was why she wanted to go, to see the foreign culinary major that somehow always managed to send her back to the dorm with a large plate of food and a blinding smile plastered on her face for at least the next hour. you were honestly surprised that they hadn't gotten together yet, considering how many common interests they'd shared.

a pleasant thought suddenly popped into your head, the thought that she was probably asking you because mikasa had already declined, meaning that she wouldn't be in attendance. armin was out in turkey with eren, ensuring his absence. that fact made you feel a bit less anxious about accepting sasha's invitation. you could catch up with the friends you'd been unable to see while you were off-campus—or too swamped with work to be able to reach out to—let loose one last time before you were trapped back in the monotonous cycle of working, sleeping, crying, and eating for the next couple months until spring break. your mind had been made up.

                          you  3:52 pm    fine. i'll go as moral support. but no promises u won't have  to babysit after you've had ur                          fun with nikolo  this break has been rough for                                       me lol

sasha  3:53 pm oh god my i loveyou so much already picking out our outfits

you chuckled to yourself, slipping your phone into the cupholder as the brake lights of the car in front of you flashed off and you eased your foot onto the gas. you made it back to the dorm relatively quickly, sasha more than elated to see you even though you didn't have any food to bring back for her. and just as her text message had read, she'd already laid out one of your nicer dresses and a set of heels that didn't absolutely kill your feet by the end of the night by your bed, digging through the closet with a pile of discarded clothes growing on the floor.

"thanks sash," you giggled, "but don't you think it's a little to be getting ready? what time's the party?"

"connie told me seven-thirty, but jean said for us to come an hour later so we aren't the only ones there." she spoke over her shoulder, huffing as she tossed another piece of clothing aside, "but i wanna look good! i'm gonna hop in the shower as soon as i find the right thing to wear."

holding out your dress before you, you frowned. it was simple, black and made of a sheer, clingy material with lace accents decorating the low neckline, thin straps that bared the entirety of your shoulders and a modest amount of cleavage. it was one of your favorites, but the half-healed bruises scattered across the skin that would be exposed by it wasn't ideal.

"oh, don't forget to take a cheap coat that you don't mind forgetting. it's kinda chilly out, and i always end up losing track of mine during the night."

you let out a breath of relief, remembering that covering up a bit more would be weather appropriate. "yeah, i'll wear a long-sleeved undershirt and something light on top." perfect.

you waited until sasha had gathered her toiletries and scurried off to the nearest bathroom to change clothes, feeling your face heat up at the thought of zeke, the initial deep pigmentation having faded out over the last two days but still a very visible shade of faint red. you were fully dressed upon your roommate's return, earning an excited slew of compliments from her as she wrapped up her hair in a towel and settled down beside you to get started on her makeup.

you were actually grateful for how early she'd insisted on getting ready considering how long she'd agonized over her eyeliner, or how many times she'd applied and removed her lashes, complaining that "something was off" or "it just didn't look right". your suggested time of arrival came in no time at all, and by then sasha was more than eager to start rushing you despite the pace she'd been moving at earlier.

"hurry!! if niko brings food, i don't wanna get there by the time it's all gone!" she whined, jiggling the doorknob to your room impatiently, "for the thanksgiving party, he brought a charcuterie board with all these nice cheeses on it and it was so good, he looked so happy watching me eat it, it was so cute!"

you chuckled softly at her enthusiasm, shoving the last of your things into your clutch, zipping up your phone in the small inner pocket to insure that you didn't drop it and forget on the floor of someone's house this time. "i'm sure that even if we got there late, he'd set aside plenty of food for you."

the walk to the fraternity's designated house was made much shorter by sasha's insistence, practically dragging you along by the wrist the whole way at a near jog. you couldn't deny that you were feeling a bit nervous about the whole ordeal, knowing that you would have sasha, connie, and jean at the very least, but unaware as to what you would really do besides mill around. at the halloween party, you'd been able to play the variety of drinking games that had been set out for the guests with eren and his friends, but now you weren't entirely sure who to stick to for the majority of the night.

you didn't want to bother jean or connie after they'd gotten secured you an invite, and you were sure that sasha was expecting to be able to spend some time alone with the guy she'd came to see in the first place, meaning you'd have to spend a majority of the night alone, or the unfavorable option of mingling with unfamiliar people. but you realized that was a pill you'd have to swallow as you approached the steps of the house, nearly tripping up over your feet from the speed that sasha was hauling you along at, watching her furiously knock at the door.

there were people wandering about in the yard, some on their phones, most likely waiting for their own friends to arrive, and a smoky stench of something that definitely wasn't just tobacco wafting from the group of men camped out on the porch murmuring amongst each other. you could hear the volume of the music inside the house, almost able to feel it thrumming across the floor if you focused enough.

