#cheap business loans

[moneybhartiofficial]

How To Get A Lowest Interest Personal Loan?

Borrowing a lowest interest personal loan is a reliable way to fund your needs, especially in medical emergencies. Banks and private lenders offer quick loans with varying interest rates. Learning how interest rates are determined can help get a quick loan with the lowest interest.

Factors Affecting Personal Loan Interest Rate

1. Credit Score: A good credit score of (750) reflects financial responsibility and for this reason qualifies for the lowest interest rates.

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3. Loan Amount & Tenure: Shorter loans for a short time usually attract lower interest rates. Lenders get their money back without waiting for a long time.

4. Debt-to-Income Ratio: A lower ratio improves eligibility for a lowest interest personal loan. Keep your existing debt lower than your income to get more options.

How to Reduce Interest Rate on Personal Loans?

1. Compare Lenders: Different lenders, such as banks, NBFCs, and private financers have different interest rates. Compare interest rates to find the best deal.

2. Opt for Salary-Linked Loans: If you are a salaried employee, you are eligible for a lowest interest personal loan from banks and NBFCs.

3. Maintain a Good Credit Score: Repaying your debts on time and reducing your credit utilization can help achieve a high credit score, needed for low interest rates.

4. Check for Pre-Approved Offers: Check whether lenders have any pre-approved offers for you. It can be a lowest interest personal loan.

[hellyeahsickaf]

I found an extremely dope disability survival guide for those who are homebound, bedbound, in need of disability accommodations, or would otherwise like resources for how to manage your life as a disabled person. (Link is safe)

It has some great articles and resources and while written by people with ME/CFS, it keeps all disabilities in mind. A lot of it is specific to the USA but even if you're from somewhere else, there are many guides that can still help you. Some really good ones are:

How to live a great disabled life- A guide full of resources to make your life easier and probably the best place to start (including links to some of the below resources). Everything from applying for good quality affordable housing to getting free transportation, affordable medication, how to get enough food stamps, how to get a free phone that doesn't suck, how to find housemates and caregivers, how to be homebound, support groups and Facebook pages (including for specific illnesses), how to help with social change from home, and so many more.

Turning a "no" into a "yes"- A guide on what to say when denied for disability aid/accommodations of many types, particularly over the phone. "Never take no for an answer over the phone. If you have not been turned down in writing, you have not been turned down. Period."

How to be poor in America- A very expansive and helpful guide including things from a directory to find your nearest food bank to resources for getting free home modifications, how to get cheap or free eye and dental care, extremely cheap internet, and financial assistance with vet bills

How to be homebound- This is pretty helpful even if you're not homebound. It includes guides on how to save spoons, getting free and low cost transportation, disability resources in your area, home meals, how to have fun/keep busy while in bed, and a severe bedbound activity master list which includes a link to an audio version of the list on Soundcloud

Master List of Disability Accommodation Letters For Housing- Guides on how to request accommodations and housing as well as your rights, laws, and prewritten sample letters to help you get whatever you need. Includes information on how to request additional bedrooms, stop evictions, request meetings via phone, mail, and email if you can't in person, what you can do if a request is denied, and many other helpful guides

Special Laws to Help Domestic Violence Survivors (Vouchers & Low Income Housing)- Protections, laws, and housing rights for survivors of DV (any gender), and how to get support and protection under the VAWA laws to help you and/or loved ones receive housing and assistance

Dealing With Debt & Disability- Information to assist with debt including student loans, medical debt, how to deal with debt collectors as well as an article with a step by step guide that helped the author cut her overwhelming medical bills by 80%!

There are so many more articles, guides, and tools here that have helped a lot of people. And there are a lot of rights, resources, and protections that people don't know they have and guides that can help you manage your life as a disabled person regardless of income, energy levels, and other factors.

Please boost!

[chocochiffonnn]

➸ Pairing: Boss! Park Sunghoon x Reader

➸ Word Count: 18k.

➸ Synopsis: Landing your first job at a high and well-respected corporation is a big deal. You had the skills, the knowledge, and luckily— the patience of being the secretary of an overbearing man. When things are starting to get a little smoother in navigating his demands, you were suddenly sent on a business meeting to France. And what's worse? You were going to the trip with him alone.Or basically, a story in which you navigate your true feelings in the streets of Paris, and ultimately, go home devastated.

➸ Themes: kind of enemies to lovers, work AU.

➸ Warnings: Sunghoon is mean at first, reader doesn't give in easily kind of, a bit of angst if you squint, SUGGESTIVE!!! (not comfy? leave.) i kind of also rushed the ending lol.

➸ Author's Note: HERE IT ISSSS! i hope you guys enjoy reading my second full fic on this account! this was so fun to make. as usual, reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated. tysm! ^_^

➸ Taglist: @em-asian @ikeumina @weyukinluv @mariegibeau @rairaiblog @immelissaaa @seokseokjinkim @jaehaki @saeeeee5 @areumhwang2000 @cutehoons02 @fancypeacepersona @sadgirlluvsmoney @gizellesaeriaaaa @stta-princess

FOR YEARS ON END— INSTANT NOODLES LEFT A BITTER TASTE IN YOUR MOUTH.

‘The Combo of 3C’s’ as though you’d like to call it. Cup noodles. Canned goods. Cheap soups. Any affordable but edible dish the market had for a broke college student attempting to survive. With piles and piles of loans, an hour of sleep per day and practically being slaved off to society— somehow, through luck, you’re still alive and thriving.

Perhaps not so the same for your arteries or blood vessels practically gnawing away at the ultimately highly processed foods you ate per day, point still stands.

You’re alive and thriving, at age 23, on the way to your first job— Park Corporation.

The degree that you slaved away to landed you this huge job. This huge fucking ass job.

Which perhaps is worth the hellish four years you've spent suffering, because you've heard of this before. Scratch that, you've heard of this everywhere. Park Corporations, one of the leading companies in Korea. If not, the leading company of Korea. Known for its hefty business and sales, this corporation practically thrives in wealth and riches.

Oh, and for you to land such a job for your first time?

That much was a feat. You were not only lucky, but also skilled. It was a given by now, with the way the Rolls Royce of these employees dropped off at the ridiculously large glass walls of the company, do you realize that— class matters. And status matters.

And luckily, you took matters into your own hands prior to leaving your house. You wore pinstripe trousers paired with black kitten heels and a fitted white button up, your hair was put in a sleek ponytail, and your wrist and neck was adorned with necklaces and bracelets that shone with simplicity. An outfit that commanded attention, and an aura that screamed tenacity.

You looked as presentable as ever, no loops, no error, and no gaps in the system. Because from the years of navigating through life, you remained certain for one thing— you allowed room for no mistakes. This was your only shot in making your years at work as smooth as it could possibly be with these bigshots, and ultimately, this first day will mark the rest of your working life.

And so, you entered the company with a confident stride. Bold, brave, and daring, absolutely determined to experience the taste of anything else but instant noodles.

The pristine walls of the facility felt dystopian.

After inquiring over at the counter, ultimately already being recognized as the newly hired employee in addition to the supposed planning department, you were redirected to an office at the fifteenth floor.

At the fifteenth fucking floor.

Now, you usually never assumed floors as the basis for employee importance, but you kind of did now. Probably a hierarchal thing that a pyramid usually is. The higher you are, the better.

The floor was busy, as in, busy, busy. Upon your presence at the elevator, some employees walked like crazy all over the place. Making calls and inquiries, group discussions over some papers—

“Excuse me, I—”

“Not now miss, the department is busy.”

“Excuse me?”

It came so suddenly, a response from a short, stubby guy who was conversing in a discussion with one of the employees. It was definitely directed at you, but you just had to make sure,

“Who are you and why are you here? Miss, questions are entertained over at the counter at the ground floor, not here—”

“Oh, I’m actually told to go here.”

“What?”

The short stubby guy halts his conversation with the other employee. Suddenly, it felt like no one was too busy anymore, it was no longer noisy. “The person at the counter told me to go here. I’m going to be the new employee.”

You emphasized the I’m part. To let him know you know your place and that you aren’t budging in like what he was visibly implying with the frown on his face. His distaste was as clear as day. “We’ve not been informed that a new employee will join this department.”

You were surprised, “Really? I was told down there this department should already know and that I’ll be directed and guided directly by the employees here.”

"Really? We should be informed about it then. Since we are not—"

"I can accompany you over at the counter to testify my response if you doubt me... Sir."

Yikes. That honorifics felt forced.

No one dared to interrupt, you hear a few gasps from some of the employees. Hell, even the short guy was stunned and once again, visibly offended. "Excuse me?"

"Or if there's a phone connecting this department with the counter, we can—"

"There is absolutely no need. I shall confirm it myself."

"... Alright." You nod, oblivious to his stomps as he walked over your direction. He stood a few steps away, eyeing you up and down, down and up. Well, that goes for your first impression here at the company. You didn’t eye him, but you stared at him in question. He looked like he was in his mid-30’s, with a mustache, bald spot, and all that.

You dared not budged, as if challenging him, telling him— No, you don’t get to say that. I know what I heard.

But he looked stubborn, so you chose not to press and silently follow his tantrum steps down to the ground floor, opting to stay a few distances away from the man.

“Yes, she’s assigned over at the planning department, starting today.”

The registrar at the counter, as poised as ever, typing away at her laptop. She’d just confirmed what you’d heard. You looked at the man who was stunned beyond belief. “What do you mean? Don’t all newly hired employees go to—”

“Orientation? Yes, that was last week, Mr. Kim.”

Mr. Kim, huh?

You felt his blood boil, the clench on his fist tightened as his bald spot fumed like a volcano. (if that was even possible)

“No, we can’t—”

The clerk suddenly bounced to her feet, closing her laptop and disregarding the man as she left her table and scurried off. “Yah! The conversation is not yet done, Yeri—”

“The Parks have arrived!”

She— Yeri, intervenes, stomping through her heels and walking towards the entrance along with the other employees who seemed to have gotten the memo. It seemed this Mr. Kim was stunned too, following Yeri as he shouted, “What are you doing just standing there?! Line up!”

With a nod, you followed him towards the entrance and group along a couple employees chattering about the Parks in an aimless manner,

“Mr. Sungwoo has called in a meeting today for the company plans after being discharged from the hospital.”

“Really?! I hope the CEO isn’t pushing himself too hard, working shouldn’t even be an option in that state.”

“I know right?! But I guess he really loves this company and his family.”

“Speaking of family, I heard the CEO is bringing his children along.”

“You mean Park Sunghoon and Park Yeji? Gosh! I’d kill to see them in person.”

“You’d pass out in person. They’re just as beautiful and attractive as the news make them out to be!”

The Parks. A family who owned the company you are to work in. You’ve seen them before, in news and television. Headlines surrounding their reputation never faltered, neither did it bounce off to another company’s name. The Parks remained consistent, perhaps their lineage being that lucky to be blessed with business minded people who strive towards perfection. In this case, perfection in work and in looks.

Park Sungwoo— coined as the CEO of the company. It had been twelve years since he inherited the job from his father, described by the press as a worhkaholic ever since he stepped into the realm of business.

His wife, Park Soojin, though not entirely being the center of attention, was described to be just as meticulous. You don’t know much about her, though.

And as describes by the media— the golden children, per se, Park Sunghoon and Park Yeji.

Park Yeji— 18, a fashion design major. Someone who strayed away from the family inheritance, seemingly going down a path of her own with her creatives.

And Park Sunghoon, the soon to be CEO of the company. Someone sharp, quick-witted, and too prepared for his own good. He looked too stoic, too robotic. His response during interviews were concise, he barely laughed, smiled, no crinkles or smile lines were visible on his face, which made you think he must be a humanoid or something.

No one can deny the fact that the genes of the family deemed strong, though. God, they were sculpted to perfection.

The employees halted their chattering, an indicator that the family was here. All eyes pointed towards the building, the employees and guards lined up. Then, they came in.

Park Sungwoo, Park Sunghoon, and Perk Yeji in the flesh. Their prim and proper suits and perhaps million dollar shoes reverberating through the room. Hell, the cameras don’t even come close to what they look like in real life.

“Good morning!”

The employees bowed, confused, you bowed as well. You stood up, in utter awe of their presence in full sight. They walked with respect, nodding at the short greetings coming upon them. Park Sungwoo grins, so does Park Yeji. But Sunghoon doesn’t, opting to nod along as he meddled with the sleeve of his vest.

Then you see him, and he sees you.

It doesn’t matter that it was but a brief moment, it was a moment regardless.

Thus marked your first technical interaction amongst plenty with him.

And today, this one, would at most be the most peaceful one you’d have yet.

When things don’t go according to plan, you somehow, always found a way.

Prior to working at Park Corporations, you’d always consider yourself to be someone observant and keen with details. Paired with a rather straightforward mouth and a mind that had a single goal— work for you had to be piles of paper riddled with precision and absolutely no mistakes at all.

It had been around a year of tapping your way into this industry, specifically, a department which had more or less appreciated your presence in the very room. One of who, is your co-worker, Kim Sunoo, who you became close with the moment you started working. He was quite the opposite, optimistic and bright in ever circumstances, it was like the universe circled in his head like a halo.

Navigating through the office and the workload had been easier because of his guidance, much like right now. The two of you meticulously worked on a particular paper, thoroughly scanning its premises before it was to be passed on to the next department .

“The plan is too out of reach, the budget department won’t approve of this.” Sunoo says, flipping through the papers as he ran his hand through his hair. “They won’t even consider it as an option.”

You follow, taping a sticky note with a commentary— to be returned— written on it. It was a particular Wednesday morning, the middle of the week sickness had gotten to you and you find yourself lazying away a bit more than usual. For some people, it was Monday. For you, it just had to be Wednesday.

And somehow, you just had to receive a sudden memo.

A memo which contained a direct visit from the CEO and his son himself. Supposedly, they were going through different departments for monitoring, and it was safe to say you had the privilege of being visited any minute.

“Good morning, Mr. Sungwoo! Mr. Sunghoon!”

Or perhaps, that moment was right now.

You quickly stood up, Sunoo does too, surprised at the sudden appearance. You are totally not informed it would be this soon. All of the employees bowed, a string of tension hanging in the air as they awaited the two men. Mr. Sungwoo looks around, hands on his back as he, as usual, smiled gently at his employees. And as usual, Park Sunghoon only nods.

“How is the department going on here? Any significant changes?”

Sunoo nudges you,

“Ah.”

You almost forgot. You were the department head now.

You quickly grabbed your clipboard, approaching the two men as you scanned through the contents of the compiled papers the department had been working on.

You stood a few steps away from Mr. Sungwoo, his brow raised as he awaits for your response. Mr. Sunghoon simply stares, blank written on his face. “As for the past month’s progress, the planning department has approved of five ongoing projects per department that seemed doable with the budget and premises at hand.”

You flip through a page, “this department also proposed a few projects in its own with regards to the company’s revenue.”

“And what might those be?”

Mr. Sungwoo seemed intrigued with the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself in front of him. Endless scanning through these papers and analyzing their probabilities and occurence was a routine, and by this point, you even had some of the project proposals memorized like the back of your hand.

So, when you finished proposing after what seemed like an hour, Mr. Sungwoo was stunned. Both by the preparedness, and the fact that he perhaps had to stand for half an hour listening to your yapping. The employees, albeit having the urge to sit down, listened aimlessly at the way you presented. Of course, the papers would not have been this organized if not for the fact that they too, worked hard to make it happen.

“I see everything is already under control. Who is your assistant in this department?”

You raise a brow, “Kim Sunoo, sir.”

“Do you say he works well under different circumstances?”

“… Yes, sir.”

He nods, “I’ll have my secretary get in touch with you then.”

Without another word, the two left the department office, leaving you dumbfounded and at loss for words. What in the world?

And that, officially, would mark your second interaction with Park Sunghoon.

One of the many, insufferable, ones you’d yet to encounter in the future.

A week after, you were met with major changes in your department.

Major. Major changes. Not the— a new co-worker has transferred into your department changes— type of change. But someone is transferring,

And that someone is you.

After being called into the office of the CEO, Mr. Sungwoo tells you he finds himself in a predicament, stuck between three options. He told you he would rather have his secretary deal with the issue at hand, but given that the circumstances would require the most encouraging words with not from anyone else but himself, he opted to send you in and announce something shocking.

Shocking, as in, scary, catastrophic, dangerous, and freaking— what the actual fuck?!?— type of response. The type of shock that had even your poised ass in front of him all stumbling and hesitating. Because what the actual fuck?

These were his statements during your discussion with him:

1. Mr. Sungwoo, the CEO of one of the largest corporations is getting old.

2. He is considering to pass on his position to his son, Park Sunghoon.

3. Park Sunghoon has already trained and managed for years on end, earning him the trust from his father.

4. The following shift in agendas would require Park Sunghoon to have a secretary by his side.

5. He offered the secretary position to you.

6. He apologized beforehand.

7. He also told you some encouraging words, if that made things a little better.

The last part was comparable to a warning, a little cautionary signal that told you to stray away. You had a choice, it was to take the job or leave it.

Simply put— risk the chance for a higher pay or remain satisfied and contented with what you earn now.

And to be even more simply put— deal with the fucking consequences or abstain and repeat every office morning routine.

And you never back down for a challenge, much less, the opportunity of earning more money at that.

So what’s a little shift in schedule have to do with anything? You’re still working, and though the tides may turn differently in your field of work, it doesn’t matter.

It’s just a little risk, right?

The first task of officially being given the title of secretary was simple, it was to accompany Park Sunghoon’s schedule each day of the week. After being dispatched and told you are the start immediately the following day, needless to say, some adjustments had to be made in the span of a few hours.

After bidding playful goodbyes with your co-workers the previous day, you urgently began to fix your schedule for tomorrow and perhaps, for the rest of this whole ordeal. You ultimately got the gist of what his schedule would be during weekdays, so that was a start. But first, it all begins with Mr. Sunghoon’s work time. The last time you’d seen him enter the building, it was a little over thirty minutes after the official call time.

8:30.

Park Sunghoon arrives. With your best foot forward, you strut towards his limousine as the guard opens the door and out came the man in full glory. Dressed in his suit, he looked as handsome as ever, bathing in his white skin. God, he looked like a vampire. A very, very hot vampire.

“Good morning, sir.”

You greet, Sunghoon briefly looks at you, raises a brow, before continuing to walk along like you had not exist.

…. Okay?

“Mr. Park, starting today, I’m going to be the secretary under your position.”

His long legs keep on walking and you try your best to keep up. “Can you stop following me?”

You were flabberghasted beyond belief. What stupid words to come out from such a terribly attractive man!

“Sir, I have to. I’m the new secretary.”

Déjà Vu much?

“I don’t need a secretary. Who put you in that position?”

“Your father, sir.”

Sunghoon stops in his tracks, sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. At this point, the two of you are already at the elevator. You somehow managed to keep up with long-legged man. “I already told my father I don’t need a secretary.” Sunghoon says, stern, decisive. Not once had he even spared a glance that lasted more than a second, but you are not one to back down.

“And your father told me sir that you very well need one before he gives you his position.”

“I don’t need one, are you deaf?”

Something in your system boils, suddenly, you find yourself clenching your jaw and balling your fist. Keep calm, keep calm. It’s only the first day.

The first freaking degradading comment ever out of million ones that’ll presumably come out of his mouth. Now, you took the hint as to why his father apologized. Now, you know why his face looked sympathetic the moment he talked to you.

It’s because his son had such a colorful way with words. In short— Park Sunghoon is rude.

And to work under someone who spouted such nonsense when all you want to do is get business straight?

He’s gotta be kidding you.

“By all means, sir. This is by the order of your father. I am not deaf, I would highly appreciate it if you don’t speak to me in such a manner.”

Sunghoon’s ears perked as the elevator door opens. You still walked alongside him, though at a much more paced and less hurried manner. “Oh? And how should I be talking to you?” He wasn’t looking at you, but you can feel a smirk gnawing away at his face.

“With respect, sir. I may only be an employee, but we should get things straight. I am here for my job, and you are rude.” You sigh, “So I would appreciate it if you cooperate a bit more and make things a little bit easier for the both of us.”