"thomas!" she exclaimed at the sight of a younger-looking blonde boy when the door opened, whose existence you honestly had no idea about until just now, grinning so broadly it made your own cheeks hurt for her, "jean invited us!"

"oh, come right in." he beamed right back, calling loudly over his shoulder, "yo, jean, your friends are here!"

the inside of the house looked just as you expected, already crowded to max capacity, jean having to maneuver past the throng of people gathered near the front to approach the two of you. "damn, i feel like i haven't seen you in forever." he did his best to speak over the music, wrapping you up in a friendly squeeze, "glad to see you could finally make it." he turned to sasha. "niko's already in the kitchen, by the way. asked when you were coming just a few minutes ago."

sasha's face lit up with glee, turning to you, silently asking for permission to go off on her own as if you could ever deny her and her overly-eager expression. "go get 'em, tiger." you smiled, giving her a few pats on her shoulder to send her off on her way, watching her disappear into the crowd in record time.

but before apprehension of her absence could set in, you felt jean's arm sling around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. "c'mon, you didn't think i was gonna ditch out and let you hang alone all night?" you giggled, turning your head up to look at him properly for the first time.

you'd first met jean in your statistics class, an unfortunate requirement for your major of choice, and initially bonded over your mutual connection through sasha. they'd been good friends in high school, and you'd just moved into a room for at least the next year with her, so you figured it'd do you well to have someone who could get you in her good graces in the event that you two didn't get along. but, thankfully, you two were just fine on your own, and sasha and jean became your first friends outside of the small group you and eren shared.

the only real conflict of interest between the two of you seemed to be your aforementioned boyfriend, and you couldn't really be upset at him for that. eren could be difficult to get along with even at the best of times, he wasn't a terrible person—at least before he'd cheated—but he wasn't exactly the most friendly either.

"is this piercing new?" you asked, reaching up to brush your thumb over the small earring hugging the shell of jean's ear.

"yeah, got it for new year's. pretty hot, right?" you snorted, earning a grin from him, "by the way, if you need to use the bathroom just tell me, the one on the main floor is fucking filthy. and also probably has no toilet paper."

"will do." you could feel the tension ebbing away in his company, at least when you ignored the annoyed glances other girls were sending your way when they noticed his arm around you, "so, what's on the menu for tonight?"

"well, we probably have every kind of alcohol known to man," he said, leaning down to speak into your ear as he began to guide you through the crowded first floor, "beer kegs are out back, junk food and all the inexpensive shit is in the kitchen." he stopped at the opening to a hallway, smile evident in his voice. "but i'm feeling pretty generous tonight, so if you want some of the good stuff we have stashed, just say the word."

"wow, such a gentleman. do you say that to every girl that comes in?" you playfully replied, thankfully far enough away from the music now that you didn't have to talk at nearly a shout.

"only the ones i like." he added a terribly over-exaggerated wink, earning another small laugh from you, "so, what'll it be? vodka, tequila, or triple sec?"

you blinked up at him. "that's it? when you said 'good stuff', i imagined a little more variety."

"beggars can't be choosers, sweetheart. and anyways we're a frat, not a restaurant, so either take your pick or go enjoy some cheap wine while you watch nikolo and sasha drool over each other."

you rolled your eyes, feigning anger in the face of his attitude, huffing out your answer. "surprise me then, frat boy."

"good answer." he said with a grin, "wait here."

he disappeared down the hall, leaving you to stare in silence at the wall before you and listen to the barely muffled sounds of the party going on just a few meters away. you opened up your clutch to fish out your phone, opening it to find your text conversation still open, catching a glimpse of connie's name. you felt a little guilty that you'd almost forgotten about his expected presence, seeing as he had messaged you and you hadn't heard anything from sasha or jean yet. you decided to shoot him a quick text letting him know that you and sasha had arrived, not surprised when he didn't respond as quickly as he usually did, knowing that he was already wrapped up in getting high out of his mind somewhere here or doing so elsewhere.

you opted to kill time tapping through your feed, making it a point to quickly scroll past any posts with armin's handle attached to them. the thought of eren having fun halfway across the world was both pleasant and disheartening at the same time. you felt stupid for still clinging on to the second thoughts about ending things the second he got back. sure, all the dots connected suspiciously well to create a picture that led to the clear conclusion of cheating, but eren wasn't good at hiding things. you remembered the time in your junior year when he'd barely been able to keep your surprise party that your friends had organized you a secret before one of them slipped up about it and exonerated him from blame, and you couldn't help but ask yourself if he was really capable of hiding such a terrible deed when he couldn't even conceal the harmless types of secrets from you.

the more confrontational part of you said that that was ages ago, that both you and him had changed so much since your time in high school, and maybe one of those changes was what made him put so much distance between the two of you these last months rather than hang around you and risk airing out his dirty laundry. you knew you should be angry with him, you would be more than right to be angry with him, but you force yourself to stop clinging to the simpler times, the days when he'd look at you like you'd put the stars in the sky and said all he ever wanted to do was be around you. you couldn't believe how much had changed in so little time.

"ta-da!" jean's voice interrupted your self-pity, a tall plastic cup suddenly occupying your vision, "long island iced tea for the lady. with a straw."

"christ, jean, are you trying to kill me?" you guffawed, taking the cup from him anyways, "my first real party in months and this is what you start me off with?"

"at least give it a try! after i took all that time to make it for you.." he furrowed his brows at you, only relaxing after you took a tentative sip. it was surprisingly not as strong as you thought it would be, a little on the sweeter side, but it served as a good distraction for the burn of five different alcohols sliding down your throat. "pretty good, isn't it?"

"meh. five out of ten." you snarked, giggling around the straw between your lips.

"typical," he lamented, clutching his hands over his heart, "all you and sasha ever do is use me."

"don't lie to yourself, jean. you love us."

you didn't know if it was the dim lighting casting a shadow over his face, but you could swear that you saw his cheeks flush at your assertion. "anyways.. speaking of love, you still dating that asshole? eric?"

"eren." you corrected, laughing at the error, "and, well, it's complicated."

"complicated? then i'm assuming he fucked up big time, considering he's not even here with you this time around."

you took a long sip of your drink, fiddling with the bendy part of your straw, the thought of his infidelity weighing heavily on your heart. "well he'd probably be here if he wasn't out of town, he's been planning to take his trip for a while now.."

jean shot you a displeased look. "i seriously don't know how you put up with that guy, you're selling yourself short honestly. planning on breaking up with him anytime soon?"

you cast your gaze to the floor, thankful that the warmth of the alcohol in your stomach was helping to ease the cool hollowness settling deep into your chest. "oh hush. you don't even know the whole story, jean."

"well i know enough. if you're in the market for any new guys, i'll scout out someone nice for you." you scoffed at his offer, but didn't outright deny it either, unable to help smiling along with him when he smirked and nodded over to the party in the other room, "now, come play me in beer pong, then you'll really have something to complain about."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

zeke could confidently say that his night had been utterly unremarkable.

another quiet day spent working at the library, where he'd actually glanced at the door more times than he was willing to admit with the hope that it would be you walking in. he'd actually been quite tempted to message you, to ask what you were doing, if you had anywhere between two and three so that maybe he could see you, but he'd ultimately decided against it. he couldn't quite figure out the exact cause of his newly-found infatuation with you, but the rationality of it didn't concern him as much as it probably should've, he was simply pleased to relive the very recent memories of your encounters together and anticipate your next meeting—at least until his younger brother returned.

eren had attempted to goad a reaction out of him with an assortment of unsavory texts calling him just about every name in the book, a constant stream of questions asking why he did it, or what he'd done to deserve such a thing, and even a few desperate pleas begging him to say that it wasn't really you. of course, he'd ignored all of them, and he wondered if eren was trying to contact you as well, knowing that you wouldn't be able to see the messages even if that was the case, though still curious nonetheless.

but for the moment, he was lounging at his usual downtown bar, seated in a booth beside reiner and across from porco at their rescheduled night out, since both marcel and porco were unable to make it yesterday, the latter sulking after his noisy attempt to flag down the waitress ended in failure.