There it was, the word rude, coming straight at him in quick speed. And when Park Sunghoon stops in his tracks, you know you’ve caught him.

He turns around, raising a brow, “Rude? Me? Do you know what you sound like talking to your boss right now?”

“Okay— this argument is over with. You comply and agree that you are my boss, and I am the secretary. Clear? You said it yourself, Mr. Park.”

Needless to say, Sunghoon bit back his words. Cat got his tongue? You’ve caught a little loophole in his choice of sentences, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you somewhat satisfied. Good for him.

“Now for today’s agenda, you have a meeting in five with—”

“I know. I don’t need you telling me.”

With that, Sunghoon storms off like a little kid that had their candy taken away from them. A professional little kid. He knows you had him beat right now, and he refuses to admit it anyways.

You smiled.

You: 1 point.

Park Sunghoon: 0.

It’s always really the moment when you least expect it.

One moment, you were a minute away from your dismissal time.

The next, Sunghoon is already in front of your desk in his office, with piles of paperwork to be encoded, sorted, and submitted by tonight. Tonight as in— in four hours time.

He was definitely doing it on purpose, with the way he grins so smugly when he saw your horrified face at the stash of documents as big as his ego. You were all powdered and cologned up, ready to finally debrief and sink into your bed, but Park Sunghoon is a menace. He isn’t letting you have all of that glory.

“I need these by tonight.” He says, you can see him fighting back a laugh. “Tonight?” You confirm. He nods not once, not twice, but thrice. Very, very, slowly too. He was taunting you, his actions made you internally rip your hair out.

You scan through the files to check their due date— for fuck’s sake! They were due the following week!

“Mr. Park, some of these are due next week,” You say, as you confirm some of the paper's dates, yet Sunghoon only nods, “I want to clear my desks and tasks as soon as possible, it’s why I need them by tonight.”

Sunghoon smiles, gently smiles. But you know better. “First day on the job secretary? I have a lot more of those.”

He then turns to leave.

You feel your anger bubble up, it was obvious he wanted to rile you up. And the worst part? It was working. You hated missed deadlines, you hated procastinating, most of all, you hated work that was beyond your schedule for that certain day.

But you refrained from shouting, the unprofessional action will immediately have you fired. Instead, you sighed ever so heavily and sat your weight down your the chair.

It looks like you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight.

The torture didn’t stop there.

Park Sunghoon had tricks up sleeve. It had to be his talent or something— pissing you off that is.

For the first few weeks, his days consisted of everything and anything that’ll annoy any sane being and turn them into a tyrant.

For one, he refuses to drink his coffee if it isn’t a specific temperature. He keeps a thermometer lying around, every time you deliver him your morning coffee, it would have to be a specific temperature depending on his mood.

And when he doesn’t get it?

He makes you repeat it.

Two, he started stashing all of his assigned paperworks over to you when you least expect it. Given the first occurence during your first day, it was certain that Park Sunghoon was bound to do it again. And he does, every single time he felt like it.

When the day seemed to be going too well, Park Sunghoon was there to shove a mountain full of papers in front of your face.

Three, he modifies his schedule. Not just a couple of tweaks here and there, but he modifies his scheduled tasks for the whole entire week, rescheduling it in a certain day he deemed fit. And the worst part? You had to be the one to call and reach out to these schedules at hand in order to organize the schedules and tell them that Park Sunghoon has had a change of heart.

There is a fourth one, a fifth, a sixth, his tactics ranged and stretched into a hundred. And the worst part for him?

You handled it frustrated, but you handled it nonetheless. Not with ease, yet with the required professionalism and patience for the job. He’s immature that’s for sure, but it was obvious he was doing to it to spite you.

It frustrates you, but you refuse to show that to him. And it frustrates him too, yet he refuse to let you see it. So, it was a back and forth process of Sunghoon torturing you with everything, and you dealing with it in a way that it tortures him as well.

You could feel it, you could sense that he wanted to put you down from the position, to have you let go of the spot because he was too much, or too strict, or too annoying. However, you remain persistent. You were not letting Sunghoon get the best of you.

He wants his coffee at a specific temperature and keeps demanding you to make it to his liking?

Fine, you’ll reheat the coffee and burn your fingertips regardless.

He piles up his paperworks onto your shoulders?

Fine, you’ll get them done and look like a zombie the following day.

He tweaks his schedule in the most unimaginable ways possible?

Fine, you’ll deal with the hassle of the receiving end shouting at you for making sudden changes

He wasn’t going to make you leave the spot you’ve worked so hard for.

“I need these by tomorrow, have them arranged right away.” Came another pile of folders. It was a routine by now, each night, Park Sunghoon would load your table with this. At this point, your eyes were riddled with dark circles, your lips were cracked and dry from all the endless nibbling away.

You had no snarky response coming along his way, you only nodded. You were intent on finishing the task as soon as possible, every second counted. Arguing with him would simply waste a solid ten seconds.

You spent those ten seconds typing away, folding one of the finished folder, grabbing the rest of the stack for arranging. You didn’t really feel Sunghoon’s presence, but he was already behind your back. From the reflection of your desktop, you see his arms crossed.

“Sir, it’s 11 PM, you should be going home by now.”

Perhaps there was some bitterness in the tone. You don’t see it, but Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “It’s good.”

“What?”

“That—”

He points towards the file, “You work good.”

You had to cleanse your ears upon hearing what he’d just said. No way. All drowsiness from your eyes dissipated and you were left shocked, “Excuse me?”

Sunghoon coughs, “I’m going. Make sure you finish that by tonight.”

Your back was turned against him, so you don’t see him leave. You couldn’t.

Fuck. What was that?

It goes on for a few more days.

It’s odd.

Park Sunghoon demands a redo of his coffee, not five times, but only twice now. He gives you the same amount of work, but stays behind a couple minutes to comment on your work albeit it being positive or negative. He doesn’t just leave without notice anymore. And his changes with his schedule become less frequent— all the annoying and meticulous things about it lessened.

And you don’t know whether you should be creeped out or glad.

“You have a meeting with the HR department in an hour,” Flipping through your clipboard, you step inside the elevator with him. It had currently been two months since you’ve been given the position. Physically? You already lost a couple of pounds due to skipping meals and staying up late from Park Sunghoon’s orders. Mentally? It felt like your mind was suffering from intense drought.

Financially? You were doing great. Better than great. You were sustaining more than enough, even having left over money to spend on new work clothes. The job was brutal, but it had you elevating from your old economic status.

You ticked one of the box from the checklist, Sunghoon does not respond. No snarky comments, no barking back. He just nods. “Not much schedule for this afternoon. Your father requests for your presence at dinner, sir.”

“Who else is included?” Sunghoon asks, you quirk a brow, “Family dinner, sir. So expect your family to be there.”

You almost missed it, the way Sunghoon’s jaw clenched and the way his teeth gritted. “Cancel it, tell father I can’t come.”

“You can’t miss out sir, your father’s been noticing your absence in plenty of the family dinner arrangements.”

“I said to cancel the damn plan.”

He seethes, perhaps with more weight and force than intended. Surprised, you stumble on your own words, “Ah— Alright, I’ll contact your father and see what I can do.”

The weight of the air lingered on your part, perhaps on Sunghoon’s too. He sighs after a few seconds, twisting his head to the side. “Sorry. I just don’t want to be attending any family stuff right now.”

“I understand.”

You nod, taking a quick note to once again, earn a handful of scolding from his father. The words that should be directed to Sunghoon himself pointed towards his secretary instead. When his father harbors some scoldings for his son, it goes to you most of the time.

Still, this matter must be something that Sunghoon deemed to be untouchable. A sensitive topic on his part, so you don’t push.

For the rest of the budding morning and afternoon, Sunghoon attended to the rest of his tasks and agendas.

Until night eventually came and you prepared yourself for another set of hefty tasks from him.

Yet none came.

7:50 PM.

Ten minutes before his official dismissal, Sunghoon usually gives his tasks a minute late, so you had to keep your guard up.

But nothing came. All you see is Sunghoon coming out of his office, wearing his long coat as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of it. You observed his actions, the way he closed the door, he walked— he carried no papers at all.

“Sir, the files?” You ask him, expectant. Sunghoon looks over your direction, he thinks for a moment before he eventually spoke, “Go home early tonight. There is none.”

You blinked. Once, twice, thrice. The fingers that had flexed towards the keyboard, sharp and stretched, ready for the long hours of exhaustion. Eventually, Sunghoon noticed your absent-mindedness as his brow rose. “I said there’s none, you can go home now.”

You must definitely be hearing things. You slap your head lightly, shaking it and blinking your eyes to make sure you weren’t dreaming. You aren’t.

Park Sunghoon— your absolute menace of a boss finally lets you out early for the first time?

What a fucking steal!

Something must be terribly wrong or disoriented with the universe right now with the way he is acting.

But you’d be a little idiotic not to harness this once in a lifetime opportunity. Thus with an enthusiastic jump from your seat, you quickly fixed your table— absolutely ready to go home and feast on one of your latest series.

Sunghoon merely watches you as you hurriedly pack up. In your defense, you had to or else something might shift his mood and might make you stay even longer. Once done, you strapped your bag in your shoulder.

Sunghoon stands a few distances away, a smug grin tugging at his face, “That excited?” He says. You nod, “I’m going home relatively early for the first time, I have to go before you change your mind.”

Sunghoon chuckles— actually chuckles. Even the heavens blessed him with such a beautiful chuckle, it was actually insane. You start to walk towards the door, so does Sunghoon. It wasn’t of much attention before, but now, the height difference between the two of you is very prominent.

His broad sculpted shoulders made little to no effort to humble your frame that was smaller than him. He could pass as a model, in all honesty. What most people fail to realize however, are the moles that fainted his face much like a signature on an official piece of paper.

The way down was unimaginably quite, the sound of the night coming in full play. The sky was already dark, still, you had to take a bus on the way home. The elevator of the ground floor opens, but before you can even fathom, much less go out, Sunghoon presses the close button and immediately hits the basement.

“Um, sir, I don’t—”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“I’m offering you a free ride.”

He’s offering a what now?

“I can—”

“It’s already late and dangerous. Relax, I won’t kill you.”

Once the elevator opens at the basement, he steps forward and walks ahead. You merely followed, surprised by the sudden offer.

He won’t kill you but he’ll probably leave you the middle of nowehere, right?

“I’m not dropping you in the middle of nowhere.”

“Oh.”

You nod, embarrassed that he could read your thoughts. The two of you reached his car, his watchamacallit model whatever car that probably costs your whole entire organ system or existence. He opens the car door on the left, “Sir, are you sure?”

You ask one last time. “No, just rot there.”

And so you do. You stand there, albeit almost holding the car door. You swiftly let go and stay in place. What an ass.

Sunghoon starts his car, reaching over for the mirror on your side and rolling it down. “What? You’re actually gonna stand there?”

You nod. “That’s what you said.”

“What?” Sunghoon scoffs, eyeing you from inside the car. He pokes his cheek with his tongue, tilting his head ever so slightly, “Get inside, I can’t believe you took that seriously."

“Of course I will.” You mumble under your breath, opening the car door and getting inside his pristine car. The scent came wafting in, the strong particular odor tingling down your senses. The one he always used at work, the scent you’ve come to memorize every time you walked beside him. Similar to laundry detergent, soapy, airy— something so clean and fresh.

Somehow, the scent suited him.

Sunghoon puts his hand on the wheel, you weren’t very familiar with the mechanics of driving, but hell was he good at it. He looked back, placing his left hand on the handbrake.

Oh wow.

“Just tell me the directions.” Sunghoon says, oblivious to the way you gawk at the way he drives. You nod, clutching your hands together and keeping your eyes forward. On the road, on the fucking road, goddamit!

“While I’m um—” The silence was killing you. “I’m here, I’ll discuss your schedule for tomorrow.” You opened your phone, having a copy of everything in every device always had its perks.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Sunghoon begins, from your peripheral vision, you see his mouth twitch upward as he attempted to stiffle in a laugh. “What?”

“When does your working spirit turn off?”

“What do you mean?”

He spares a glance, “I mean, you’re always working. And doing— that.” He points towards your phone. With a shrug, you correct one of the typos from the schedule. “Are you not like that, sir?”

“Why would I be?”

It came off a little surprising on your part, “You look like you’d be the all work no play type of person, you know.”

“That’s rather offensive.”

Realizing what you’d just said, you quickly refute and panic. “I’m sorry, it’s not like that! It’s just—”

“No, I get what you mean.” Sunghoon cuts off with a laugh, grazing the side of his temple with his finger as his elbow came to rest on the elevation of the door. “That’s what most people assume.”

“That you’re a workaholic?”

“No, that I’m full of seriousness and that I never have fun.”

You mumble beneath your breath, “anyone would see that, just look at your face.”

“Really? What does my face look like?” At this point, Sunghoon already released a chuckle. “You always look so serious.” You blatantly say.

Anyone but him would notice that, of course. When Park Sunghoon walked, it was always so poised and controlled, aside from his actions looking so robotic on your end, his face always contorted to that of a frown or a monotonous face whenever and wherever. It was like his program consisted of two emotions only.

“And your face is always like this—” You turn to him, copying one of his signature faces from your perspective. “Or this.” came another pose.

Sunghoon smirks, twitching his head to the side. “So they say.”

“So you are aware.” you sigh, “What do you think about it?”

“About what?”

“When people talk about that.”

“Me? Well, I could say I’m flattered."

You laugh, unknowing he was capable of making such a joke. Unless, it was actually not a joke and he was geniune about it. “What about the negative side of it?”

Sunghoon ponders, keeping his mouth shut for a minute. He lazily taps the wheel with his fingers before he spoke, “I don’t necessarily mind,”

“Besides, it’s not like I’m here to be pleasing people.”

You nod, gauging in his words and his feelings. So that’s why. His world always seemed so enclosed from a vision, so isolated despite being showered with public affection by those who admired him online. He isn’t here to frolic around and make people like him. He’s just him, there’s nothing more, nothing less to it.

“You go to the left after this.” His car turns left, eventually, you reach the door of your house and you tell him to stop.

“Thank you for the ride, sir.” You tell him once his car settled down in front of your home. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you turn to Sunghoon who had an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m going now.” But you don’t move. Sunghoon too, remains still.

Then, you open the car door and bid farewell.

But before you had a chance to close it, he spoke, “Goodnight.”

Something’s definitely shifted.

The air, the atmosphere, the place, the person, whatever it may possibly be— something’s definitely changed. The number one rule when it came to businesses like these is to allow things to remain unspoken, to let things linger in the tense air.

It wasn’t a crime to be observing such a change It was however, forbidden to mention it.

You don’t mention it but you take note of it.

The way Sunghoon doesn’t even ask for a redo of his coffee now, drinking it as it is despite the temperature being different. The way he follows his schedule more diligently with less changes. The way he— instead of leaving his paperworks with you, does it himself.

The way he’s become a little bit more gentler with words and in actions.

The way it affects you in such a way that it has you confused, terrified, and loving it at the same time.

You tell yourself it’s just a shift in his attitude.

You tell yourself that he’s just being nice.

You tell yourself that it is nothing.

Because it’s definitely nothing, right?

“I’m done.”

It was Sunghoon, opening the door from his office and entering yours. It was past 8PM, you worked a little later given the fact that there are more tasks than usual.

Or you could just be looking for an excuse.

“I’m having a bit of a hard time with this.” You say, despite not seeing Sunghoon as your desktop blocked your vision. The mouse has you frustrated, refusing to cooperate and going all over the place on your screen.

Sunghoon was already behind you, presence inching even closer.

Until his chest made slight contact with your head, his left hand balancing himself on your table, and his right one making contact with something.

The said something being your hand.

Or the mouse.

Or the mouse that had your hand placed on top of it.

He has you trapped, seemingly unfazed and unbothered as he guides your hand— or the mouse very gently. “Hmm?” He quips, “It’s working just fine, you need to be gentle with your mouse.”

And you let him. You let him drag the picture you were doing just seconds prior, you let him cage you in his arms despite him not being aware of it, you let his chest warm the back of your head ever so slightly. And once again, the smell of his clean perfume engulfed your nose and suffocated you in a way nothing else had.

Fuck.

“Thank you.” You mumble, straightening your posture in order to look large, to feel large. Sunghoon pulls away from the contact, crossing his arms. “Don’t be so harsh with your mouse.” He teases.

You huff, clicking or typing away to calm your beating heart. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“It was lagging earlier, I swear.” You try and reason out, but Sunghoon only chuckles at your response. “… Right.”

“Are you not going to go home, sir?” You shift the topic, still not facing him as you busied away. “No, not yet.”

Then you hear something shifts, like a chair being moved.

“I’m waiting for you.”

Come Monday, and every shocking news washed down again.

After spending lunch with Sunoo and some of your old officemates, you went back to your office to resume your work. What greeted you isn’t that of paperworks, but with Sunghoon’s note saying— ‘come report to my office after lunch.’

And so here you are, in front of your boss, absolutely appalled at his sudden announcement.

“I know it’s sudden but—” Sunghoon pinches the bridge of his nose. It seemed even he too, was surprised. “Father said the notice came upon late and this matter cannot be missed upon by the company.”

The said matter being an official business gathering of different companies around the world for some nepotism, trades, or connections nonsense.

The schedule is tomorrow— in France.

“I don’t know if—”

“The company will shoulder the expenses if that’s what you’re worried about.” Sunghoon quickly cuts off.

“No, I mean, a passport. I don’t have—”

”The matter can be arranged quickly.”

“But what about—”

“If this is about the stay, the business, the preparations, father has already told me it’s been dealt with.”

What about his consent?

“Are you okay with me coming?” It shouldn’t be something you are to be asking, given you are his secretary and you’re practically attached to his hip most days of the week. Still, Sunghoon was a man who kept his walls up high. At this, he simply raises a brow, “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re my secretary.”

Some odd feeling tickled your stomach, “Of course. I’ll just— I’ll prepare for what’s to come ahead tomorrow. Is there something I should be noted of?”

Sunghoon shook his head, “Not that I know of, we’ll be dealing with such stuff tomorrow.”

You nod, briefly bidding goodbye once the conversation was over and leaving his room. God forbid something normal happens once in a while in your life.

You dramatically slid down the door, hoping he wouldn’t open it so suddenly.

“What a way to go overseas…”

You don’t know what’s worse, the overbearing press breathing down your neck and following Sunghoon everywhere he goes, or the fact that you discovered for the first time you had extreme flying fears. (Not that you went on an airplane before to test it out.)

Cameras and mics kept their distance, but still, they were there and ready to tackle Sunghoon with questions. Yet, the man remained calm and composed, walking in his normal pace as you followed behind him.

It was the first time you saw him in a not so formal attire, opting to wear a v-neck sweater and dress pants paired with some loafers. People would assume he’s a model and not some extremely snobby boss who orders his secretary around.

You also dressed yourself in something casual. But, attention to outfits were not really much of your interest given that your stomach was churning and your heart felt like it was about to jump out of your chest. Literally.

You tried to keep yourself composed. Keyword— tried. It seems you were doing a pretty good job at it, given that Sunghoon still had the nerve to order you to get him some coffee.

“Same temperature, sir? And black coffee?” You stuffed down the puke, you weren’t even in the plane yet!

Sughoon shrugs as he busied on his surroundings, hoping no journalists come near him. “Black coffee, any temperature is fine.”

You nodded and scurried off in search for his coffee, and a bathroom, too.

Minutes later, in search of Sunghoon, you find him in a corner of the airport, sitting idly and tapping away at his computer. He was already working and you hadn’t even left the country yet. After getting his coffee (and ultimately puking away to your heart’s content) you neared him and handed the coffee.

“What took you so long?” He says, the disappearance having been longer than expected. You quickly cover it up, “Oh, the line was long.” Lies.

If Sunghoon notices, he doesn’t seem to pry into it any further as an announcement for the next flight was made. Quickly, the two of you headed towards your board with luggages and bags in hand. Sunghoon had a small luggage, perhaps opting to buy the things he needed there— some decisions stupidly rich people do.