"is marcel actually gonna make it tonight?" reiner asked, plucking a stick of celery from the appetizer platter in the middle of the table.

"no clue." porco replied, sipping his mojito, "said he got caught up at work again, so either the let down text is gonna come any minute now, or he's gonna show up for an hour and then disappear."

zeke chuckled. "post-marriage life sure is tough, i guess."

"you can say that again. he's always calling me, freaking about the idea of kids and his mortgage and stuff that i didn't even think about until he complained about it, scary shit."

"you say that like you're not two years away from being his age."

porco began what was sure to be one of his smart-ass replies, but the waitress had finally approached their booth, hiding her annoyance with his friend with a forced smile as she took the orders for their entrées. zeke pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans when he felt it buzz, feeling the slightest hint of disappointment by the fact that it wasn't you.

"who is it? your new girlfriend?" reiner grumbled, smirking when porco shot up in his seat.

"girlfriend?!" he exclaimed far too loudly.

"yup. zeke didn't tell you he's dating a high-schooler?"

so much for "your business", zeke thought to himself. "oh, fuck off. she's in college." he frowned at his roommate, only met with another tired expression of disappointment.

"just barely." reiner turned back to the man across the table, "it's one of his brother's ex-girlfriends too."

porco stared at him incredulously, eyes wide and judgmental, falling back against the cushion of the seat with a low whistle. "shit zeke.. that's kinda fucked up, don't you think?" he seemed uncomfortable by the unexpected revelation, "you're almost thirty and you're screwing around with someone who's probably not even twenty? is this an afraid-of-getting-old thing? mid-life crisis??"

"she's an adult, she can make her own choices." zeke didn't appreciate the sudden scrutiny, finishing off his old fashioned in the hopes that the bourbon would wash away the self-conscious feeling settling unpleasantly in his gut, "not my fault that her choice happens to be wanting to be around me rather than the guys her age."

"what ever happened to you and pieck? she's hot—"

"and actually over the legal drinking age."

both porco and zeke pointedly ignored reiner's interaction as the former continued. "—i thought it was working out between you two.. what happened?"

zeke shrugged. "just wasn't the right fit for me. but you liked her, didn't you? before we had our thing." he looked up at his friend, forcing a casual grin, "maybe you could give that shot now."

he felt a bit more at ease seeing porco's ears and cheeks flush red, now fiddling with the lime garnish on the rim of his glass. "we still talk here and there.. i don't really know much about what she's up to these days."

before he could answer with more words of encouragement that detracted from the previous, morally-incriminating topic, his phone began to vibrate, and he felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of your name on the screen. "sorry, gotta take this."

he tugged on his jacket and slid out of the booth, ignoring reiner's chastising glance and porco's bewildered look, passing the waitress who was now carrying a platter with their food and refills on his way out. the cool night breeze was refreshing in comparison to the awkward, almost cramped atmosphere that had developed over their discussion, his breath coming is foggy puffs in the chilled, january air as he pressed the answer button. immediately upon raising the phone to his ear, he was met with a blurred assortment of background noise, able to discern the muffled sound of music and the sound of footsteps outside of whatever room you were in.

"hello?"

"oh, zeke, you answered!!" he could hear in your voice that you were clearly intoxicated, much more than you had been when you were at his house, words stringing together and ending syllables unnecessarily drawn out.

he felt uncharacteristically worried at the realization that you were at a party, one that sounded quite large and crowded, most likely crawling with unsavory individuals that he knew prowled around those sorts of events when he himself was in college. "are you alright? where are you right now? do you need me to pick you up?"

zeke was already digging around in his coat pocket to check if he had his keys, more than prepared to take off without his meal or saying goodbye to his friends inside. "'m at a party on campus, 's okay. in the bathroom. just thinking."

zeke didn't feel eased at all at the sound of loud knocking coming from somewhere, hearing you becoming distant for a moment as you presumably pulled the phone away from your ear to call out that the bathroom was occupied. there was shuffling on the other line, then silence for a short moment. "can i ask you something?"

zeke frowned. the idea of not being able to know who was monitoring you in this state wasn't sitting well with him. "go ahead."

"but don't call me stupid, ok? i already know it's a stupid question, but i still wanna ask it."

"there's no such thing as stupid questions." he assured you, ignoring the buzz of a text notification, most likely porco or reiner telling him to come back in before the burger he ordered got cold.

"do i really have to break up with eren?"

zeke felt something odd flicker in his chest, that unfamiliar feeling he'd felt when he caught you staring at you and his brother's one-sided chat logs, but yet the affirmative answer he thought he would be able to give with no problem sat on the tip of his tongue, undelivered. he thought back to that face reiner had made when he told him who you were, and porco's hesitant words trying to rationalize his actions but ultimately failing to do so.

zeke didn't understand why he felt so conflicted all of a sudden. this was meant to be a simple ordeal, one where he got what he needed to teach eren a lesson and moved on with his life. but now here he was, concerned about your whereabouts, focusing hard enough on your muddled words that he managed to catch the wobble in your voice that betrayed your own state of emotional unrest. he realized a moment too late that he hadn't said anything, hearing a small sniffle on your end before we began speaking.

"god, i can't believe i said that out loud, you must really think i'm dumb r'now, but.. i just can't let go of what we had." he was sure that you were crying now. "i keep thinking about what you said, an' you're right. he's been an ass to me, he practically ignored me for, like, three months, probably fuckin' cheated on me with his hot best friend, so i can't understand why i just wanna keep trying to fix things... and its so confusing 'cause everyone just keeps telling me to enjoy myself an' have fun, but i have no idea what i even want anymore, and i don't even know what we are right now and i can't fuckin' believe i cheated on my boyfriend with his fuckin' older brother and i don't know what i'd ever do if he found out."

by the end of it, you were letting out small, hiccuped sobs, breath fast and uneven just as it had been the night he'd invited you over. he honestly didn't know what to say, listening to you cry, staring at the steam of his breath as it dissipated out into the night. you were a good person, someone who was undeserving of such treatment from either him or eren, but it was simply an unfortunate coincidence that you had been caught in the fray.

he took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, preparing to deliver an affirmation similar to the one he'd given you a few days ago when you first laid all your relationship troubles out on the table, but there was a rapid, more insistent knocking at the bathroom door on your end. he could hear a female voice calling out your name, and the jiggling of the door knob.

"hold on," you paused, sniffling, "it's my roommate."

you steadied yourself enough to say that, tossing the phone somewhere before he heard the sound of the door unlocking. "there you are!! are you seriously wasted already? it's only, like, eleven?! why are you crying???" your roommate sounded tipsy, but nowhere near as intoxicated as you currently were, which eased zeke's initial worry, "jean! can you c'mere for a sec! wait, were you calling someone?"

there was a brief pause, and zeke could practically see your tiny nod and teary eyes in his head, then heels clicking over tile and the sound of the phone being lifted, followed by a hurried, "hey, this is her roommate! she's fine, gotta go!"

then silence, just him and the faint noise coming from inside the bar behind him. he didn't know what to think. from the sounds of it, it seemed like your friends were taking care of you for the time being, friends who names he vaguely remembered you speaking of when you'd been detailing your time at the halloween party—people that were unfamiliar to him, people he wasn't sure that he could trust. and a small part of him, a tiny voice at the back of his head, scoffed at his flimsy mask of worry that barely hid the true emotion, his possessive nature, driving his desire to go pick you up and bring you back to the apartment to take care of so you'd have to be there with him another morning with your thankful gazes and blunt, half-awake words.

he knew he was in no place to begin laying judgement at these unknown people in your life considering what he'd done, but it was an innate sort of feeling, the thought that always clouded his mind when he laid eyes on people that were younger than him, that he knew more than them, that somehow he would always be above them in an invisible hierarchy. that same feeling that he felt when he found himself looking down at you.

"zeke?" a warm, friendly voice broke him out of his thoughts, his eyes turning up from the ground to find a tired-looking marcel standing before him, "what are you doing out here by yourself?"