Puking it away doesn’t necessarily mean you’d have the pass of not feeling the terrible sensation again. So, once you were at the seat of your ridiculuously expensive private class seat, you stayed silent, your saliva tasting saltier than usual and your head feeling slightly lighter.

At least you’ll puke in a rather private place.

The plane was cold. While you tried your best to just be sane for a few minutes. After getting to your assigned seats, your leg jitters became inevitable. This, Park Sunghoon noticed.

“Are you nervous or something?” He asks, a geniune question. You quickly deny, “No. Why would I be?” Lies.

He nods hesitantly, but you weren’t stopping! Eventually, the plane announced its departure, the flight attendant announcing some rules and regulations. With sweaty palms and a salivating mouth, you clenched yourself together and prepared for the worst.

“Here.” Sunghoon hands you something, you look over. It was a piece of menthol candy. “Eat it, if you feel sick or something.” You thanked him, taking the piece of candy and popping it into your mouth.

He tells you to close your eyes, and you do.

He tells you to open your palms, and you do.

And then, his fingers intertwined with yours.

And then, his thumb rumbs the back of your hands ever so gently.

And then you quickly shot your eyes open, almost puking out the candy he gave. “W-what— Sir—”

“My mother used to do this to me as a child when I got plane sick.” He intervenes too quickly, “Don’t get me wrong. It looked like you were about to puke on me or something.”

But he doesn’t look at you, simply looking out the window as his right hand nestled his head.

What was he thinking?

You nod, reminiscing of that moment at the office when his hands guided you.

You tell yourself its nothing, because it’s definitely nothing.

He’s your boss, and you’re his employee.

But why does his hand feel so soft? Why are his fingertips so gentle and meek?

It’s definitely nothing.

By some odd miracle the gods have graced you with, the sickness of yours has gone astray.

Perhaps it was because of the fact that you already remain aware and predicted of how an airplane actually pilots, or perhaps it was because of the fact that his hands are like— there. For a solid hour, his hand remained still on top of yours. Nervous, yes. But he was certain.

Only then does Park Sunghoon lift his hand up when the flight attendant offers some of the meals, opting to point something at the menu and putting his hand back in its respective place— his lap. You’d wish it was your hand, though.

The meal eventually arrives after the two of you order, and with but the smallest appetite and the feeling of sickness, you politely refused.

“You didn’t have breakfast.” He says, pushing the plate just a little farther on your end. You shook your head, “I was feeling a little sick.”

“You still are?” He asks, you nod. “I might end up puking the food if I force it down.” Park Sunghoon nods, taking a bit of his food. “Alright, suit—”

Grumble.

“Ah…”

“I told you to eat.” He says, not even halfway through chewing yet as his took your utensils and pried it into your hands. “You’ll definitely throw up if you don’t eat something.”

“Wow, father like much?” You quip, eventually giving in and taking the smallest bite of the food. Sunghoon scoffs, ”I don’t want you throwing up all over me.”

But hidden beneath his voice, was concern and that of amusement.

After hours of shifting, eating, sleeping, and keeping yourself company, arrival finally dawned early in the morning sun.

It was 9AM in the morning, leaving the plane had felt like a glory, and going to the airport of a different country felt much too surreal.

You are in France now.

The city of love.

With your boss.

Which, shouldn’t be a big deal, it really shouldn’t.

You were here for business, he was here to boost the status of the company.

But business can be interchangeable with many things.

“The hotel we’ll be staying at is the same venue for the gathering.”

The said hotel was at The Saint James Paris, located somewhere around Paris.

At this point, the two of you are already at the car of one of his recognized drivers around France. You sat at the back seat, he sat at the front. It felt a little bit weird to be greeted with such announcements from him, given the fact that it was technically your job when it comes to venus and such.

Still, you nod, grateful for the preparation. “What time does the event start?”

“8PM. We’ll have plenty of time to get some business done.”

You take upon his suggestions, “Perfect, there are some matters over at the company that—”

“Or, I have a better idea.” You see Sunghoon peek over at his rearview mirror, the smallest glint of of mischief tainting his eyes. “We’re going around town.”

“What? But—”

“Hmm?”

Sunghoon looks back, his gaze challenging you— daring you to say something more. But you keep your mouth shut, afraid of the consequences he’ll reply with.

“Nothing.”

“Okay, a room would more or less cost me my salary in ten year’s time.”

It came off as a joke, but you were deadly serious. This— The Saint James Paris hotel thing was no joke. It wasn’t anything, it was quite literally, and ultimately everything you’ve ever dreamed of. It was like something out of movie set— like the Palace of Versailles and that Marie Antoinette could appear any minute.

It was the epitome of grandeur and elegance, nestling away from the bustling streets of Paris, but being located in the same city regardless. It screamed French nobility, the tapestry and furnitures of the just lobby itself screaming with gold and ornaments like no other.

It looked timeless and that of aristocratic luxury. Frankly speaking, it was beautiful, and quite literally, beyond imagination.

Sunghoon laughs as you obnoxiously gaped at the opulent fabrics that wrapped around your gentle and soft bed. Over to your right, was a private terrace that overlooked the garden down below.

“This is so breathtaking…” You mumble more so to yourself, Sunghoon leans against your door as his arms were crossed. He found it amusing you find such a place to be so magical, when for him, it was like any other.

The little sparkles in your eyes made soft crinkles appear in his eyes, and a little something jitter in his stomach.

“I don’t know how I’ll repay you for this—”

“I told you, it’s the company’s.” Sunghoon intervenes. “But it’s too—”

“It’s nice, yeah?”

He enters your room, fingers tracing the gold, silky curtains that entailed the head of your bed. Sunghoon’s room was right beside yours, with the same features adorning the very place. “It’s too fancy.” You say truthfully, feeling a bit cautious now.

He shrugs, “It’s nothing compared to what you’ll see later.”

You nod eventually, and after a few more discussions as to what the gathering will entail later, Sunghoon eventually leaves the room and asks to meet you in a few minutes.

And due to exhaustion and surprise, you plopped down on the bed with a heavy sigh.

“I seriously can’t believe this…”

Experiencing such luxury had never been part of your bucket list. You used to ask for a proper meal before, now, it felt like you were getting a buffet. Might as well make the most of it.

Paris was a bit colder than you’d expect it to be.

The afternoon breeze hit you in a swift motion, light as a feather, smooth as silk. You changed your attire, opting to wear layers that matched the weather without it being too suffocating. Eventually, someone knocks at your door and you went to open it.

It was Sunghoon, greeting you with a curt nod and a raise of his brow. He too, had the same thought and outfit in a mind. Dressed in all black, and warm layers. Regardless of what he did or wore— he always looked attractive and neat it drove you insane.

“Ready to go?” He asks, “Are you sure we don’t have any paperworks left to catch up on this—”

“Not right now, no.”

You laugh, “It looks like I’m not budging, sir.”

Sunghoon pauses momentarily, biting the bottom of his lip. Then he says, “Sunghoon. It’s Sunghoon.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Sir?”

Sunghoon coughs, eyes drifting away, “You can refrain from calling me sir outside of work.”

“Oh—” You nod, surprised, “Okay, um—”

“Sunghoon. Yeah. Sunghoon, let’s go?”

His name rolling off your tongue felt so natural and unique.

God, you could get used to it.

“Roses just seem a little too typical, but it’s fitting and romantic.”

You’ve always been a little bit of a flower enthusiast. Not necessarily obsessed or knowledgeable with all of them per se, but flowers in general attracted your eyes in such a way.

Walking along the streets of Paris after being dropped off, you realize that the abundance in flowers was definitely noticeable. By some luck, there were small booths and stands selling boquets, or single flowers such as lillies, peonies, daffodils, and anything alike.

It was like a small little world of colorful rainbows that had you in total awe.

And Paris being the city of love, well— it really made things all the more suiting.

“Oh, but look—” You point towards a rose, it’s colorful, red hues in full display. But aside from its red color, it was also painted with a bit of white. It was a two-toned rose, a rather odd one. “This one’s pretty.” You mumble, gently touching its petals.

Sunghoon stood behind you, hands in his pockets. “That looks rare.” He comments.

You nod, “Probably not, but it’s the first time I’m seeing something like this.” From the corner of your eyes, you see the shop owner near your figure.

It was an old woman, with a cute flower apron hanging from her waist. Her smile reached her eyes as she speaks something in French you couldn’t quite fathom,

“Oh! Quel beau jeune couple! Vous êtes ici pour acheter des fleurs?”

“Oh! Um—” You should have taken some French lessons on the way here. But Sunghoon quickly cuts in,

“Oui, lui recommanderiez-vous quelque chose qu'elle aimerait?”

You gesture to Sunghoon with your eyes— what are you talking about?

He looks at you and asks, “What’s your favorite flower?”

You ponder over it for a moment, scanning each and every flower that lined up. Eventually, you spoke, “Lilies. I like Lilies.”

Sunghoon nods, turning her attention towards the old woman.

“Puis-je avoir un bouquet de lys, s'il vous plaît, madame?”

Immediately, you got a bit of the hint. “Hey! No, we don’t have to buy flowers, it’s okay—”

The old woman smiles, “Un bouquet de lys pour la belle femme c'est!” She then disappears off to the inside of her booth, and you turn to Sunghoon with a small grin. “You speak French?”

He shrugs, “Something you pick up in years of business.” You nod, amazed at the particular talent and capabilities of him, it was a side you never knew until now. And frankly speaking, Sunghoon speaking French was something you never you knew you needed. It came off so naturally and so smooth.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Oh, she just asked me what flower you’d like.” He says, but with the way his tone lulled off, it felt like there was something more he wasn’t telling. Still, you only nodded.

“Thank you, I’ll pay for it.”

The old woman eventually comes back, a small boquet of lilies in her arma. It was adorned with small flowers and leaves, wrapped in white and gold, contrasting its pink hues. The old woman hands the boquet to Sunghoon, giving the two of you a warm smile.

“Beau jeune couple! Des lys pour une relation prospère.” Sunghoon fished his wallet from his pocket, paying the old woman for the boquet before you even had the chance to speak.

“Merci.”

“That’s like the the only part I understand.” You chuckle, thanking the old woman with a bow. Sunghoon then hands you the flower, an unreadable expression on his face. It was then that you noticed the pink flush on his cheeks, perhaps from the reflection of the lilies or the cold, or he was blushing. It made him look cute.

Daintly, you took the boquet from his hands, “I’ll pay you—”

“It’s on me.” He quickly says. You simply stare at the fresh boquet within your fingertips, etching the memory into your mind. Then, you neared the flowers and took a waft of its scent. “It’s really lovely.“

You fight back the urge to throw the stupid grin on your face, but everything just felt so wonderful that you had to smile ever so widely. Sunghoon too, grinned at the expression your face. He liked you seeing like this, away from the stoic and strict face you always had at work (thought he was not one to talk).

Like whispers of grace, your lips coming into contact with the blooming petals. Beauty remained subtle in his eyes, but with you, it felt like every feature stood out in every way possible. It almost escaped him, the way he keeps his eyes glued to your face that was so appreciative of something so simple and small. And even if it does come of notice, he doesn’t acknowledge it or say it out loud.

Sunghoon felt like he was testing the waters, and it felt just right.

The two of you continued your walk around the city, a boquet in hand, and more sights to see in front of you. Eventually, upon walking and passing through the flower stalls, came next were the souvenirs.

Stalls of different pieces, ornaments, pieces, tapestries, figurines— each and every stall decorated with items that caught your attention and represented the city with simplicity. With Sunghoon straying a little bit behind, you neared one vintage stall, a particular item catching your interest.

It was a polaroid camera, the rare vintage kind that had its body wrapped in brown leather. It was displayed at a particular stand, so you neared it and ask the owner if it was still functioning. After confirmation, you asked for its price, and through Sunghoon’s translation, you came to know that the price was not worth bargaining or thinking over.

So you bought it after testing.

You took a particular picture of your boots first, anticipating the results of the camera. Once you’d gotten the printed film, you grinned like a child and wholeheartedly showed it so Sunghoon, “This is such a nice steal for a camera!” You argue, taking a picture of yourself afterwards despite it feeling a little bit awkward. The picture came off as a little bit funny, seeing as your eyes squinted and your angle was lower than it should be, giving that impression of a double chin.

Sunghoon chuckles at your picture, “I’ll take a picture of you.”

Sunghoon reaches for the camera, but the shop owner noticed this and offered to take a picture of the two of you instead. Reluctantly, Sunghoon hands him the camera and you settle yourself beside him. A friendly, casual photo, is what you had in mind. But when the owner shouts, “Tiens-la par l'épaule!”, you see beads of sweat droop down from Sunghoon’s forehead.

“What did she say?”

“She said to hold you by the shoulder.”

“Oh.” You nod very slowly, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks. “Go ahead.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, you nod more certainly this time, allowing his fingertips to snake upon your shoulders. He grips the blade of it with gentle care. Then, the owner shouts to smile. So you do, you smile with Sunghoon’s hands on your shoulder, you smile with your arms touching his.

And when the picture gets taken and the film gets produced in the black and white piece, a benign grin escapes from your lips. At this moment, it didn’t feel like Sunghoon was your boss. If you were to ask anyone about the person beside you at this picture, they’d undoubtedly say he was your boyfriend.

But he isn’t, he was your boss. And that’s what’s wrong about it.

You hum beneath your breath, appreciating the moment as it unfolds in front of you.

Sunghoon isn’t your boss right now. You’d think of it like that.

“It’s nice.” He compliments, eyes nodding towards the picture. Sunghoon, the man of very little compliments. “It’s so beautiful! I like the way your eyes kind of crinkle when you smile.” And you, the ever so generous compliment giver.

“You should do that more often.”

“Do what?”

“Smile. It looks pretty on you, suits you way better.”

Through the slight flushed cheeks of Park Sunghoon

Through the slight flushed cheeks of Park Sunghoon, he mumbles something. “Tch.”

Endless walking around the different stalls eventually led to the two of you becoming parched and exhausted. After a mutual agreement of going back to the hotel room after checking the time, the next unexpected destination of yours was surprisingly a small cafe as you waited for the car to drive you back to the hotel.

Sunghoon didn’t want to get coffee, had you not insisted. You wanted to pay him back for the kind gesture of the boquet. Thus, here you were, in front of the counter of a tiny but dainty coffee shop just across the lined up stalls, ensuring that the barista gets Sunghoon’s order correct.

“Yes, I’m sorry for such an odd request.” You pull off your best friendly smile, trying to coax the barista into brewing the coffee at a specific temperature. To your luck, she spoke English and was nice enough to take on your inquiry.

Sunghoon sat in one of the white chairs, after much insisting that he sat down and wait for his coffee. One of his legs were crossed over the other, his gaze was through the window outside. “What’re you thinking of?”

Sunghoon looks over your direction, pressing his lips into a thin line. “The corporate event later.”

“What about it?” He shrugs, “Father is expecting the best out of me from this. I have to do well and carry the company’s name in my back. Of course, he will no longer be here to guide me amongst these businessmen.” Sunghoon looks at the ground, “It’s odd, it makes me feel a bit terrified. Not that I acknowledge that.”

You nod slowly, feeling the burden of Sunghoon’s words creep upon you. At the rip age of fifteen, according to articles, Sunghoon had been on the path on following his father’s footsteps— to be the next successor to the Park Corporation. Now that he was 25, the pressure he felt upon his shoulders must be more than ever.

With but one of the biggest companies on his back, he represents it in front of thousands more. He carries the weight of Park Corporations and it must be heavy to bear. He hides it well.

“I want to do well, not only for him, but for the company as well. Does that make sense?”

You nod, thanking the barista once the hot coffees had reached your table. “Specific temperature, just how you like it.” Sunghoon grins at your attention to detail. You continue, “It does, it must weigh a ton.”

Sunghoon doesn’t respond to your answer.

“But you know… Sunghoon, you’ve always done well.” You sip your hot latte, its hot sensation seeping your throat, “In anything you do, it’s like, I’ve always thought of you as a robot or something.”

He almost chokes on his coffee. “Really? Why’s that?”

You laugh, “Not in a rude way. Just… You know, someone who has this specific program of being very much a workaholic.”

“You’re one to talk.” He smirks and you retaliate, “Hey! I’m a workaholic because society forced me to.” With a heavy sigh, you lean back on your comfortable chair. “If given the money and privilege, I’d probably be bathing in gold and refusing to work right about now.”

Then, you fumble with your coffee cup, feeling the matter go a bit more sensitive and harder to spit out on your end. This was a story you’ve told your friends plenty of times, the tale even coming off as a joke and a laugh of your pitying situation. But, in front of Sunghoon, you find yourself vulnerable and open. It was different, it was scary.

“That is, if given the choice. Contrary to you—” You point to him, “You’re given that choice.”

Sunghoon pretends to feign hurt, clenching his heart with a slight sigh. You chuckle, “And yet what? You choose to work and make your father, make the company proud. I think that’s like, a huge, unimaginable feat. I think… The fact that you’re here now and making a name for yourself in the realm of business where everyone is a predator its just— it’s really amazing.”

“Not really, anyone can do it.”

“Yeah, but, not everyone has the guts to step in. You could be bathing in gold right about now too.” Sunghoon geniunely laughs, the fangs of his teeth showing ever so slightly. From this angle, you glance at the way his black hair is slightly tousled, the way those fangs of his are taking a peek, and the way his nose looked sharper and more refined.

It was odd, how you found the sudden urge to kiss him.

“I guess that makes sense. It's good I didn't choose to be bathing in a gold then, yeah?”

You shook your head, “Why?”

“How would I have met you otherwise?”

You wanted to bang yourself against a wall.

Like, jump in front of a cliff or like do something stupid.

Usually, your work outfits would consts of heels, slacks, blouse, and a blazer. Note— slacks or pants.

Now, you find yourself wearing a black maxi dress, your bare shoulders exposed, the cleavage of your beeast slightly peeking out. What’s even worse is that it was fitted. Fucking fitted! It quiet literally hugged your curves and your butt.

“I look delicious though…”

You say to yourself, doing a bit of twirling around and flicking your hair in the most dramatic manner. But you still wanted to bang yourself against a wall. Sunoo was the criminal to such a situation, when you’d ask him if he knew someone who had formal dresses, he came prepared with his sister’s.

What you didn’t imagine though is that you’d look this— unimaginable in it. Now, the test to survive in such a dress begins.

“Are you ready?”

A familiar voice knocks at your door. With a final twirl and perhaps a bit of consciousness over your outfit, you open the door and—

Shit.

Of course it was Sunghoon. Who else could it possibly be? But it was Sunghoon. The person in front of you is Sunghoon, the delicate fabric of his suit tailored perfectly to his body. It was an attire you never saw him in before, usually he’d wear something black. This one, was a jet blue.

And the face, oh gosh his face. He never wears makeup but he looked absolutely glistening in this angle, or it was perhaps because of the fact that his hair was put into perfection, styled with gel in the most perfect manner ever.

God he looked handsome.

“Oh, wow.” You mumble short, quickly regaining your composure once you feel your jaw go slack. Sunghoon tilts his head, oblivious to the way you gawk, “Ready to go?” He asks.

“I am— yeah, I’ll just close the door.”

You don't know why you had to state that.

Sunghoon chuckles, "You look very pretty.”

“You don’t—” You turn around and face him, hoping he doesn’t catch hint of the slight blush on your cheeks. “Look too bad yourself.”

Sunghoon grins, “Let’s go, yeah?”

You nod. The walk to the to the hotel’s banquet hotel was filled with short conversations of aristocrats, owners, and businessmen alike. (Mostly on Sunghoon’s part.) He does most of the talking, and you are able to differentiate exactly why he was made for this world.

Concise, sharp, and straight to the point— that’s exactly how he answers. Capable of getting the receiving end to share more than what was necessary. The way he spoke was smooth as butter.

Eventually, the two of you reach the event’s place. It was a large room with decor similar to the lobby, it had plenty of cocktail tables displayed around. Tables of appetizers and wine were lined up as the room was already filled with those who belong in such a world.

It was rather lively. Easily, Sunghoon blends into the crowd with you tagging along. “Don’t stray too far, these people bite.” He warns,

“But if we’re lucky, we can make something out of this.”

“Oh? Is that Kim Corporations? We might have a shot at partnership.” You mumble beside him, Sunghoon smirks. “You already know how it works.”

“Of course," you give him a meek smile, but there was a hint of mischief behind your eyes. “I am your secretary, after all.”

The night bursted with sophistication, coupled with endless interactions with entrepreneurs and businessmen alike. The art of being in such an industry works wonders. It was not much of a question to those who have not yet stepped a foot into such a world— as to what makes something like this so crucial in each and every aspect of a company.

Building connections, establishing a name for your group— that was the main goal of such gatherings. But these people are not to be confused to be clean slated, offering kindness and partnerships in one swift go. If anything, they were quite the opposite, and rather brutal, too.

This world bites you not in the face, but in the fucking ass.

It was noticeable enough, with the way the discerning eyes of those who’ve proved they are all that, gauge at the actions who they consider either as an opponent or ally. Either way, Sunghoon was no opponent to anyone else, at least for now. And he knows this, keeping his boundaries in tact, knowing the realm of such a harsh reality. And ultimately, he prepares himself.

“If there’s something you might want to ask away…” The moment comes all too soon, a man dressed in a silky red suit approached you seconds prior, a glass of champagne in his hands. His hair was slick, eyes governing only what you could describe as interest. Deep, growing, interest.

“You can ask me. I’m open for questions, or better yet we can take it elsewhere?”

It seemed clear the business he had in mind was different. You somewhat sigh, maintaining your best to remain polite and opting to give the thick-browed man a tight-lipped smile. Sunghoon had gone for a couple of minutes to entertain other businessmen after much assurance that you can do fine on your own.

“I appreciate the concern, I think any queries I may have in mind may be taken here and absolutely not elsewhere.”

He doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“I’m Si-Woo. Soon to be heir of the Loom Corporations. I think you know very well what company I’m pertaining to, given that, you’ve earned your place here.”

Loom Corporations? Doesn’t ring a bell.

“Well, that’s besides the point miss. Because—” He takes an inch further, reaching out his arm, “Here to make quite a different impression on you.”

But before his grubby hands could even fathom reaching the surface of your skin, a sudden grasp on your waist pulls you back and against a chest of another. The perfume of his was enough of a recognition. “Si-Woo, long time no see?”

It was Sunghoon, the tone of his voice drooping down. “I didn’t know you were taking over your family’s business.”

The man pulls back, placing his hands back to himself as he eyes Sunghoon with a smile of his own. A smile that screamed— what the fuck did you do?

“Sunghoon. It’s been a while, yeah. My father handed it over to me. Is she with you?” He asks, seemingly not catching onto the hint. But Sunghoon was glad to slap it in his face, “She is, why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” The man shrugs, “You told me you hated getting a secretary before, much less, a female one.” The way the word female spews out of his tongue made rage bubble inside your stomach. It was blatant insult, and he wasn’t being discrete about it, too.

“I don’t remember telling you that. I dislike secretaries in general.” Sunghoon subtly pulls you further in his embrace, “She’s an exception. I’d appreciate it if you can get your hands off my employees.”

“I see,” The man feigns amuse, “I’ll take note of that then. See you around, Sunghoon. Be careful."

The latter part sounded like a threat, a warning that gave Sunghoon an inkling idea of this. Of the words he spews out, the dangers his confidence resided in. Sunghoon feels no threat however, with the way he tilts his head to the side and raise his brow. With the way he smiles and says, “Gladly.”

The man eventually leaves with a frown on his face, the champagne leaving a bitter taste down his throat. Sunghoon deviates his warm hands from your waist. “Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yes, I had it under control.”

“I know.”

“Why did you step in?”

Sunghoon frowns, crossing his arms. He’s facing you now, “Was that a problem?”

“No, it’s just—”

“I was only doing my job as your boss.” Sunghoon intervenes, the tone of his voice shot straight through your chest. It had felt like he was raising his voice at you.

“Are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“It feels like you’re mad.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Mr. Sunghoon.”

“Ms. Y/N.”

“Sunghoon.”

“Is that any way to talk to your boss right now?”

“What?” You rub your temple, gazing around the banquet hall. Luckily, there was no one who had interest in snooping in. “I can’t believe this.”

“What?”

“Just tell me if you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m just worried.” Sunghoon says, grazing your arm and gently making you face him. “I know that guy, we used to go to the same highschool. And he’s—” Sunghoon puts his hand on his hips, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dangerous. As much as possible I don’t want you going near him, I know how he works.”

“I know how men like him work.”

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again like a fish. Now, it had made sense. “Oh. I see.” You nodded, “I’m sorry if that’s the case I didn’t know.”

Sunghoon shook his head, “It’s alright, just—” and by some unexpected air in the wind, he subtly rubbed the small of your back.

“Just be careful, okay?'

By some odd reason, Park Sunghoon couldn’t get his eyes to pierce away from you.

If the sole reason was because of your encounter with the man earlier, it didn’t really explain why his gaze looked… Like that.

From the corner of your eyes, you see the way his gaze lingered just a tad bit longer, or the way his eyes would droop down to yours, down to the curves of your lips. And as the night shifted and the event eventually wrapped up, you find yourself in a turmoil on the way back to your room, walking alongside him. Complete, utter silence.

And once you reach the room of your door, exhaustion hitting you faintly, Sunghoon stood in front. He didn’t speak on the way back, he kept his works at a minimum at the banquet. “Thank you, you should get some rest for tomorrow, sir.”

You referred to him with the formalities, if Sunghoon noticed, he doesn’t argue. “Mmh. You should go inside.” He says, but your feet don’t move. “I really should.”

You really should.

“Yeah.”

And Sunghoon should really turn around and go to his room.

But you both don’t.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

“Say, um—"

“Hey—”

Sunghoon beat you to it, “You go first.”

You really shouldn’t be making such an offer, but you do. “I have some wine that I brought, I see you hadn’t had a drink at the banquet earlier.”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He says, crossing his arms with a smug grin; he was surprised you even noticed. “We can toast if you want? For today’s event, I mean, it’s okay if—”

“I’d want that.” Sunghoon intervenes, taking up the offer with much enthusiasm. You nod, turning around to grapple your door with sweat and clammy hands, wishing, hoping, he doesn’t hear the nervous beating of your heart. It wasn’t your own home, but you felt conscious of it. Had you left any underwear lying around? Is your bed fixed? Did you make sure to organize your stuff?

Fortunately, your room was neat and tidy. Sunghoon enters, his presence looming behind your back. It was the tension you’d felt at the latter part of the gathering just minutes back— thick and strained. You only hoped it was just you who felt that way.

Your back was turned on him as you approached the refrigerator door, reaching for the wine you’d brought along the trip. One of his favorites, on work days Sunghoon requested wine early in the mornings rather than coffee. The moment you had a chance to open the door however, Sunghoon’s long arms and hands closed them for you. Both of his arms situated at either side of you, ultimately trapping you. “I thought we would—”

Something shifts.

And a subtle weight was placed upon your right shoulder. His hair tickled the nape of your neck ever so slighty as he mumbled, “I lied…”

Confused, you utter, “What do you mean?”

“I’ve had my share of alcohol back at the banquet, I don’t want anymore.”

Oh, so that’s why his breath smelled like slight cherries.

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have—”

“Can you turn around, please?” Sunghoon whispers, “Wha—"

“Please?” He now begs.

So you do, moving like an animatronic that had no mind of its own, coming face to face with Sunghoon just inches away from your face. His arms still trapped you in the door of the fridge, refusing to let go. His eyes were that of softness mixed with endless nights of no sleep.

His subtle laboured breathing and the slight flush of his cheeks was enough of a hint.

He looks at you– thoroughly looks at you with the same eyes you’ve seen him draw before.

… Fondness.

“Are you okay?” You quietly ask him, hands flaunting around in an attempt to do something. Sunghoon grins, tilting his head to the side like a lost puppy at your words. “Mmh, you’re so…” His fingers took a strand of hair, twirling it around.

“Pretty.” Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate to answer. He knew he drank something, but he wasn’t drunk, neither was he tipsy. “Looking so dolled up there, y’know, I almost lost my shit.”

You were left speechless, strangled by his unexpected confession. “Almost.” He laughs, shaking his head more so as if he was talking to himself. “You’re so not making this easy for me, baby, just…” Then his fingertips trailed from your hair, to your shoulder, to the base of your chin, grasping it gently and making you look at him and not anywhere else.

He’s not making this any easy on you, either.

“Can I kiss you?”

You almost choked.

What?!?!

“Sunghoon, are you drunk—”

“No.”

“Then why—”

“I just want you, is that bad?”

No it’s not. It’s terrible. Absolutely terrible, devastating, catastrophic. How were you supposed to remind him that he’s your boss and people in such position don’t usually say things like that? Do things like trap you, hold your waist, your hair— and most of all, how were you supposed to say to him that enjoyed it, too? That you quite literally soften and cave in to his touch, making you feel like putty?

How were you supposed to tell him that every thing he’s been doing to you, albeit it being the most smallest thing ever, has you blushing and losing your mind? You’d want him just as much as he’d want you. As simple as one, two, three. But you’re just his secretary, and he’s a man of high value and respect. So no, it wouldn’t make sense, nor would it be right to do such a thing.

“But I’m your secretary, Sunghoon. It really wouldn’t be right if—”

“Do you want me too?”

“Wha— Yes, but—”

“Then it’s okay, right?”

Sunghoon insisted of his soberness, but right now his words felt drunkenly. He never spoke like this. Can you really indulge yourself in such an act?

“Sunghoon…”

The man sighs, caressing your cheek. In a split second, somehow— he regains his senses as his fingers twitch beneath. His eyes sparked, hand pulling back, “I’m sorry— fuck. Why did I ask that….”

The shame in his voice was evident, pain tainting each and every word. He creates a distance, rather, he tries to.

“No, it’s not like that, hey—”

“It’s okay it was a mistake on my part, I’m sorry, I—”

“Stop—”

Well fuck it.

You pulled his collar and smashed your lips against his. Hard, rough, passionate.

It wasn’t any kiss, it felt needing, deprived of something far greater. With no questions needed, Sunghoon kisses back with the same rhythm, pulling you— Closer. Closer. Closer.

Only then when the two of you run out breath pull out, heaving breathless gasps as your breath mingled with his. “So sweet…” Sunghoon whispers, gliding a thumb across your bottom lip. Fuck.

“Sunghoon are you sure of this, I—”

“I want you.” He says breathlessly.

All walls crumbled down. Suddenly, this very moment in the dim lights of your hotel, did you feel the need to disregard all sense of formality and professionalism you had for Sunghoon. It was driving you insane. With the way his fingers carved its presence on each and every detail of your body, the way his gaze felt needing of something, the way his lips felt so perfect and ripe against yours.

It didn’t matter now what the consequences would entail later.

Because what more could you possibly want more than this?

The soft morning dew cascaded through the soft, thin fabric of the curtains. A gentle reminder that the morning has come to greet you as the rays of the sun hit the corner of your eyes.

You winced visibly, blinking through the light that had come to disturb your peaceful sleep. The sheets were as soft as ever, plush, and encompassing against your body. Your naked body—

Fuck!

Quickly, you flung your eyes open, feeling the sensation of the cold air hitting the crevices of your breast. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You shifted slightly, trying to make sense of the situation at hand, only to feel a strong sensation on your waist, pulling you closely to something warm and hard. You weren’t going to pretend it was nothing, because it was definitely Sunghoon.

The more likely solution? You were going to pretend you were asleep.

You know what went down last night. The intense hunger and ravishing desires from the two of you, the touching, the teasing, the banters, the actual thing.

“Mmh.” A mumble can be heard from behind, tickling the base of your neck. His grip on your waist tightens, spooning you in the most oddly comfortable position ever. Sunghoon was still asleep.

Quickly trying to get the senses to stand up, you unwrap his strong arms from your waist, but he wasn’t budging!

Something shuffles, and then all of a sudden, you feel his lips come into contact with your ears, “Good morning…”

His morning voice slips through you as Sunghoon’s fingertips caressed the area just above your belly button. Unlike you, he was calm and still. “G-good morning…” You mumble, still unfamiliar with his touch on you.

This is really happening, Sunghoon clasping you in his arms and you, bare and naked.

With a soft sigh, Sunghoon’s strong arms gripped your waist and gently turned you around to face him. The sight that greeted you was heavenly with his slow blinking eyes and the light grin that adorned his features. Given that the sunlight had its trajectory over to your bedroom space, the sunlight hit his face in such a manner that it looked like he was glowing.

God, you felt your knees tremble.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks, letting his hands run from your waist to your hair, gently removing the strands of hair. You nod, “I did, what about you?”

Sunghoon nods, ”I did too.”

Acting on impulse, you let your fingetips touch his cheeks, carving little moons on them, down to the mole that settled beneath his eyes. You settled in the tranquil, just the two of you, feeling the need to not say anything at all. Sunghoon hums as you explore the depths of his face, and you smile as you remember each feature of his.

It felt too good to be true.

“What time do we have to go back to Korea?” You ask all of a sudden, retracting your hands away from his face. Sunghoon felt a sense of coldness from the lost of touch as he answers, “Around lunch. We have much matters to attend to back there.”

You nod, feeling glad to be back in your own safe space. As much as Paris had felt like the biggest dreams for you, you were starting to feel a little homesick.

Something then rings from the bedstand, garnering your attention away from each other. It was Sunghoon’s phone and he answers it after you urged him to do so.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Sunghoon?”

“What is this for? Who are you?”

“Ah! I’m so glad I got through, your father gave me your number. He said you’ll be back from France in a bit, then we can discuss over some things after you’re here.”

“Who is this?”

“Don’t you remember me? I’m Kim Sohee! Gosh, I missed you! We have so much to catch up on.”

You know for a fact that some things are only temporary.

At age ten, you lost your favorite toy over to the neighbor’s son. At age fifteen, your bestfriend of years had left you to go study overseas. At age nineteen, you chose a course unrelated to what you had now, only to shift because you felt uninspired.

At age twenty-three, you felt like you were on a very tightrope.

Like there was a piece of line connecting your desire and the fear you felt from those desires. It was a thin rope, barely hanging on. Yet, you keep jumping around it regardless, always loving a bit of the challenge it gave you. But that tightrope was already there for years on end, and frankly speaking, it was about to break any moment now.

“We have to go back to Korea straight away, sir. Some things can’t be kept waiting.”

There was bitterness in your voice, a hint of pain and sadness lingering too. You refused to let your voice crack, refused to let Sunghoon see the expression in your face as you stuffed some of your clothes into your luggage.

“We don’t have to, my father said—”

“What your father said is right. It’ll be perfect for the company’s name.”

Finally, you had the guts to look at him. Just barely.

“Y/N,” Sunghoon says, frustrated. He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Why’re you acting like this?”

But deep down, Sunghoon knows why.

“Like what, sir? I’m completely fine. Please, get your things packed, it’s already past lunch and the driver is waiting for us outside.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Please.” You now beg, looking at him as a whole now. You felt the tears trickle down your face. “Just go.”

“Listen to me, Y/N. I didn’t want this to happen, okay! I tried talking to father about it, and—”

“So you knew for weeks that you were getting married?” You scoff, “and you refuse to tell me and chose to do this instead?”

Sunghoon’s eyes shifts, he swallows the dryness in his throat. “I didn’t know father would take it seriously. Listen, I refused the absurd idea when he told me before and he seemed okay with it.”

You shook your head, “He wasn’t okay with it. You thought he was, but you know how this industry works, Sunghoon.”

The weight of your words felt heavy on Sunghoon’s shoulder, he couldn’t utter a single word, only watching as you haphazardly fix your things, your luggage, your clothes— everything. Like you were showing him that traces of you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And for the worst part? Sunghoon knows you’re right. He knows something like this— whatever you had going on, would never slip by in such a world where power was everything and you had none of that. At least, neither in money nor in status.

You were just his secretary.

And he was someone so high up that it hurts.

Sunghoon knows he couldn’t do anything about it either, because the marriage was in two days time. Unbeknownst to him, his father has already organized and planned out everything behind his back.

Unbeknownst to him, he was getting married for the sake of family business all against his own will.

And you knew, too that Sunghoon is just your boss, nothing more, nothing less. Someone deserving of respect and none of this. Your awful, tainted desire of wanting him. The hesitant gazes and touches, none of the office romance you’d always read and watched in movies.

Sunghoon just stood there, unresponsive. He stood with a frustrated gaze and a heavy heart as he watched you pack. “Just leave, sir. Please.” You beg for the last time.

And Sunghoon listens.

He leaves.

The ride on the way back to Korea felt exhausting to say the least.

It was silent yes, with the way neither of you spoke a word and let the silence hung in the air. But it was an uncomfortable silence, the kind that was dreadful and undesirable.

Sunghoon did not bother to speak at all, neither did he try and resolve the problem. And although it stung, it had to be for the best.

After all, are there any more solutions left?

It had been some time in the afternoon when you arrived back to Korea, opting to go to the company first to attend to some business at hand regarding Sunghoon. The said business being his marriage preparations. Ironically enough, you were in charge for the preparations and the designing of the venue itself.

His father was there, his sister, his mother, the woman she was to marry— Kim Sohee, and her relatives involved in the matter.

It was a proposal of marriage, all for the game of business and wealth. But Sunghoon knows Sohee, and she knows him too. They’ve been close enough since they were little, after all.

Sohee’s eyes, though, are different towards him.

The woman felt and looked like one of stature, keeping her head up high and her words crisp and straightforward. She kept her guard and her image well put, yet she had that strange look towards Sunghoon whenever he gazed over in her direction, must be love or something like that.

As for Sunghoon? You couldn’t bother— couldn’t bear to see what his expression would hold.

The meeting ends on a peaceful note, with Sunghoon going along with what was planned for him and you, trying to keep everything professional all in the name of your job. But every minute you hear the word marriage, it had felt like torture on your end.

“The honeymoon must be held in Italy! It’s surely such a beautiful place.” The mother of Sohee spoke, she was a bit of a nagger, too enthusiastic for this entire ordeal. Park Sungwoo, Sunghoon’s father, chimed in, “No, no. I was thinking of France. You know? The city of love, it is very worthwhile to spend their moments there as a newly-wed couple.”

You physically feel your eyes roll. How fucking ironic.

“Secretary Y/N? I entrust the matters of the preparation to you.” Sungwoo says, nodding with enthusiasm. He knows of your capabilities as Sunghoon’s secretary, but he doesn’t know what you’ve done with Sunghoon. He’d be sad if he ever hears about it, honestly. You nod, attempting to feign innocence and professionalism. “Yes, leave it up to me, sir.”

You feel a pair of eyes slice you in half but you ignore it regardless. It didn’t matter now, at least, not anymore.

The two days of rushing the preparations back and forth proved to be much troublesome than expected.

Weddings take months, if not, years to prepare. Doing it in a day was torture, absolute fucking hell. From venue, to designs, food and other paraphernalias, sleeping had barely been an option anymore.

Spending late nights over at the office had once again, become inevitable. During office hours, you raked through paperworks. The hours following it, consisted solely of wedding planning.

Each task felt heavy and long when it came to the latter part. Time passes by so swiftly whenever you worked on paperworks. But for this? It’s like time wasn’t moving at all. Like right now, a particular moment late at night. Twelve hours before the ceremony, you were busy working your ass off for the guest list. Much aid had already been handed out to you from your previous department.

You were a perfectionist at heart. Refusing to let your feelings get the best of you, and ensuring that each and every aspect of the ceremony was spot on.

“Yes, yes. 9AM tomorrow if it’s possible, I’ll send the venue over.”

The clicking of your keyboard reverberated throughout the room, you squeezed your phone in between your ear and shoulder.

Part of you hoped Sunghoon would swing by and perhaps stay a bit longer like he’d used to.

But he didn’t do so yesterday, so it was highly unlikely he’d do it right now.

Yet you hoped, you wished for him to stay a little longer despite all the pushing away.

“Thank you, I’ll give the complete details tomorrow.” You end the call on your end, feeling a bit of the weight sliver away from your shoulder. It was 1AM now, office hours had long been gone and it was just you inside the office and the dim lights from your table.

You stretched your arms over your head, yawning as you did so.