"smoke break." the lie slipped between his lips before he even thought of the fact that there was no cigarette between his fingers, no scent of smoke in the air or clinging to his clothes, "glad you could make it, everyone's inside. pretty sure porco already ordered you something."

but instead of immediately heading inside for zeke to come after him, marcel stood for a moment, lips drawing back and eyebrows knitting into a concerned expression. "is everything okay?"

zeke thought for a moment, giving a non-committal shrug in response.

"still having family troubles?"

despite having been quite fixated on his negative feelings revolving his own younger brother for the last few days, zeke had almost pushed out a majority of the sordid details of the entire situation out of his head, which now seemed to all flood back with such a short, simple question.

"you could say that." zeke scratched the back of his neck, now wishing he'd actually had a cigarette to take his mind off of all these turbulent thoughts, "all the arguing and shit subsided already, but..."

"anything from your dad?" marcel's voice was almost tentative asking that, frowning when zeke said nothing, "sorry.. didn't mean to be insensitive about it."

"it's not insensitive. just," he swallowed, tucking his phone back into his pocket and reaching out to push open the bar door, a silent, less embarrassing way to signal that he no longer wanted to talk about it anymore, "just kind of fresh. that's all."

they both stood in silence for a moment, marcel's eyes wandering his face, features expressing a clear concern, but thankfully, he didn't push the issue any further, simply following him inside like zeke wished he would've done minutes earlier to save him the trouble, proceeding to the booth housing their friends. the conversation didn't wander back to the topic of him and his morally dubious relations nor his current familial situation, much to his relief, making it much easier for him to just allow the conversation to flow around him, finding himself not having much of an appetite or desire to speak much with so much on his mind.

for a moment, zeke wondered to himself if this was a punishment from the universe, feeling so downtrodden on what was usually one of his more enjoyable nights in the week. not to say that they were always amazing to be around, but spending time with porco, reiner, marcel, and sometimes bertholdt made up most of the meaningful social interactions he had, and to have lost out on it today of all days just seemed like some odd form of karmic justice as a result of him behaving so selfishly.

but he held out for the rest of the evening anyways, going through more drinks that he probably should've, finding easier to tune in to porco and reiner's usual bickering, marcel's attempts to quell them, the ambient sound of bustling waiters and clinking glasses and plates to bury down any thought of you or his family or what was to come at the end of the week, the consequences with much more magnitude in his life than an just an unpleasant night out.

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previous chapter⥽

[interstellarflowers]

Professor Parker Ch. 1| Professor, Peter Parker x Student, Reader

a/n this fic doesn’t follow the marvel cinematic universe but assume that peter has been what he’s been through with the exception that tony lived, and bruce is still bruce, sorry but i just can't deal with endgame hulk/bruce rn emotionally or mentally. im sorry nat is still dead but dw i'll actually treat it with respect unlike endgame like goddamn where was her funeral, am i right? the stages of grief thing they did was interesting though. im sorry i digress, this is set in nyc (because heyo im a new yorka) and the avengers/stark tower is still a thing, peter is fucking traumatized and has turned kind of cold as a result. this fic may contain a smut chapter in the future? not sure yet, where this fic goes depends on the feedback, thanks for reading also sorry im not the proudest of this first chapter so ill probably edit it but promise itll only improve from here just not in the best mental state rn

University life wasn’t exactly everything that you imagined it to be. There was hardly time to do anything that people claimed was good about coming to university. The parties, the epic heartbreaks, and romances, they were just nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing particularly extravagant about your experience thus far. You went to class, studied, and went to your internship. Your internship was probably the most exciting thing about your life at the moment, you were lucky to be accepted into the Stark Industries student internship, the company paid college tuition and only required around twenty hours of lab work a week, you couldn’t complain. Of course, the exciting part of the whole ordeal was the name attached to it, “Stark,” not that you had ever met him, but it was nice to have a unique feature like that in such an impressive student body.

So here you were on the first day of your third year of university. You lived off-campus, about a five-minute walk from the Stark Tower, but a twenty-minute subway ride to your campus. However, having an 882 square foot space to yourself was really nothing you could truly complain about despite the distance. The studio apartment being yet another benefit reaped from Stark Industries. Thank you Tony Stark, the unseen benevolent God in your life.