A soft thud can be heard and suddenly, a small bottle of coffee and a sandwich was placed in front of you; the kind of coffee that’ll have you awake for hours and the kind of sandwich that’ll have you full for a while. Surprised, you looked behind your back only to see him. Arms crossed, leaning in one of the spare tables.

Park Sunghoon.

“Sir, what’re you doing here?”

He nods towards the coffee and sandwich, “Go eat. You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m fine.” You nudge the food away.

“Still so subborn? I said just eat.” Quickly taking it upon himself, Sunghoon unwraps the sandwich and he prods it towards your lips. Your eyes scan over his features, he was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He probably came home first, then came back here to give you this.

You don’t open your mouth, mainting politeness and pushing his hands away. Still so soft and gentle. “I’m not hungry, sir. I’m fine.”

But as if he was some sort of fortune teller, he holds your chin and opens your mouth to push the sandwich in. The moment you took a bite, your stomach grumbled and Sunghoon visibly smirked. Embarrassed, you chew on the sandwich with a slight frown, taking the food from his hand.

“See? I told you.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s past office hours, what are you still doing here?”

“Why? Can’t I be here at my own company?” He says, clearly amused.

“No, it’s just that, you know, you should be sleeping and preparding for the big day and all that.” You had to give yourself a pat on the back for letting that slip out so smoothly.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond for a couple of seconds, contemplating whether or not to tell you. That he tried to go to bed early, convincing himself that everything was for the best. That all it ever led to was him waking up in the middle of the night, only to imagine you laying in his sheets, body wrapped with his.

That all he ever thought of the duration of his so called wedding preparations was you and you alone.

That he told his father about this whole thing and it had led them to fight and end up in an intense disagreement, only for his father to be ever so stubborn but understanding at the same time.

That his father understood where he was coming from but still decided to push the marriage regardless because it’ll solely benefit the company.

That at the same time, his father and Sunghoon had come on a mutual agreement on marrying Kim Sohee in name only and parting ways after because the woman too, had someone for her own.

That in the end, all you ever thought of were the negative outcomes, thinking it was beneficial for the two of you, not knowing there was a solution.

So Sunghoon doesn’t speak, choosing not to overwhelm you. Instead, he watches as you take small bites of the sandwich and small sips of the coffee.

“Is it good?” He asks, clearly not having to with the way you inhaled the food. You nod, “Thanks, I hadn’t had lunch yet.”

“I know.” Sunghoon still looms over you, his fingertips coming contact with the side of your lips as he sweeped off a piece of the food you ate. You were given not the chance to respond as the moment came all too quick.

“You’ve been overworking.” He mumbles, crossing his arms once more as he observed the way you fumble with the things you needed to prepare. You nod, “I have to make sure your wedding is perfect. I can’t let it fail.”

“Why do you care so much?”

His sudden question caught you off guard, a heavy weight bears on the air as he awaits for a response. Barely looking at him and focusing on typing instead, you heave out a sigh.

Because not caring will make your growing feelings have the chance to prosper.

Because not caring will truly reveal your desires of wanting him, needing him.

And you don’t want that.

“What do you mean? I’m your secretary, sir. It’s only my job to care.”

“Really?”

But Sunghoon knows deep down that wasn’t the case. “Y/N.” You don’t respond. Sunghoon repeats his words with more force, “Y/N, can you look at me?”

You look at him, hoping the vulnerability in your eyes don’t show. “Do you think that time at Paris, the things we did were all a mistake?”

You were quick to answer, “No. I would never think like that. Would you?”

The response that came next came was a surprise.

“I didn’t lie when I said I want you. And I still do.”

“You just want the idea of me sir. When I can’t give anything anymore, things will be useless in the end.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Then tell me what is.”

“I can’t.”

“Why? So it’s really true then?”

“I can’t tell you right now.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Cause—”

“Why, Sunghoon? Because if you’re telling me you can’t tell me because of your feelings, then what about mine? Have you ever thought about mine?”

“Cause it’s all I fucking think of Y/N— Your feelings, my feelings. Us. This. Shit.”

A heavy silence hung in the air once more.

You couldn’t speak. It didn’t help that Sunghoon was there, waiting for a reaction, waiting for something, anything. And when he realize you wouldn’t, he sighs and rakes his hair with his hand, “Do you fucking trust me?”

“It’s hard.”

“Will you try?“ Sunghoon offers a hand, hesitant and doubtful, you take it. “Please?”

And for once, he pulls you to his chest.

He kisses you.

“Please? Just trust me this once?”

It didn’t take long before the ceremony was over and everything was closing its doors.

It’s all a marriage of convenience, Sunghoon reassures you.

Months past, and even through the honeymoon trip set up by their families, Sunghoon reassures you. Through the places they go to, the sites they saw and admired, Sunghoon reassures you that everything he shared, he treasured most with you.

He returns from his trip, greeting you with a boquet of pink lillies in the office door. He’d brought it on the way to his office, countless gasps and stares came his way, assuming it was for Kim Sohee.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you and you only.

Kim Sohee respects this fact, there was no need to argue over such things given that she too, had something of her own. Assumptions were made on your part and you internally had to apologize for being so quick to judge. It was all a mutual agreement, that upon public name, the two were married. But in private, the two had romantic matters of their own.

On your end, it was better that way.

There was no prying nor discrimination with your relationship with Sunghoon, no snoopful ears to disrupt anything you had with him, no jealousy nor bashful comments towards your way.

It was a particular moment months after everything had begun between the two of you, behind closed doors, or particularly, inside Sunghoon’s office— you frequented the place more than usual. You have lunch there, you spend a little more time there during moments where you had nothing to do, you spent late nights working at his office rather than your usual table.

Sunghoon loved the company you gave him. Often times, stirring off work and observing everything you do instead, or getting a bit too nosy and sticking his nose in your tasks.

Like right now.

“Sunghoon, I promise this’ll be the last part. Can you let go for a bit?”

Sunghoon sat beside you, right hand behind your back as the other entertained itself by aimlessly roaming around your thigh. His head nuzzled itself on your shoulder, nose inhaling your scent. H

Contrary to others’ beliefs and assumption, Sunghoon was clingy and stuck like glue whenever no one else was looking over your way. He acted like he wasn’t your boss. He had this habit of touching you discretely, and you bet on hell that he must be some koala during his past life.

Because when he wasn’t touching you or grazing his hand over you, he was staring at you instead.

“I can’t, you’ve been working for hours on that thing. How long will will that end?”

He mumbles, peppering soft kisses down your neck and down to your shoulders.

“In a bit.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

“Really? Did I?”

“You did, can you stop working now?” Sunghoon’s voice sounded like a bit of a whine on your part. You liked him better this way, so attached to you like a little kid, so devoid of his snarky responses and mean comments. Different from the Sunghoon you’ve come to know him from.

Choosing to finally follow his constant whining, you closed your laptop and faced the man who had a slight pout etched upon his features. “Are you always this clingy?” You quip, allowing Sunghoon’s arms to wrap around your waist. You held his face in your hands.

“I’m not, don’t tell anyone.”

“What if I do?” You tease him. Sunghoon tickled the spot just below your chest. “You won’t.”

You laugh uncontrollably as Sunghoon tickled you in places he knew you were ticklish in. A soft grin escapes his features as your laughter continues to bubble from his constant tickling. “Sunghoon— stop!” You laugh.

He grins, making you think he had stopped by pulling his hands away momentarily, only to attach itself back to you.

The ruckus eventually dies down though, and Sunghoon retracted his hands back and settle them on the curves of your waist. The large grin that adorned his features was inevitable, it felt like he had stars in his eyes.

“You done teasing me now?” He says, you laugh. “I wasn’t teasing you! Only stating facts.”

“Oh, but you were.”

“Wasn’t.”

“Were.”

“Wasn’t.”

“Were.”

“Wasn’t—”

Soft, plump lips crashed itself upon yours. He shuts you up with a kiss, the impact causing you to stumble ever so slightly.

He really just knows the effect he has on you.

Sunghoon pulls back, connecting his forehead with yours.

“Can you say that again?”

You pout, defeated by his tactics of getting through your heart. He knows the right tactics, the right time and place to make your heart jump out of your chest.

“Whatever, have some little respect to ypur secretary.”

And you? Well, let’s just say you had the secretary weapon to use on him.

Sunghoon chuckles, caressing your supple cheeks with a large smile.

“You’re so cute, baby.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ END *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

EXTRAS!

“I think a touch of pink would go best with your skirt.”

“No, peach would definitely be better.”

“Baby, what’s the difference, exactly?”

Piles of fabric lay within your fingertips, a pastel color for each their own. Blue, green, pink— aha!

“See? Peach looks much lighter, while pink is just, well, pink.”

“Very detailed description.”

Sunghoon turns to the small little figure, staring at the two of you with clueless eyes. She tilts her head as her eyes feigned curiosity as to what the two of you were arguing about.

Cuteness agression much?

“Jimin, which one would you like best for your skirt? The peach or the pink one?” You hold two pieces of fabric in fronf of you, expectant that she’ll choose yours, because you refuse to lose to Park Sunghoon.

“Purple, I want purple, mommy.”

Oh.

Sunghoon laughs exasperatedly, clutching his stomach as he pointed at you, “See! I told you our choices wouldn’t matter!” He quips. You frown, “This isn’t funny.”

“So purple it is? Are you sure?” You talked to the child— your child in a high pitched voice while Sunghoon gets one of irritation. Jimin nods, “I don’t like pink, or kroral.”

You smile, thinking of exactly the same thing as your husband: so fucking cute!

Suddenly, soft wails and cries could be heard from your shared bedroom. It was your son, Park Junsoo, awake from his usual nap. You and Sunghoon looked at each other, before eventually, he’s the one that loses the staring battle and he goes to the bedroom to pick your son up.

He comes back with a wailing little baby in his arms, gently cooing until he calms down.

“This little guy’s such a crybaby…” Sunghoon mumbles, rocking the baby in his arms, side to side, back and forth. The little stars that adorned his eyes were evident as he looked at his son with much love and adoration.

Park Jimin, your daughter who is seven years old, had facial features similar to you, but her personality came from Sunghoon. Calm, collected, and composed. While Park Junsoo had gotten his face from his father, but from the way he whined and clinged, you could tell this child was going to become a bit of a nagger, much like you.

“I wonder where he got it from.” Sunghoon teases, looking over your direction.

“Oh shut up.” You roll your eyes at him.

This was your little family now.

A home filled with so much love and gentleness you wouldn’t have things any other way.

And truth be told, this was the thing you love most about Park Sunghoon. Always so patient, so kind and gentle— the epitome of the perfect everything.

Before, you always used to think he was some sort of spoiled brat who wanted everything to go his way.

But now, he is the father of your two children, sacrificing most of his time and effort despite coming home from work exhausted and tired. Just to see you smile, just to see your family smile.

Life is beautiful on your part, so, so, beautiful.

For years on end, you no longer survived on cup noodles or anything instant, constantly living in life of luxury as Sunghoon spoils your family to death after inheriting the family business.

Park Sunghoon knows the way to your heart, to everything about you, down from the tips of your toes to your whole entire soul.

“Finally got them to go to bed, god.”

It was past midnight now, Jimin had finally run out of energy to stop jumping around bend and close her eyes. While Junsoo had stopped his little fits of crying and dozed off. It was exhausting, taking care of two kids at the same time.

Most days, when Sunghoon was at work (you had to stop momentarily to take care of your younger), the routine was ten times harder. Constantly in a back and forth motion to tend to your childrens’ wants and needs— it was an endless battle in an entire day.

But when Sunghoon was with you during the weekends, taking care of your children became much more bearable and somewhat enjoyable. Partly because the task was split and partly because you got to spend time with your husband.

“I think we need to go to sleep now. I’m tired from all that.” Sunghoon agrees, tiredness also evident in his features. The two of you proceeded to your nightly routine in silence, battery recharging bit by bit.

Then, you settled down in your shared bed with his arms wrapped around yours.

It was cold, but the warmth of the blankets and his body heat gave you a sense of comfort and reassurance, the kind that had your eyes blinking in utter drowsiness. “So warm…” You mumble in his embrace as Sunghoon traced circular patterns around your back.

He lifted your pajama shirt just slightly, allowing him to grasp the exposed part. “Thank you, baby.” He whispers, kissing your forehead ever so gently. “Mmh? For what?”

“For this. I’m grateful for you and this beautiful family we’ve built.”

You smiled, “Are you happy to have me?”

Sunghoon nuzzled his head in your neck, inhaling the fresh soap you’d showered with. Then, he peppered soft kisses to your shoulder, down to your collarbone. “More than. I love you so much.”

“Sunghoon, just wondering…”

Sunghoon hums, you feel the drowsiness start to make its way to his features. “Those days at the office, you know, when you were being mean and an ass and all that.”

Sunghoon chuckles, nuzzling his head in your neck as you tease, “Why’d you suddenly become all nice and offer a ride home?”

“I’m not a complete ass you know.”

“Well, you were.”

“I was but—” He chuckles, pulling away from your embrace slightly and pecking your forehead, your nose, your lips. “Yeji kind of beat me to reality with treating you properly.”

Surprised, you ask, “Yeji? She did that?”

Sunghoon nods, “She said she saw how you looked when you left the company and it made her feel bad.”

“How do I look then?”

“Tired. Anxious. You know, stressed from dealing with my stuff.”

“Ugly?”

“Mmmmm, never ugly baby.” Sunghoon’s lips ghosted above yours, and it didn’t take long before he kissed you with such love. The kiss was slow, careful, and filled with sleepiness that you chuckled in the midst of it.

“Always pretty.” He mumbles. You grin, “Always pretty?”

Without any more words said, Park Sunghoon nodded and soon dozed off to sleep with a large grin adorning his features. He relaxed against your touch and your touch alone, no longer was he the Park Sunghoon that had the entire weight of the world on his shoulders.

You shared that weight with him.

So you kissed the top of his head, ruffling his soft hair within your fingertips.

“I love you too.”

[yanderedrabbles]

Letter from your Yandere Valentine

You. You. It's always been you. Tempting, treacherous you.

God, I hated you at first. Always so pretty, so put together, so fucking alive. You had it all - the friends, the good grades, the effortless charm.

Every damn day I would spend hours imagining what it would be like to have just one day in your body. Just one day where I could be... perfect. Or as close to it as one person can get. You don't get it. You've never had to long for something as much as I have. Never had to be the loser, the kid at the back of class, the one person without a Valentine's card in their locker.

I know you had your own problems too. But it's total bull to say all problems are created equal. What did you have to worry about? Denting daddy's Mercedes?

I hated you. But... I wanted you. I still want you.

We ended up at the same college. I don't think you know that. Thousands of undergrads, why would you notice me? Even if we did go to high-school and elementary together, I was probably just a face in the back of your mind. As unnoticeable and unimportant as any background character.

I thought college would dim your sparkle somehow. Maybe you'd be one of those people who peakin high school and then it's all down hill from there. Chain smoking and cheap liquor and payday loans. I wanted that, honestly. To see you ripped down.

But no. You thrived. Had the picture perfect college experience. When I was stuck working two jobs to cover my tuition, you were studying in some fancy café and going out every weekend. When I was so haggard with stress that I could barely see straight, you were at pilates or out hiking or lounging in a sauna.

How is that fair? Hmm? I put in the work until my hands were fucking raw and all I got for it was minimum wage and leftovers.

And don't get me started on Valentine's. Fucking Valentine's. I'm almost glad they beheaded the guy way back when. I'd do the exact same thing if I could.

Every Valentine's day, you'd have a date. Rarely ever the same person, but somehow all of them had a propensity for huge gestures. Do you remember the one guy who hired a whole horse and carriage for you? Or the girl who took you on a late season ski trip?

Do you want to know what I got for Valentine's? Cafeteria mashed potatoes and mandatory overtime. Romantic, right? I'm swooning at the memory.

I tried to work on myself. Tried to overcome the differences in our birth and get on your level. What an education in disappointment that was. Turns out it's pretty fucking hard to spend two hours at the gym and three in the sauna when you're scheduled to work fifty hours a week and still attend lectures.

You graduated with honours. With a dozen glittering trophies for volunteering and leadership and student organising. You couldn't even hold them all.

I think that was the day I hated you the most. I couldn't stop thinking that should be me.

I thought I was rid of you after that. Thought I could finally go about my life without constantly comparing myself to an impossible ideal. Ha! As if I'd get so lucky.

I saw you again on at the start of February. Newest hire at the office, bright eyed and busy tailed despite the miserable fucking weather.

What are the chances of that? We're both working at the same company, in the same department.

I expected to hate you all over again. But then you introduced yourself to me. Actually shook my hand.

And oh, how I understand those idiots and their grand gestures. Their desperate need to please you.

All my life I've watched you from afar. Seen other people dazzled by you and never fully understood why. Always wondered why I seemed to be the only person bitter and jealous towards you.

I get it now.

You sparkle. You look in my eyes and I feel like I'm part of your world, like I belong in your fancy country club and at your VIP table. When you look at me, I don't feel insignificant anymore.

How do you expect me to let that go? I've spent decades watching from the sidelines and now I finally get a taste. How am I supposed to be normal about it?

I can't let you go. I don't care what it takes, I'm going to be part of your life.

It was always supposed to be me. Not your parade of dates, not your one night stands, none of them. It was always supposed to be me.

Why else would our lives run parallel? Why else can I always find you in a crowded room?

You're meant to be mine. I'm meant to be yours. I don't care what I have to do to make it happen.

Your Valentine,

X.

[iasirene]

Most of the fandom seems to believe the Trinket family were cannibals during the Dark Days and that’s why the family name was disgraced, but I personally don’t think so. We know from TBOSAS that there are areas of the Capitol that are less than ideal, a sort of criminal underbelly. I fully headcanon that the Trinkets were involved in running illegal brothels/casinos/were loan sharks. Think of their name, Trinket- “a small decorative object, or a piece of jewellery that is cheap or of low quality.” They’re not Heavensbee’s, Dovecote’s, Ravenstill’s… but Trinket’s. What faster way to launch yourself to the top of the Capitol than by obtaining money in an illegal way? In the series Effie is always over compensating, doing too much- and it works! She’s very popular in university, she created the Saturnalia party.. I believe all this was all in an effort to show that she was above her past, above the whispers and rumors of her family’s business. I could very much see the early Trinkets running shit like Bugsy Siegel, the gangster who basically created the Las Vegas strip. Trinket… the tacky Las Vegas strip… yall see where I’m going with this??

[boy-and-girl-crazy123456]

"Dr. Jill Biden? More like Dr. GILF Bid-" the government assassin's bullet enters my skull without a sound, killing me instantly, without pain. The room is cleared and all records of my existence erased, and my loved ones ridiculed by the media as conspiracists.

Meanwhile, my body is mulched in a secret facility, and sold for 9 cents per pound to a small business in a disadvantaged community in Southern California that has operated for 3 years. They use it to raise a crop of crickets, which after maturation are themselves ground into a paste and used to form a cheap, environmentally friendly, high protein burger.

Vice President Kamala Harris sits at the dining table, the cricket burger in front of her. The business owners look on nervously. She slowly picks it up and brings it to her mouth for a single inquisitive bite, letting the flavor linger. She finds it agreeable at first but my foul, vulgar blood has imparted an acrid aftertaste. Without any facial indication of the mental grimace she is experiencing, she raises her hand and gives a thumbs down.

The small business owners hang their heads in shame. Their student loan debt will not be forgiven.

[bitchesgetriches]

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Saving Money and Being Frugal

We’re all in this together. Don’t give up.

On food and groceries:

How to Shop for Groceries like a Boss

Why Name Brand Products Are Beneath You: The Honor and Glory of Buying Generic

If You Don’t Eat Leftovers I Don’t Even Want to Know You

You Are above Bottled Water, You Elegant Land Mermaid

You Should Learn To Cook. Here’s Why.

On entertainment and socializing:

The Frugal Introvert’s Guide to the Weekend

7 Totally Reasonable Ways To Save Money on Cheap Entertainment 

Take Pride in Being a Cheap Date

The Library Is a Magical Place and You Should Fucking Go There

Your Library Lets You Stream Audiobooks and eBooks FOR FREEEEEEE!