Typically you would start your mornings off quietly and in no rush, a shower, a cup of coffee, maybe some studying before heading off to your campus, but your phone had other plans for you today. Instead of your alarm going off like it was supposed to, you were woken up by the sound of a particularly loud car horn, and oh how grateful you were for that. As soon as you were jolted awake you shifted to grab your phone and turned it over to see an alarming 8:40am glaring back at you.

Holy shit. You were late.

You scrambled out of bed nearly face planting several times in your hurry to get dressed and only barely ran out the door with everything you needed at 8:47am.

By the time you managed to get to the subway and clamor onto the right train it was already 8:55am. Out of breath and panicking, you considered your options. You could explain after class, you could shoot an email, there were a plethora of things you could do but none of them seemed to justify being late as a third-year to a level 500 class. You had googled all of your professors while registering for classes as was common practice. You couldn’t find a RateMyProfessor on Professor...Parker? You were pretty sure it was Professor Parker, but you do remember seeing on the STEM department page that he was currently a Ph.D. student, so you could only hope that as a fellow student he would be at least a little understanding towards your lateness.

You stood outside of the lecture hall huffing and trying to catch your breath at 9:32am, psyching yourself up, you pushed open the door to the class and attempted to go unnoticed. The class was in a lecture hall despite being only composed of around thirty students, so if you were lucky maybe nobody would even see-

“Ms.(y/l/n), I presume?.” Shit.

“Professor Parker?” Shit.

“You are aware that class starts at 9am, and not 9:30am, would this be correct Ms.(y/l/n)?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s just that I had an emergency.” The lying route. Not exactly the highlight of your academic career.

“I regret to inform you that I only take valid excuses Ms.(y/l/n), please take a seat, and next time, don’t bother disrupting class halfway through the lesson.” Fuck. You mustered a quiet “ok,” and a small nod before escorting yourself to the back of the room, thirty-something eyes following you until you sat down.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the class, it was just too embarrassing, time moved forward but you couldn’t help but be stuck on what had just happened. For the first ten minutes after sitting down you felt like dropping out of the whole class out of sheer fucking humiliation. This was of course before you reminded yourself that this class was a requirement to graduate in your field of study. You quietly bargained with yourself before sighing quietly and settling on the conclusion that Professor Parker was just a dick. A dick who certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you switching out of his class. If he wanted to be like that, you decided, you would simply return the favor.

“I know, Ms.(y/ln), why don’t you tell us DeBroglie’s equation?”

“With pleasure, Professor Parker.” Yeah, you’d return the favor alright.

“Ms.(y/l/n), you stay.” Fuck that. You looked the other way and feigned ignorance as you kept making your way towards the door. About to leave, the door shut on your face.

“What the fuck!” You jumped before turning around and you felt your face heat up.

“Ms.(y/l/n), please refrain from using profanities in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Parker. I was just startled.”

“Mhm,” he took his glasses off and laid them on his desk, “Just don’t do it in the future Ms.(y/l/n).”

“Of course. My name is (y/n), by the way, Professor Parker, you can just call me that, actually, I prefer that people refer to me by (y/n).”

“Rest assured, I’m aware of your name, Ms.(y/l/n). My name is Peter, but you can continue to call me Professor Parker.” You could have sworn that you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew what he was fucking doing, asshole. You held back from rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

“Of course, Professor Parker.”

“As you know, Ms.(y/l/n), I did request that you stay after class.”

“Oh? I sincerely apologize Professor Parker, I really didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure, Ms.(y/l/n).” Fucking. Dick.

“Well, what exactly did you want Professor Parker? I do have another class soon.” Professor Parker narrowed his eyes at you in obvious distaste before reaching behind himself into a bin underneath his desk and pulling out a stack of papers,

“These are the handouts you missed from the beginning of the class. Textbook requirements, syllabus...Crucial information to have if you care to succeed in my class Ms.(y/l/n).” So coldly, so maliciously, Professor Parker placed the stack into your arms.

“I take my work very seriously, Ms.(y/l/n), I do my part as your professor so I only have the simple request that my students do the same.” You nodded feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course, Professor Parker, it won’t happen again,” you said with a tightlipped smile.

“Mhm,” Professor Parker turned around and began shuffling around some paper and without giving you a second glance said, “You are dismissed.” You nodded and hurriedly made your way out of his classroom. Of course, you had lied. You didn’t have another class until late in the afternoon. So you called your coworker instead,

“Hey, Harvey.”

“(y/n).”

“Wow, okay, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, just woke up.”

“Tsk, the early bird gets the worm, Harvey.”

“I don’t want a worm.”

“Fuck you. I’m headed to the lab, can I expect you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You had been working with Harvey for around four years now, he was quite the impressive specimen, having attended MIT and graduating Summa Cum Laude at age 20 was no easy feat, he was closer to Tony Stark than you would ever get, he was quite personable, and you couldn’t deny that he was quite good looking. You’d never tell him that though, he didn’t need another ego boost. Besides, you had some connections of your own.

“Hey, (y/n).”

“Banner!”

“Can we expect Harvey today?”

“Honestly, not sure.” You both knowingly smiled at each other before you made your way over to what he was working on,

“Do you ever get bored here?”

“With you and the other idiot always running around? How could I?” You laughed,

“No, seriously, like wouldn’t you rather be doing nerd shit with Tony or something? Isn’t it a little tiresome babysitting us?”

“Tiring? Maybe sometimes, but not nearly as tiring as doing ‘nerd shit’ with Tony. He’s exhausting,” Bruce smiled at his own joke, “I don’t mind playing babysitter at all kid.” He fiddled with the handle of a mug that read, “Don’t be so Na Cl,” which you had gotten him a year back as a joke, but he still used it.

You really loved Bruce for all he was. Since losing your family back in 2012 during the battle in NYC, you didn’t really have any familial figures. But since landing this internship you found yourself with a parental figure again, and you would never be able to put into words how much it meant to you, so you didn’t. Besides, you didn’t want him to feel pressured about it, especially after everything he had been through himself. Frying half your body and losing the love of your life in such a short span of time was really nothing less than horrifying. Yet, here he was, smiling, laughing...You loved him for it.

“First day of junior year? How was that?”

“Shit.”

“Huh?” Bruce stopped tinkering with the device in his hands and looked over at you, “I’ve never heard of a course being too hard for (y/n) (y/l/n), what is it? Aerospace? Quantum?”

“No, just one giant dick.”

“Pardon-”

“My professor, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Ah, I see. If he’s really harassing you (y/n), I don’t mean to overstep, I really think we should alert administration, what’s his name?” Bruce took a sip of his coffee.

“Professor Parker,” Bruce choked on his coffee, “Oh my God, Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yeah-” he said, still coughing, “Just a little too strong.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce caught his breath, “What did he do kid?”

“He’s just a dick that’s all.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do something about it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t know what you could do anyways. Thank you though.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised.”

Sitting at your desk stressing over school work at 3am, it was nothing out of the ordinary for you. Everything appeared ordinary. The ordinary cup of tea, the familiar glow of your computer, and a morning chill creeping through your window. It was all so breathtakingly normal until there was a rap on your window. You took an earbud out of your ear, certain you were just hearing things, you looked to your window. Holy shit.

You opened your window wide so that he could crawl in.

“(y/n)?”

“Mr.Spiderman.” Still too in shock to fully process the situation you started to take in the scene in front of you,

“Please, it’s just Spiderman.”

“Oh-Oh my God, what happened?” Head to toe the suit seemed to have blood seeping through, tears in the body of the suit revealed gashes and a bullet wound.

“Bad guys. I know this guy-said he knew a medical student close by, you are (y/n)? Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m really just a student, I’m not really a prof-”

“This guy, he said you might as well be.”

“I don’t know Mr.Spiderman, really, maybe I could take you to the hospital though.”

“-Spiderman, it’s just Spiderman, listen, (y/n), you know I can’t go to a hospital, it would ruin this whole secret identity thing I got going on here, and this guy, he’s probably the smartest guy I know, so if he says you can handle it, you can.” You swallowed and nodded,

“Yeah-” you wring your hands together, “Yeah-Sorry, let me go get my first aid kit.”