What’s the Effect of Social Media on Your Finances?

You Won’t Regret Your Frugal 20s

On health:

How to Pay Hospital Bills When You’re Flat Broke

Run With Me if You Want to Save: How Exercising Will Save You Money

Our Master List of 100% Free Mental Health Self-Care Tactics

Why You Probably Don’t Need That Gym Membership

How to Get DIRT CHEAP Pet Medication, Without a Prescription 

On other big expenses:

Businesses Will Happily Give You HUGE Discounts if You Ask This Magic Question

Understand the Hidden Costs of Travel and Avoid Them Like the Plague

Other People’s Weddings Don’t Have to Make You Broke

You Deserve Cheap, Fake Jewelry… Just Like Coco Chanel

3 Times I Was Damn Grateful for My Emergency Fund (and Side Income) 

When (and How) to Try Refinancing or Consolidating Student Loans

The Real Story of How I Paid Off My Mortgage Early in 4 Years 

Season 2, Episode 2: “I’m Not Ready to Buy a House—But How Do I *Get Ready* to Get Ready?”

The Most Impactful Financial Decision I’ve Ever Made… and Why I Don’t Recommend It

On buying secondhand and trading:

Almost Everything Can Be Purchased Secondhand

I Am a Craigslist Samurai and so Can You: How to Sell Used Stuff Online

The Delicate Art of the Friend Trade

On giving gifts and charitable donations:

How Can I Tame My Family’s Crazy Gift-Giving Expectations?

In Defense of Shameless Regifting

Make Sure Your Donations Have the Biggest Impact by Ruthlessly Judging Charities

The Anti-Consumerist Gift Guide: I Have No Gift to Bring, Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum

How to Spot a Charitable Scam

Ask the Bitches: How Do I Say “No” When a Loved One Asks for Money… Again? 

On resisting temptation:

How to Insulate Yourself From Advertisements

Making Decisions Under Stress: The Siren Song of Chocolate Cake

The Magically Frugal Power of Patience

6 Proven Tactics for Avoiding Emotional Impulse Spending

On minimalism and buying less:

Don’t Spend Money on Shit You Don’t Like, Fool

Everything I Know About Minimalism I Learned from the Zombie Apocalypse

Slay Your Financial Vampires

The Subscription Box Craze and the Mindlessness of Wasteful Spending

On saving money:

How To Start Small by Saving Small

Not Every Savings Account Is Created Equal

The Unexpected Benefits (and Downsides) of Money Challenges

Budgets Don’t Work for Everyone—Try the Spending Tracker System Instead

From HYSAs to CDs, Here’s How to Level Up Your Financial Savings

Season 2, Episode 10: “Which Is Smarter: Getting a Loan? or Saving up to Pay Cash?”

The Magic of Unclaimed Property: How I Made $1,900 in 10 Minutes by Being a Disorganized Mess

We will periodically update this list with newer articles. And by “periodically” I mean “when we remember that it’s something we forgot to do for four months.”

Bitches Get Riches: setting realistic expectations since 2017!

Start saving right heckin’ now!

If you want to start small with your savings, consider signing up for an Acorns account! They round up your every purchase to the nearest dollar and save and invest the change for you. We like them so much we’ve generously allowed them to sponsor us with this affiliate link:

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[qwimblenorrisstan]

Lesson Learnt Pt. 2 | John Price x Reader

Summary: After the initial incident that caused your meeting, Johnny sets you and Price up on a date at a little diner nearby.

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Warnings: can’t say much w/o spoilers but random men, ghost being moody, Johnny being overly friendly, working in customer service…

A/N: idk what happened something possessed me when I made this, it was supposed to be fluff but then it exploded. hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist

Weeks had passed after the initial incident, and your life had quickly changed.

You’d broken up with your toxic boyfriend, now wondering how you hadn’t seen it earlier, and why you hadn’t listened to all your friend's advice and thoughts on him. You’d moved out, blocked him on everything, and found a new apartment closer to your simple job as a barista. It was enough to keep the bills paid, for now. At least until you finally got out of college with your doctorate in nursing science.

Having been in college for nearly eight years now, and not living in the dorm (there were far too many incidents on campus for you to trust any sort of campus police, not to mention the generally shady system of coverups) made it a little bit harder.

Student loans were threatening to suffocate you, but for now, you would focus on one day to the next. All of this, the annoying days that drug on, or the hard times, would all be memories before you knew it, and it would be worth it. Or at least you hoped.

Today wasn’t one of those super slow-moving days where customers were ordering hyper-specific drinks or getting the suspiciously old lemon cakes, only to complain about how stale they were, as if you could do anything about it. No, today was relatively normal, customers minding their own business after ordering, coworkers having idle chatter.

“M’ taking my lunch break.”

You said to your close coworker, Laney. Her honey-brown eyes shifted over to you, and she nodded with a little smile.

“Don’t take too long, might miss some cute boys.”

She teased, knowing full well all of your opinions on relationships right now. You wanted to wait until you had a stable income and were out of school. She’d heard it only about a million times. You huffed a soft laugh, deft fingers untying the knot in your apron as you set it up on a hook, walking out to your car.

Lunch break was about 30 minutes, which was more than enough for you to drive to the nearest cheap restaurant and pick something up. Clicking your key button and heading towards where you heard the beep of your car, you opened the door, sliding into the worn leather. It wasn’t a new car, not by a long shot, but it was your old faithful, and it had served you well for nearly ten years in a row.

You started the car, muscle memory kicking in as you drove to that place right down the road from your work. It was past the chicken shop, a place you would refrain from visiting for a while after seeing some undercover cops staking out there one night.

You turned and pulled into the parking lot, glancing around before opening your door, only for the cold air to nip at your bare arms, when you decided to slip on the warm leathery jacket, with the fur on the inside. The one that the man, John, maybe, had given you. You’d lost the piece of paper with their numbers on it to the washing machine, but oh well. He didn’t look like the type to live around here, anyway, so it wasn’t like you were going to see him again.

Walking into the restaurant, you strode to the front, placing a quick little order and paying with your card, before choosing a small circular table in the corner to wait for your food. This place was usually quick. You idly scanned the guests. Two large men sitting together, chatting. An older woman and what was probably her husband seated with a younger man and woman. Maybe some sort of family double date? A nervous-looking teenager sitting alone, knee bouncing. An old, thin man seated at the far end, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Not unusual.

You pulled your phone out, idly scrolling through social media before your name was called, and you got up to go collect your food.

~

“You sure?”

“M’ tellin’ ya, it’s exactly what Gaz said she looked like.”

Simon glanced out at the girl his sergeant seemed so certain about. He wouldn’t lie, you did match the description pretty decently. Just as he opened his mouth to point anything out that fought against Johnny’s claim (just to spite him, obviously, not because he liked watching Soap get all frustrated and start rambling on for an hour on end), he noticed it.

“She’s wearin’ cap’s jacket.”

Johnny’s brows rose as he snuck another glance at you. You grabbed your tray of food, walking back to the small little corner where your bag was on the seat. You were wearing their captain’s jacket. The brown leather, the slight fuzz in the sides and insides, the buttoned pockets….he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“Hell’s bells, been wonderin’ where that thing went.”

Simon only gave a little grunt in reply, eyes narrowed on you before he glanced back at his food. He didn’t want to seem a creep. He already knew he was intimidating enough to the normal civilian, and one of his “I-want-to-eat-your-firstborn-child” glares (named by Johnny and Kyle) probably wasn’t helping.

“Sounds like Price’s found ‘imself a pretty birdie.”

Johnny lit up at those words, a devilish grin lighting his features, one that Simon usually only saw before he demolished buildings or people with explosives. He was already dreading it before it came out of his mouth.

“We shoul’ set ‘em up on a date.”

“No.”

“Don’ tell me it wouldn’ be a good idea. Might keep him from giving us so many sprints at training, yeah? Ya know he’s been overworkin’ us lately…”

The slight pause Simon took was all Soap needed to continue spewing his disarming, convincing words that usually always worked on his Lieutenant. His lips further curled into a grin as he went on.

“He’s been so tense lately, jus’ let us do this for ‘im, help him relax some…”

“Fine. Get on wit’ it.”

Simon finally relented, suddenly finding his food very interesting to look at as Johnny got up, striding over to you with a confidence one could only expect from the Scotsman.

He glanced up, trying to subtly watch as his sergeant approached you. You were on a call with someone, the phone held up to your ear by your shoulder while you ate your fries, the main entree of your order already gone. When Johnny walked up, you immediately sized him up.

Paranoid. Simon didn’t blame you, living on this end of town. The only reason he and the guys stayed here was for the cheap flats they could get when on leave for a few months. Price had a little house more up South, but never visited it much, letting it gather some dust.

You took the phone from your ear, muttering something to whoever was on the other end, and hanging up. You raised a brow at Johnny, who in turn gestured to your jacket and struck up a conversation. Johnny was trying to look unthreatening, he could tell. Sitting down so he wasn’t standing over you. A small, easygoing smile. Trying to make you laugh, and succeeding a bit.

Five minutes in, and you were seeming more comfortable with him. He wrote something down on a napkin from your table with a pen in his pocket, handing it to you, giving a teasing wink which you snorted at, and walking back over to his and Simon’s table with a huge smile.

“Wha’ did you just do?”

Simon asked, suspiciously eying Soap.

“I set our cap’ up with a date.”

He beamed, and Simon only sighed, knowing that Price wouldn’t take it too well to be sent on a date with a girl he’d only just met a few weeks ago. A girl that hadn’t texted him since. But maybe, just maybe, it would go decently.

~

That had been one of the strangest encounters in your life.

A Scottish man introduces himself as a friend of Price’s, saying something about working together at their jobs and telling you he recognized the jacket you were wearing. So much for not ever seeing John Price again, considering his friend had just set the two of you up, and given you the man’s number too. All the while the gruff-looking man had sat at Johnny’s table, watching the interaction.

It had made you more than a little nervous, but nothing had gone bad. The Scotsman had been friendly, and even funny, but not pushing too far.

And now you had a date on Friday night.

When you got back to work, off of lunch break, Laney helped you into your apron, tying the knot for you like she always did.

“You’re late, what took so long?”

She knew you weren’t usually ever late. Always on time, punctual, even. You managed your time properly.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

She grinned at that, nudging you with an elbow as you started taking orders.

“C’mon, spill it.”

And you did.

You began with the incident a few weeks ago, which she’d mostly already heard about, then told her all about the Scotsman and his friend, and finally the date on Friday. Right when you were about to finish the story, you felt your phone buzz, and you took it out to check it despite usually keeping it on Do Not Disturb. A text from an unknown number, but you knew who it was.

“Sorry for my muppets bothering you, they don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

You snorted in undignified laughter, replying while an older customer complained, mumbling something about ‘this generation and their phones’.

“I’m assuming you’re talking about Johnny?”

“Yes, the one that barely talks in coherent English.”

“Aw, he was funny. I liked him.”

“Don’t go liking him too much. We apparently have a date on Friday.”

“I’ll see you there, then?”

“See you there.”

You finally silenced your phone, slipping it back into your pocket as you went back to work with a noticeable pep in your step and a warm, fuzzy smile you offered to customers.

Laney certainly noticed.

When your shift was over, ending quickly, she talked to you while walking out to the parking lot through the back exit.

“I can help you get ready for the date, if you want?”

She offered. You’d be stupid to deny, with the impeccable makeup and fashion sense that she had.

“Sure, I can swing by at 3. That’ll give you plenty of time.”

“You have any shifts the rest of the week?”

“Barely. Just little half-times I squeezed in between lecturers. Last year’s always the busiest.”

“See you Friday, then.”

You beamed at her, sliding into your car as she walked to your own.

“See you Friday.”

~

Some of the days passed in a blur, some dragged on slower than ever before.

Eventually, though, Friday rolled around, and you were sitting in your friend’s chair as she did your hair, your makeup light, but good. You were wearing a simple outfit, some clean jeans, and a cute brown sweater over your white shirt.

It was 4:30, and you had only thirty minutes to haul your ass out to the nice diner the both of you were meeting at for dinner.

“It’s fine, I need to go. Seriously.”

Laney gave you a look, but reluctantly started putting all her things away. You hugged her, mumbling thanks in her ear, before grabbing your purse that had all of your things in it and walking to the exit of her quaint home.

You drive to the diner, finding the parking lot to have the familiar old car you’d seen Price driving in the first place. You parked got out of the car, and walked into the diner, only for the server up front to inform you that you’d already been paid for, and she led you to a table where Price was seated.

He’d tried to dress nicely, you could tell. Beard combed and hair done, dressed in jeans and a comfortable-looking dress shirt. He gave you a small smile as you slid into the booth, and there was already a tray of crinkle-cut fries in the center.

“Hope you didn’ mind that I ordered, big fella like me needs a lotta food.”

He said with a chuckle, and you grinned.

“I don’t mind, trust me, my older brother devours food like no other.”

He smiled, a little bob of his head before his brow raised in mild curiosity.

“You got a brother?”

A nod.

“Yeah, name’s Gary. He’s quiet, but we love ‘im for it.”

“Me and the boys are just about brothers, wish they’d be quiet for once.”

You snorted at that, taking a sip of your water before the waitress came by and you ordered your meal. Price’s was the first to come out, he’d ordered a full English breakfast that the diner somehow served, despite it being around dinner time. Yours came out next, and you both idly chattered about your life, family, jobs (he was apparently military and off on leave right now, not that you minded), and whatnot.

When he was about more than halfway through his food, his phone began buzzing, and his face went serious as he held a small finger up to you with a slightly apologetic expression, taking the phone call.

He listened, and you simply continued eating your food, not minding. Everyone had to take important calls every now and then, sometimes it just wasn’t avoidable.

He gave a few gruff yes’ and no’s, before sighing as he replied for one last time into the phone.

“I’ll be right there.”

When he clicked off the call, shoving his phone into his pocket, he gave an apologetic look.

“It’s an emergency, can’t stay. ‘M sorry.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Is everything alright?”

You asked, and he nodded, face set in what looked like a grim determination. He called a waitress over, paying the bill before you both got up. He gave you a light pat on the shoulder as you both walked out, right before you went to your car.

“We could do this again, if you’d like. With no interruptions.”

“I’d like that.”

He breathed an audible sigh of relief at that.

“I’ll text you when I can.”

Before he began walking to his car, getting in. You walked to yours, opened up the driver’s side door, and slid in before you saw his jacket sitting on the passenger seat. Cursing to yourself, you grabbed it, having it in mind to go take it to him before he left.

Before you could move, though, a hand clasped over your mouth.

A cold prick of pain in the back of your neck. Liquid.

“Don’t scream.”

A voice warned as if you could make any noise at all with a hand over your mouth.

An overwhelming sense of heaviness overtook you, and your vision began swimming, before turning black as your eyes fluttered closed.

“What’re we getting ‘er for?”

“Bargaining chip.”

Tags:

@yearninglustfully

@ashy-kit

@theoslove

@mayoforthewin

[juliusxxxxxx]

Nice Boys, or an urban appetite

-Bad boys AU, some bloody stuff

-Joel is a nearly immortal being with an insatiable appetite for human flesh and the other two are more or less willing to help

-3k words

-Thanks for @exug and @mi3-14 for this amazing prompt/Eaten AU!

Eight-thirty.

He checked his watch again. It was a second-hand watch he had bought for himself to celebrate his graduation after saving for quite some time. It wasn't anything extraordinary, just a decent watch to present to potential employers to show that he was serious about his new role as a hardworking individual. His stomach panged with hunger in the early morning. After facing one rejection after another, a new graduate like him, whose finances had already been drained by student loans and rent, had simply given up on the idea of maintaining a balanced three-meal-a-day schedule.

This isn't good.

He clutched the flimsy document bag, made of cheap synthetic leather, tightly to his chest amid the crowded morning commute on the bus. It was already the middle of September, and he found himself in the same situation as several weeks ago—jobless and without a source of income.

Once the bus reached a stop, a crowd of people rushed past the young man standing near the exit. He held the bag tightly, carefully avoiding any potential squishing from those passing by. He glanced up at the route map, squinting as he tried to see how many stops were left.

Still a lot.

He sighed to himself, silently praying that he wouldn't be late for the upcoming interview. He had never heard of this company or business before. When he received the phone call from the employer, he was somewhat alarmed by how young the voice sounded. The employer didn't provide much information about the position, only stating that they needed an able-bodied man willing to undergo some self-sacrifice. It seemed like it might be a start-up desperate for anyone passionate. Frankly, he had no idea what to expect. Regardless of how sketchy it sounded, he hadn't had a single job interview in at least two weeks, despite sending out numerous resumes.

The view outside the bus window became increasingly unpleasant with each passing second. The bus had completely left downtown and was now slowly entering the industrial area of the town. Everything appeared gray and exhausting. He caught glimpses of giant chimneys spewing smoke in the distance, and it was certainly not a pleasant sight.

The young man began to wonder if he was being deceived into taking a factory job. Perhaps that was why the employer was so eager to give him a chance. They might need some more reliable components for their mass assembly lines, but that was certainly not what his degree had prepared him for. As he contemplated whether he should walk away from this questionable opportunity, the bus arrived at his stop. He reluctantly got off the bus, clutching the bag tightly to his chest. As he stepped into the bright morning sunlight, he felt himself start to sweat. It was hard to tell whether it was the heat or the nerves about the upcoming interview he was still unsure about attending.

Despite his hesitation, he chose to go ahead. It's just an interview; it wouldn't harm him. If he found the job offer unappealing, he could simply walk away.

That’s right, he reassured himself, there's nothing to stop him from doing so.

After taking a turn at the crossroad as instructed by his employer, he discovered rows of warehouses lining both sides of the road. There wasn’t a single person in sight, and the silence was unsettling.

Not a single person, besides—

“Hello!”’

A person leaned against a concrete wall and called him. His voice was bright and energetic, just like the one he heard on the phone.

“You must be Jimmy, am I right? You’re here for the job?”

He seemed to be around the same age as Jimmy. The man wore a red woolen vest over a long-sleeve white shirt, and his blonde hair was a few shades darker than Jimmy's. As the man extended his hand toward him, Jimmy took it instinctively.

That hand was icy cold, however. It almost stung him.

“That’s me!” Jimmy awkwardly withdrew his hand, trying to hide his discomfort. “And—?”

“Oh? Me?” The man halted for a second. “You can—uh, call me Mr. Poultry.”

Jimmy almost laughed but swallowed it instead. Sometimes, people had unfortunate last names that they couldn't easily change. He really should be more mature about that.

“Mr. Poultry,” Jimmy said politely. “Nice to meet you. Could you show me the way?”

Mr. Poultry appeared to appreciate his attitude. He smiled at Jimmy and gestured for him to follow. Although the smile seemed kind, it made Jimmy uneasy.

After walking in silence for several minutes, he finally pinpointed the cause.

It was those eyes. Mr. Poultry had a pair of black eyes, and there was nothing unusual about them, just like anything else about him. However, people—almost everyone on Earth—tend to move the muscles around their eyes when they interact with others. This could be a simple movement of the eyebrows, a slight raise of the eyes, or any number of subtle expressions.

They say the eyes were the windows to the soul, but this man had none.

“How long is the trip?” Mr. Poultry suddenly asked, turning to Jimmy with another of his uncanny smiles. “Which part of town do you live in?”

“I—I live downtown,” Jimmy said, stuttering slightly. “It was a forty-minute commute. It wasn't terrible.”

“Oh, that’s great news to hear!” Mr. Poultry exclaimed, clapping his hands. His voice remained upbeat, but there was an underlying emptiness to it. When his eyes quickly scanned Jimmy’s tense expression, Jimmy felt a shiver run down his spine. “Mind if I ask you a few questions along the way?” After Jimmy nodded in agreement, Mr. Poultry continued, “Are you—let’s think of a word—athletic?”

“Uh… Do I do sports?”

“Yeah. Any sports in general. I count jogging as a sport, too.”

“I’m afraid not…” Jimmy said, disheartened. “Not recently.”

“Ah, that’s fine. I wasn't expecting much from you anyway, Jimmy.” Mr. Poultry laughed loudly, leaving Jimmy unsure if it was meant as malicious mockery or just a friendly tease. “What about your health, then?”

“Perfectly healthy.” Jimmy nodded. “Perfect working condition, one may say.”

“Is it?” Mr. Poultry halted his footsteps and eyed Jimmy up and down. “May I see your triceps?”

Jimmy wrinkled his nose. “Excuse me?”

“Can I?”

“That—what—no!”

But he wasn't quick enough to escape Mr. Poultry; a hand was already gripping his arm.

“Oh, nice.” Mr. Poultry released him soon after and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Love seeing that.”

Jimmy was too stunned to speak. He glared at Mr. Poultry, who seemed unaware of any issue with his behavior and smiled while placing his hands behind his head.

“What?” Mr. Poultry continued, “I’m giving you a compliment. You have great muscles for someone who doesn't exercise much.”

He began to question whether this person was truly human. Mr. Poultry certainly did not feel like one.

Perhaps he should just run away at this point. Find any excuse, no matter how foolish, and get out of there at full speed. Yet—

“I love your energy, Jimmy. We definitely need someone like you in our business.”

He gulped.

It was still a job opportunity, nonetheless. Hopefully, Mr. Poultry would become less creepy as he got used to it.

He returned an awkward smile to his potential employer, who gazed back with those vacant eyes.

“Right,” Mr. Poultry said, standing in front of a scroll-down storage unit among the warehouses, hands on his waist. “Here we are.”

“Uh… Is this?” Jimmy spoke with alarm, which caused Mr. Poultry to burst into laughter.

“We don't have an office yet; this is the best we have,” Mr. Poultry said as he leaned over to reach for the handle and pulled it up with surprising ease. For someone with such an unremarkable physique, it seemed almost too easy. The inside of the building was pitch dark, illuminated only by the sunlight streaming through the entrance. Mr. Poultry held the rolling door open for him and let go of the handle as soon as Jimmy stepped inside.

The door fell heavily onto the concrete floor, echoing in the empty storage unit.

It was empty, with a single folding chair in sight and a light bulb hanging above, which Mr. Poultry turned on snappishly.

“Take a seat.” Mr. Poultry gestured toward the chair. “Please?”

Jimmy followed instructions in silence. He suddenly remembered something as he began searching for the bag he had been carefully holding the entire time and handed a resume to Mr. Poultry, who took it and glanced at it.

“Impressive. Hhm. All very impressive.” Mr. Poultry tapped the paper with his knuckle. “I believe you'll be a great fit. But let's have a chat first, shall we?”

“I—I—Sure!”

It was certainly a rare comment from any employer he had heard. He nodded eagerly.

“What do you think about, let's say—” Mr. Poultry began pacing back and forth in front of him, his eyes unblinking. “Are you religious?”

“…I wouldn't say I am?”

What kind of question is that?

“You know about the good book, don't you, Jimmy?”

This is definitely a cult, isn't it.

”The—the Bible?”

“That’s right. I'm a big fan of the Old Testament. I’m nothing but a fairy tale lover.”

What a bold thing to say.

“I—is it the one with Genesis?”

“That’s right. Genesis 22:8, God will give us the lamb for the sacrifice, my son.” Mr. Poultry began to laugh. "What a funny story! Abraham was actually going to do that—kill his son for a god. Oh, man!

Mr. Poultry then stopped by Jimmy’s chair and leaned down toward him, locking eyes with him. “What do you think about the idea of self-sacrifice?��

“For—for a job?”

Jimmy blinked quickly, feeling uneasy with the eye contact.

“That’s right.”

“I…am willing to do a lot, but—but maybe not this—”

As he was about to get up, Mr. Poultry placed his hands on Jimmy's shoulders. It seemed like a gentle gesture, but Jimmy found himself unable to move.

This person was too strong.

“Jimmy, Jimmy,” Mr. Poultry said with a broad grin, repeating the name. “You see, I'm a nice guy. I always look up to holy figures like Abraham, yet I ponder what I should do. It’s challenging to serve a being with such a grand appetite, whose hunger feels like a bottomless void. It fascinates me. It truly does.”

Jimmy tried to pull away from Mr. Poultry’s grip, but all he received was a shake. Mr. Poultry continued speaking in the same calm, chirpy voice, “One day, I know for a fact that he’s going to swallow me whole. But I don’t want to die—not like this. It scares me. Just look how scared I am!”

Jimmy's eyes widened as he looked at the man. His lips trembled.

“Please don't,” was all he managed to say.

“‘Don’t’ what?” Mr. Poultry mocked with a tilted head. “Alright, maybe that’s enough. I don’t need to be so cruel, do I?”

At that moment, Jimmy took a move.

He pushed the bag forcefully toward Mr. Poultry’s face, which loosened the grip on his shoulders just enough for him to escape. It wasn’t graceful; he stumbled to the floor and struggled to get up onto his knees.

“What’s that for?” Mr. Poultry exclaimed. “Wait—did I scare you? Oh my, I’m so sorry, Jimmy.”

“You! You are so going to kill me, aren't you!”

Jimmy raised a trembling finger at the man standing nearby, who simply shrugged with his hands held up in the air.

“Come on,” Mr. Poultry said, resting his hands in his pants pockets. “I’m really hurt by that, Jimmy. I’m a nice guy.”

“I don't buy a cent!”

Jimmy stood up and leaned against the rolling door, trying to search for the handle in the shadows. Mr. Poultry sighed deeply to himself.

“They said I lack social skills,” Mr. Poultry continued, sounding distressed. “Or maybe I often miss social cues—whatever that means. Is it the way I talk? Or because I touched your triceps?”

“Please don't use words like that!”

“You do have good triceps.” Mr. Poultry said with a nod. “Very tender.”

“Oh my go—” Jimmy slapped his cheek. “Just stop talking! You’re making it worse!”

“I’m sorry!” Mr. Poultry chuckled, then his voice softened. “See how lacking in social skills I am? I didn’t mean it; I promise.”

“Wait,” Jimmy said, lowering his hand. “So, you’re not going to kill me?”

Mr. Poultry blinked several times, uncertain what he was thinking. The silence extended for a while.

“You—Mr. Poultry…” Jimmy wheezed with a laugh. “Do you know how terrified I am? I thought—you were a killer for sure!”

Mr. Poultry laughed along with him. “I am!”

The laugh ceased immediately.

“…Huh?”

Jimmy finally made a noise.

“And yes, I'm going to kill you.”

Mr. Poultry went on happily.

Suddenly, a flash of silver darted towards Jimmy.

As he barely dodged the attack and collapsed to the floor, he realized it was a folding knife. Mr. Poultry quickly dropped down and raised the blade above his head, thrusting it downward before Jimmy even had a chance to scream.

But it’s not over. Or at least Jimmy hoped not. He rolled to the side as the blade dropped, and cut deep into a part of him.

“Oh no!” shouted the killer. “Your triceps! Now they are going to taste awful, aren't they!”

Then, Jimmy finally started to feel the pain. It was numb at first, but then it grew more and more unbearably sharp. His heartbeat began pounding in his eardrums. He heard a whimper; it was coming from his own throat.

“Alright, stay still.” The killer pulled on his hair to force Jimmy to look toward him. “Now it's for the throat. You better behave, Jimmy. I don't want to ruin your taste.”

His eyes were blurry with tears. He looked up toward the black eyes above him, with the blade aimed down. Those eyes lacked all soul, as usual.

“…Please…”

He murmured.

Then, something warm was hitting his eyes.

Sunlight. The morning sunlight of September.

Someone lifted the rolling door.

“Grian?”

A voice called.

“What are you doing here?”

The door was fully rolled-up, revealing a man holding it up with one arm above his head against the bright sunlight.

“Bloody hell, what is this?”

He glanced at the pair on the ground over the top of his sunglasses. He wore a black Mackintosh trench coat that reached his thighs, paired with a plain white shirt underneath that resembled a tunic. There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance, except for a strand of bright green hair peeking out from beneath his dark brown locks.

“What do I look like I'm doing?” The killer—Mr. Poultry—Grian looked up toward him, still holding the knife. “I’m making you breakfast!”

“What—in my base? You’ll get blood everywhere, you moron.” The man said with dispassion as he pushed the door all the way to the top. “Get the hell out of here. This is my property. I paid for it.”

Jimmy squinted his eyes at the man wearing sunglasses. He thought that the voice sounded familiar, but it took him a while to understand why.

“…Joel?”

The man jumped a little in response.

“What the hell, Jimmy?”

“Wha—this is my base too! Joel, we are in this together!”

Yet both of them ignored Grian as they exchanged confused glances at one another.

“Joel! Help!” Jimmy extended his hand toward the man and yelled with all his remaining strength. “He’s—he’s trying to eat me… I think!”

“Does he?” Joel lowered his sunglasses slightly to look at the killer, who was still holding the knife. “Huh. What a surprise. Grian, get off him.”

Grian did not follow the order. He looked back at Joel and the man beneath him, and the knife still hovered in the air.

“Grian.”

Joel called again.

“…Fine—”

Grian lowered the knife with a quick eye roll, while Jimmy immediately clutched his wound and edged away from him.

“Ugh, he’s crawling away!” Grian slapped his forehead and shook his head. “Weren’t you starving? Is this how you treat your diet now?”

“‘Diet’? Heh, that’s funny.” Joel leaned against the concrete wall of their unit, crossing his arms. “Then find someone else who’s not this idiot for me.”

“Joel, just…” Jimmy pressed onto his wound harder as he felt the blood was still seeping through his sleeves and was unable to lift his arm. “Call an ambulance—”

“An ambulance?” Joel spat out the word. “Not happening, Tim. You better stop bleeding or God help you. He’s right. I'm starving.”

“Oh,” Grian giggled, “he doesn’t know, does he? Why do you have the misfortune of knowing him, anyway?”

“He used to be my part-time clerk,” said Joel, eyeing the wounded man. “Oh, look, you finally saved enough money to buy that watch.”

Jimmy glanced at the second-hand watch he wore. Joel was right; he had bought it with the savings he earned while working at that tiny flower shop. However, that wasn’t at the top of his priority list, especially as he felt his vision growing darker with each passing second.

“Ah, how moving!” Grian remarked. “So, we really are his employers!”

Joel shot him a dirty look and said nothing.

“Please… Just…” Jimmy tried to get some necessary attention from his former boss once more. “Someone calls an ambulance… I don't feel so good…”

Grian returned to Jimmy after hearing it. “Oh my god, shut up. You’re so annoying,” he said with dispassion. Then, he addressed the man leaning against the wall. “What should we do with him, then?”

“He’s not going to die like this.” Joel moved his eyes away. “It’s not lethal.”

“It sure feels like one…” Jimmy said weakly. “I’ve just been stabbed! Why isn't anyone helping!”

The other two quickly exchanged a peculiar look without saying a word.

He shut his eyes and shook his head. He held his wound, then made an effort to stand up.

“What, where’re you going?” Grian said, still with a bloody knife in hand. “Joel—your breakfast! It’s running away!”

“I’m trying to get help, of course!” he said, limping towards the rolling door. “Have fun with whatever you have going on...”

But he didn't get very far before he collapsed to the floor, his consciousness fading quickly.

As the world darkened around him, the last things he heard were—

“You better keep him alive, Grian, or God help you.”

“Wait, are you leaving too?”

“I can't stay here any longer. It's making me hungry.”

[summeryager]

Feed the hungry...no

House the homeless...no

Give healthcare to the sick...no

Help keep kids from being gunned down...no

Cheap grocery prices...no

Make homes affordable...no

Unify communities...no

Help people drowning in student loans...no

Help promote small businesses and not let big business monopolies on everything...no

Corporate money out of politics...no

But that TikTok tho 👌🏻

Everything sells your data, be for real!

cHiNa Is A nAtUrAl SeCuRiTy ThReAt... As we all post from a Phone made from China while sitting on couches made from China in our air conditioned (made by China) houses as we stand for our national anthem putting our hands over out heart to look up to a flag made in China. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[ladylaviniya]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 — 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐡é 𝐛𝐮𝐭- 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬?

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐗 𝐅!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐚𝐭, 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧, 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭, 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐩 (𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐞!!), 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐮𝐛𝐂𝐨𝐧, 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 *𝐍𝐨 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫*

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔𝐤+

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥.

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: “𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝” 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @dollywons

𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐛𝐲 @nat111love

Mr Oswald Cobblepot wasn’t such a bad guy, at least that’s what you were told. He was the man who put the lights back on and supported the community with money and shelter because let me tell you, insurance ain’t no cheap fee in Gotham. 

He was often called The Penguin, which if somebody asked you, you’d find both cute but perhaps demeaning- yet Oswald wore the title like a badge of honour. Every waddling step he took with his solid black cane was made with pride, his chin held high and his chest puffed up.

He wasn’t a white trash bum, no, he was a boss, he was a businessman, he was a King with keys to the city of Gotham. 

He took down the Maronis, he took down the Falcones and sure enough he took down every greasy, greedy, lowlife slime ball who came around his turf trying to take what was his- what the people had given him. Respect. 

You see, what made this man so beloved wasn’t for the rumours of his ruthlessly cruel behaviour, it wasn’t for his money he graciously loaned to those in need- no, it was actually his kind and generous behaviour. He was a community man. He cared.

If you had a bill to pay, he paid it. If you’re out of cash and your kids are hungry, he’d bring you a box of food to last a month. If you were scared of some punks trying to vandalised your shop, boy-o did The Penguin handle it. He was even a little chummy with the police, often seen sharing a doughnut and coffee outside a cafe. And there weren’t no one filling the tithes basket like Oswald Cobblepot every Sunday Mass. 

He made sure the priest was happy, cops were happy and people were happy.

Everyone knew about the Iceberg Lounge, his most popular club, but since renovations, it got to be a little classier. It was the place to be of you wanted to listen to the finest swing and jazz. And you had heard strangers on the street gossip about how it sold the best rump steak. Steak? In this economy? 

He even knew your name. Your dad was a handyman, a plumber, locksmith, electrical guy, whatever really. Your dad was a hard worker and often was paid to do jobs for The Penguin. 

So yea, he knew your dad and came to know your name. It wasn’t a surprise when he would wink at you passing down the street with your book bag, sometimes you’d be seen running to catch the last bus of the day.

❆❆❆

The club felt quieter than usual, that’s how the Penguin knew it was daytime without checking his rolex; the usual staff were busy cleaning up shakers and glasses from the previous night’s shenanigans. As the bartenders busied themselves cleaning and tidying up in his wake, Oswald received a call from his trusted right-hand man, Iggy. It seemed that someone had racked up a hefty debt to him, a debt large enough to warrant Oswald’s immediate attention.

Oswald waddled out of the exclusive Iceberg Club with an air of confidence, his doors were lined by his awaiting men admiring his gleaming plum Maserati Quattroporte. He told them where to go. Who to shake down. 

The thugs headed off to do Oswald’s bidding, but before he followed, he took a moment to reflect on the task at hand. 

$100,000 he had loaned...and only $20,000 had come back to him. Normally he didn’t cover gambling debts too high risk in business, but hey he thought he could trust this man. He thought he could trust this working father, just trying to raise his kid, get her a good life. 

Oswald should’ve killed him and he would’ve done too if it weren’t for you. Sweet little princess that you were made him unbelievably charitable. Sadly a debts and debt and he couldn’t let the loss never be paid off. 

It was time to go chop some fingers, ears, mouths and noses. Deliver some punches and encourage a bit of violence.

He slid into the plush leather seat of his Maserati, his callous fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. He pulled out into the street, the purr of the car’s engine giving him a moment of peace to contemplate the road ahead. 

He came to a halt at the end of the road where his club was tucked away. On impulse, he turned his head to take a look at the young woman sitting at the bus stop. 

The sun hung high above the surrounding buildings, casting an orange glow across the cityscape. The evening air held the promise of a hot, sultry night.

The bus stop was a small, metal shelter, its exterior painted a faded red, and the paint chipping in several places. The roof was pitted and rusted, the windows were grime-covered, and the floor was littered with cigarette butts. There was a small bench inside the shelter. 

As his gaze took in the smooth curves of the womans legs, a rare moment of appreciation flickered on his face. Some black kitten heels were on those feet. White stockings. Oswald couldn’t believe it, what type of broad wore stockings on a stifling hot day like this?

His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized it was in fact you sitting there at the bus stop. He quickly rolled down the window and rested his elbow on the sill. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he regarded you.

“’That you, sweetheart?” he questioned, leaning further out of his car window.

You looked up with a totally surprised look on your face, your eyes meeting his. Your eyes widened as you recognized the car before the voice inside of it. The sight of you all alone at the bus stop made his blood heat up, and he bit his lip hard. There you were, looking so sweet with your book bag and a novel in your hands. Anyone could do anything to you, including him.

 “Hi Mister Cobb!” you chirped in greeting. 

He smiled.

He couldn’t help but consider how wicked he was to even entertain the idea of hurting someone as innocent and guileless as you. He was ashamed to be so perverted. What were you? Seventeen? Eighteen? Barely legal. Jail bait material.

He took a quick glance in his rear-view mirror, taking in the surroundings. It was daytime, and most people were likely hunkered down at their office jobs. But come the evening, the streets would be crawling with people eagerly queuing to gain entry to his club. For now, the coast was clear – no one was coming up behind him anytime soon.

He adjusted his dark ray bans and looked at you again, his hidden gaze lingered on your legs once more.

He asked, “Watcha doing out here, sweetheart?” he couldn’t believe he was seeing you of all people near his club, after all, didn’t you know this wasn’t a nice area? All types of bad people crawled these parts of town, he was included that crowd. The lenses of his shades masked the hunger and dark desire in his eyes looking over your legs and wide eyes.

You rotated your body towards him, but remained in your seated position. You pursed your lips, wasn’t it obvious? You glanced at the yellow station sign.

“I’m waiting for the bus, Mister Cobb,” you replied, crossing a knee over your thigh. Fuck he swore he saw your underwear under that shapeless skirt of yours. Your knees, Jesus, they deserved a good carpet burn.

He chuckled as he looked down at his rolex. 

“School finished an hour ago, didn’t it?” he questioned, curiosity and maybe being a little condescending. 

You smiled timidly at him, “I’m in college now, Mister Cobb,” you held up the large book bag at your feet. “And there are only two buses since the floods,” you added. 

Oswald’s gaze dropped to the book you were holding, then travelled back to your face. He wondered if you had been sitting there all day, waiting for the bus home. He took a few moments to study you further, admiring your youthful lips, imagining them around the tip of his cock for a moment.

‘C’mon baby doll, another load for daddy.’

Oswald couldn’t help but let out a small smirk as he heard those words. “College girl, huh?” He jerked a thumb towards the passenger side of his Maserati. “Well, c’mon, get in,” he ordered, “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Oh, no, you really don’t have to do that,” you protested politely, but you began rising slowly, your fingers toying with the strap of your book bag. It would be wildly inappropriate to accept a ride from him. He was the Penguin.

He let out a sharp snicker, shaking his head in disbelief at her sweet rejection, “C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed, “Tell me, when does the next bus arrive?”  his rings flashed in the sweltering sunlight.

He watched you pull out a phone and check the time. If your dad was thousands in debt to him, he would’ve bought you a nice watch for Christmas. The cogs behind your eyes worked before you shared the time.

“About an hour,” you confessed.

The Penguin let out an exasperated sigh, “Yeah, you don’t wanna be sittin’ out in this heat for another hour, do ya?” he said, waving at the baking bus stop.  “It’s hotter than hell out there. Come on, hop on in hun, I’ve got the AC cranked up. You can sit up front with me. I’ll drop you off at home.”

You chewed on your lower lip nervously, clearly you were weiging your options. He grinned when you finally rose from the bench, sliding your book into your bag. You made your way around the car and opened the passenger door. 

He cranked the AC as high as it would go.

Once you slid into the leather seat, his gaze dropped down to the supple flesh of your thighs, his throat going dry in response. His throat bobbed, his hand clenched the stirring wheel. God help him if he got an erection. Not that it would bother him too much, but he needed to focus on the road and not on the vision of you fingering yourself on the passenger driver seat.

“Seatbelt kiddo, safety first.”

You smiled at him as you clicked the seatbelt buckle into place and surveyed the dashboard of his car with a sense of awe. The sun made it sparkle. 

 “Wow,” you murmured, your hand slowly moving forward to gently touch the smooth, supple leather. 

The Penguin let out a small chuckle at your fascination, enjoying the way your eyes lit up as you explored the plush interior of his Maserati. You were just another underprivileged girl, unexposed to the luxury of finer things. He knew your father kept you well away from The Penguins world— or else you would be already dancing in heels and a thong in the 44 below lounge beneath the club.

Maybe you could dance for daddy still. Maybe some private dances. Oh how cute you’d be in a white babydoll and some high heels that you would wobble in every step.

The Penguin’s voice broke your admiring reverie, and you looked up at him. “Now let’s get you home, yea?” he said.

Your hands folded on your lap delicately. You were a little lady, a real sweetheart, a princess. Nah, he wouldn’t make you dance.

He knew that the drive to your place would take only about twenty minutes, but he also knew that once you got home, things would go haywire. Taking one final glance at your exposed knees, he pulled back onto the road.

Your wide eyes fluttered slightly as you leaned back into the plush seats. He didn’t miss the chance of watching your knees part lightly. 

“Thank you Mister Cobb for driving me home,” you said with weariness in your soft voice, “It’s been a long day.���

Oswald hummed, “Oh, yea? Why so long?”

You looked down at your hands and fidgeted, nervously picking at your nails as you spoke. “Just anxious about the future, about the exams I’ll might be taking in the future,” you admitted, averting your gaze towards the passing landscape out the window. “I ain’t really in college but it was an orientation day today.”

Your neck and wrists caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but envision how easily he could wrap a hand around your throat. Imagining how easily he could hold both your hands above your head with just one of his own. 

“Nah,” he clicked his tongue, a smirk forming on his lips. “You ain’t got nothing to worry about, sweetheart,” He paused, “You’re a smart girl. You’ll make it.”

Your cheerful smile was greeted with a sly smirk from him. He noticed how well you responded to the praise. God he wish he could pull over down an alley street and turn you into his slut. 

“I’m starting college, If not in the spring, then I’ll start in the fall after summer break. In September.”

He responded with a simple, “Hey, that sounds alright, I didn’t go to college but I bet you’ll knock ‘em right outta the park.” before flicking on the blinker and merging onto the highway. His grip tightened around the gear stick as he skillfully switched gears, causing the car to accelerate at a rapid pace. “Why ugh, why the fall?” 

You cleared your throat, “Oh um-”

Oswald’s gaze shifted briefly in your direction as you spoke. 

You fidgeted nervously, gnawing gently on your lower lip, and explained, “I’ve almost gathered all the money I need. For a full-time enrolment, I still need a consigner, dad’s not willing— but I’m close to having enough saved up to cover a part-time year’s tuition. I can start work at The Corner Diner to make up the difference.”

Oswald’s eyes softened, warmth crept into his smile. He took in your fierce ambition, your unwavering determination to study and better yourself. He noted the spark in your eye, the fierce hunger to rise above and lift yourself out of this hell hole in downtown Gotham and create a new life for yourself.

“I believe you’re gonna go far sweetheart,” he said strongly, “You just gotta put your mind to it, know what you want and know what you’re willing to do and sacrifice to get there.”

In response, a shy smile curled on the corners of your lips as you gazed down at your hands, embarrassment tinged with pride.

Oswald’s gaze flickered over in your direction, memories flooding his mind unbidden. He envisioned the wide-eyed young girl who had once perched on a tall bar stool, sipping a milkshake through a straw, your chubby cheeks puffed up with curiosity and naivety while you asked where your dad had gone. Your dad had business with Carmine Falcone and had no choice but to take you to the Iceberg Lounge with him. You were what? Fourteen back then? He couldn’t remember if you had braces or not. But you’d complimented Oswald for the rosary he wore around his neck.

You still had that innocent look about you, except...a full figure, maybe a little taller, less acne. 

Oswald’s attention lingered on your legs for a brief moment before he returned his gaze to the road, downshifting and swiftly maneuvered the car behind a slower vehicle in the middle lane. He shifted two lanes to the left and gunned the engine, abruptly switching back into the fast lane. Glancing at the dashboard, he kept a watchful eye on the speed gauge, ensuring the speed remained below the legal limit of 90mph.

As the car barrelled down the road, he ventured a conversational question, his tone casual but with a hint of genuine interest. “Whatcha want to study, doll?”

Your cheeks felt unbelievably warm with embarrassment as you hesitantly shared your aspirations with the Penguin. “I’ll be starting with some general education classes, I think, like history, art, maybe writing,” you began, your voice trailing off somewhat. “I hope I do well enough to qualify for a scholarship. It’s my dream to join the journalist program,” you admitted sheepishly.

The Penguin’s lips twitched into a sly smile as he replied, his tone tinged with friendly encouragement. “You’d make a fantastic reporter,” he said. “But you’d best write only good things ‘bout me, ya?”

A soft, nervous giggle escaped your lips, and your hand instinctively travelled to the back of your neck. Your nose wrinkled in a cute, almost bashful fashion as you responded. “Of course,” you said, the words coming out a little more eagerly than you’d meant.

The Penguin took an exit off the highway, signalling with his blinker before turning. He turned to you, his tone both curious and engaging. “What made you choose writin’, doll?”

Your soft lips parted gently as you answered with full sincerely, “I want to write real news, say it how it really is,” you paused. “Sort of like what you do, Mister Cobb.” 

In that moment, you turned your gaze in his direction, and his eyes flicked over to meet yours through the dark tint of his glasses.

The Penguin’s knuckles turned bone-white against the leather of the steering wheel, his mind wandering into dangerous territory again. He mused on how easy it might be to seduce you, how much fun it could be to have you beneath him, moaning his name. You seemed to adore him, and he wondered how you’d react if he placed his hand upon your thigh and told you that you had grown into a bright, gorgeous young lady...how easy it would be to shove you into the backseat and hold you down.

He tried to push those images from his mind. He tried not to dwell. You were out of the question. Not because he had any actual ethical problem with engaging in a sexual relationship with inappropriately young women… but your dad was working for him and most importantly, you truly were an innocent. He reckoned you’d grow up and live a boring life— Marry a highschool sweetheart, raise some kids, join a Parents and Teachers Association group, grow old, bunch of grandkids.

If he tried anything with you, it wouldn’t surprise him if you started squealing bloody murder. 

“I’m impressed, you choose writin’ when you could be a news anchor if you wanted, sweetheart, the prettiest little weather girl of Gotham.” he commented. He turned down a narrow side street, the last vestiges of the setting sun bathing the world around him in twilight. The Penguin kept his sunglasses on, wanting to take one final, lingering look at your legs before you left out of his Maserati totally unmarred. 

“I doubt it,” you replied with a bit of sudden insecurity and self-deprecation. “I’ll be lucky if I’ll be able to even afford the tuition as a journalist let alone a news anchor.”

Oswald wondered if you were trying to ask for money...he would give it to you, but he’d fuck your tight little asshole first before giving out something like tuition money.

The Penguin pulled up in front of the apartment building where you resided with your father. As he parked the car, he was all too aware of the reason why you were pushing yourself so hard, studying until your eyes burned. He knew that you were striving to escape the cycle of struggling to make ends meet month after month. He knew this because, in a twisted twist of fate, he was your landlord, discreetly observing your life from the shadows, silently bearing witness to your efforts.

The Penguin pinned you down with a sly, knowing smile, his hand boldly ventures out and touched your cheek, his thumb rolled over the skin, skating just across your lip before digging into your chin, “You’ll get it, sweetheart,” he hummed, the words rolling off his tongue with blind confidence. 

You felt so small in his palm. The smell of his cologne must’ve been overpowering with how your nostrils flared a little. 

Your gaze rose to meet his, your big eyes fixed upon his face, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. As your lips parted in anticipation, the Penguin revelled in the way your eyes widened, taking in every expression that flickered across your face. It was almost tragic, how easily teenage hormones could control your heart...

The Penguin pushed up his raybans, observing you intently as you stumbled over your words. “Uh... thank you for the ride,” you managed to say, attempting to break away from the intensity of the moment. In your haste, you accidentally fumbled and dropped your book bag. 

The Penguin continued watching, a hint of amusement in his eyes as you knelt down to retrieve your belongings.

The books spilled out onto the floor, creating a small pile amidst the plush carpet of the car. The Penguin’s eyes tracked your movements with a growing smile, watching with a lazy, almost sadistic pleasure as you knelt down, gathering your books, pens, and crumpled receipts. Is this how you’d look on your knees, head bowed, ready to suck his cock? His sweet, innocent, little college girl? 

His smile suddenly froze on his lips as he caught sight of one of the books that had fallen over the cup holder, its cover facing up – the cover of a book on- no, surely not, surely not you. You couldn’t read that, could you? You wouldn’t read that type of thing, fuckin—

Oswald seized the book from your frantic grasp. You tried to reach out for it, but he swiftly jerked his hand away, a cruel smirk cemented on his lips. He relished the brief moment of control, holding the book just out of your reach. But eventually, you managed to grab it from him and shove it into your bookbag, your cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.

Your voice trembled with anxiety, words tripping over each other in your attempt to explain, “It’s just... it’s...”

But the Penguin cut you off, his voice low and purring as he replied, “I know what it is.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of trust, just as they had been when you had first visited the Iceberg Lounge club, your lips parted ever so slightly.

It was the adult novel, ‘The Negatives of Shooting People.’ A cheesy pornography book about some journalist girl getting used like a ragdoll by a mafia leader.

Oswald could’ve laughed. Was this the real reason why you wanted to be a Journalist so bad?

“Please...it’s not mine,” you whispered, your voice trembling. Sweat trickled down your neck. “I’m just holding it for a friend...I promise.” Your eyes pleaded, hoping he’d believe your lie. “I don’t usually read that type of thing...” your voice choked, eyes welling up with tears. Shame truly flooded over you. “Please, Mister Cobb,” you implored, “You must believe me... I’m not...I’m not a...”

“A slut?” Oswald said as he let out a low chuckle, finishing your sentence. “Of course not, sweetheart,” his body shifted. 

He locked eyes with you, studying your face. Those big, innocent eyes. Those beautiful, trusting eyes. He pictured you, your sweet lips, just like your eyes, puffy. He imagined the tears flooding down your cheeks staining them with mascara, while his cock was pressing down the back of your throat and your backside marked with angry welts from a thorough belting.

The Penguin’s eyes flickered up to the apartment building, a pang of guilt gnawing at the back of his mind. A part of him wanted to tell you to wait in the car, to keep you away from the horror that potentially awaited you. But he knew it was too late. This was it. You were about to see the real side of him. 

The car drive home would be the last kind thing he’d ever do for you.

"Let me escort you upstairs," he grunted, turning off the ignition. "I’ve got business with your ol’ pops."

❆❆❆

As the Penguin got out of the car, you scrambled to follow, walking a few steps behind him as he waddled towards the buildings steps. You didn’t want to walk in his way, didn’t want to show that disrespect. You moved your book bag to your other arm.

“Please,” you begged him, “Please, Mister Cobb, don’t tell my dad about the book.”

The Penguin cast a sidelong glance at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, kid,” he chuckled, “Don’t you worry ‘bout it. You got a key?”

The short walk up to your apartment seemed to take forever. Every step into the building, into the foyer, and towards your apartment door was filled with a prickling tension and an underlying sense of dread. 

As you fumbled with the keys, you could feel the Penguin’s gaze boring into the back of your head, his presence looming over you like a shadow. He was much taller, larger, and more imposing than you in every way, his scarred face making him look deadly, dangerous. But beneath the rough exterior, you knew he had been kind to you, warm and almost comforting. And yet, right now, he seemed like a shark, waiting to pounce and strike.

What surprised you was that your dad had never invited The Penguin over for dinner which you found had been customary in the neighbourhood. It was a bragging rights to invite The Penguin over and have that invitation accepted. 

Hell, even Mrs Occhipinti next door; old lady, cat addict— served The Penguin her famous linguine recipe she brought from the Old Country. 

But your dad? Not a fucking word. Not a damn desire to have his Boss and landlord over for a cup of wine, not a loaf of bread to break, not a cigarette to spare— nothing. 

Which you found incredibly odd. And he never wanted to talk about it either. Everytime you brought up the idea of making gnocchi for the notable man, your dad would tell you to not worry about it and to just keep your nose clean and your head down. 

Your dad made it clear from the day one, he didn’t want you to forever live here in Gotham, not in the Downtown at least. He wanted the best for you. Which is why he made damn well sure your grades were good and you studied hard. 

“You can make friends when you’re an adult, focus on your education.” Was his favourite quote. 

And boy, did you live by it. And it paid off. You were going to get a scholarship, a program that went towards kids that had been traumatised by the terrorist flash flooding incident. You were so excited! You would have the opportunity to go to Gotham University! 

You opened the apartment door and heard a loud humming moan come from inside.

“Dad?” You called out, “Mister Cobb is here for you.”

You jumped as a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by the sharp sound of shattering glass. A shiver coursed through you as the low chuckles of nearby men filled the air, a malevolent sound that sent a chill down your spine. A sense of dread coiled in your stomach, and your skin erupted in a sea of goosebumps. Every instinct within you screamed that something was wrong.

As the Penguin moved up behind you, you felt his stomach brush against your back, his large body pushing you deeper into the apartment. You reasoned with yourself that it was just the television, that maybe your father had dozed off watching a comedy show and tripped, causing something to break. You tried to shake off the unease that clutched at your stomach.

You didn’t have to walk long until you saw the chaos of your home. 

The kitchen cabinets were open, the contents of broken glasses and dishes strewn across the countertops. Curtains had been totally torn from their rods. The living room furniture was all askew, the chairs and sofas overturned, and bookshelf empty of all the contents smashed and scattered across the floor. Picture frames were broken, glass spread out like sharp glitter thrown across the rugs. The whole apartment looked like it had been thoroughly ransacked and violated.

And in the center of it all? Your father on a chair, red stained rag in mouth, tied up with rope. His face was a bruised and bloody mess, his right eye swollen shut from whatever besting he’d endured. Over six different men, all dressed in black, stood around the chaos that was your home. 

“Oh god,” You cried out, “Dad!”

Before you could rush forward to help, two arms snaked around your body, their grip tight and cruel. Oswald jerked you backwards into his chest, the sharp movement forced you to flail and gasp in surprise.

“Woah there, sweetheart!” cackled Oswald. 

Fresh tears stung your eyes, as a lump began to build in your throat. You didn’t understand why Oswald was holding you back from going to your father’s aid. You tried to twist and struggle against his firm grip, your feet thrashing behind you in a desperate attempt to break free.

“Let me go!” you yelled, your voice breaking into a sob. “He’s hurt!”

He ignore how you flailed and scratched at his arms. He lifted you back and off the ground for a moment before throwing you into the arms of three men.

“Let go of me! Let go of m—” a hand clamped hard down over your mouth. 

You fought like a wild animal, kicking and scratching at everyone within reach, unable to tear your eyes away from the horrifying sight of Oswald, who was panting now, a sly smile playing on his lips as he looked from you to your father.

“Fuck me, she’s got some fight in her, boys,” he chuckled, his voice was filled with a purely cold and sinister glee. “Who would’ve thought she could pack such a punch?”

The men around you erupted in a chorus of mocking laughter, their voices made your heart sink. The sound of your father’s tears filled the air, a pitiful sound that echoed the despair you felt. 

You were led to an empty chair, forced to sit down as one of the men’s large hands clamped down on your shoulders, holding you in place. The Penguin paced back and forth across the room, his footsteps heavy and measured, his presence imposing. They didn’t tie you up, but the weight of their hands on your shoulders was enough to keep you from making any sudden moves. Someone behind you grabbed at your hair and pulled your head back. 

“Schools in session kids,” Oswald hummed, glancing your way before glaring at your father, “If the Penguin loans Pops one hundred thousand dollars and Pops only pays twenty thousand dollars back, how much does Pop owe the Penguin?”

Your eyes darted between your father and the Penguin, desperate to make sense of the situation. The amount he mentioned was staggering, and you couldn’t imagine your father ever borrowing that much money. But he remained silent, his moans and whimpers the only sounds that escaped his gagged mouth.

Your stomach lurched, and a whimper escaped your lips as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. Frantically, you shook your head in denial.

“Pl-” you gulped, your wobbling lip tried again, “Please,” you whispered in a trembling voice, “p-please, Mister Cobb.”

Oswald pulled a gun from a holster inside his jacket, the black metal gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. He checked the bullets with an expert hand before turning back to you, turning the safety off.

“C’mon sweetheart, use that noggin of yours,” Oswald grunted, “How much does he owe me?” 

Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, and you feared you might even soil yourself from sheer terror. With a trembling voice and a sharp intake of breath, you choked out your answer.

“E-eight—” you stuttered, your voice breaking as a hiccup escaped your lips, “Eighty thousand?”

A harsh laugh burst from his lips as he confirmed your answer. “That’s right baby doll, eighty fucking thousand,” Oswald repeated, his voice rising with anger. He rounded on your father, his voice becoming a sharp, booming bark.

“Where the fuck is it!?” he thundered, spitting with rage, “Where’s my goddamn money, huh!?”

Your father's face jerked to the side as Oswald struck him, the force of the blow sending his head jolting to one side. The Penguin turned back to you, his hand on his chest as he continued speaking.

“I'm guessing pops didn't tell you he was borrowing big bucks from the big man, to cover his Gambling debts, huh?” his scared lip curled back showing off his gold tooth, “Here you were tellin’ me 'bout you wantin' to start college and here I was thinkin’ gee what a nice pop, bankrollin' tuition fees. but then you said you couldn't afford it. What a piece of shit father you got here kid.”

There was a sharp and loud click as the safety was pulled back, before the cold tip of the gun barrel pressed against your father’s blood covered temple. Your father began to sob and the front of his trousers grew a large wet patch, the scent of urine filled your nostrils. You felt sick watching the whole thing.

“Where. Is. My. Money!!?” he roared, his eyes were wide and wild.

“Please no! No! God!” You squealed and scratched the hands that were holding you back in your chair. You twisted and wailed, “Mercy! Please!” You coughed, snot dripping down your lips and chin, “Oh fuck! Please god!”

With a burst of energy and adrenaline, you managed to wriggle out of the hands of the gang members, but as you fell to your knees, you grabbed at Oswald’s trousers and shoes, your fingers desperately clawing at the fabric. 

“Don’t kill him!” you pleaded, your voice choked with tears, “Please! I’ll do anything! Please, I’m begging you! Please!” You buried your face into his knee, your wet face soaking into his expensive trousers. 

A heavy hand came to rest on top of your head, patting you gently as you leaned, trembling against his leg and wept. You heard the softest shushing sounds, from the man with the deadly firearm held in his other hand.

"Anything?" he whispered softly with a curious and considerate edge, though the threat in his hand remained ever-present.

Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you looked back up at Oswald, your fingers gripping the fabric of his trousers tightly. Your father’s eyes widened in terror as he desperately shook his head from side to side, his weak struggles against the bindings doing little to loosen them. He protested loudly against the gag in his mouth, whimpering and grunting in fear.

The penguin rolled his eyes, “She’s doing you a solid,’ Oswald barked at your father, “should be grateful.” His gaze snapped back down at your wet blinking orbs, “How are you gonna pay what he owes me?” he looked honestly interested in what you were offering, he smiled even.

Your tongue flicked out to wet your dry bottom lip. “I’ll—I’ll work at the lounge,” you stammered, “I’ll pick up babysitting.” The words came stumbling out of your mouth, your mind racing as you desperately tried to find some way to satisfy the demands of the mobster. “I won’t go to college, just give me time!”  You prayed he would offer some leniency.

The Penguin’s scoff was cold and dismissive. “Your pops has had a year, honey,” he retorted, “You wouldn’t be able to make that much bussing tables and waitressing let alone playing nurse maid.”

His words stung, and you felt a sharp pang of helplessness. He was right. There was no way you could make that much money to pay off your father’s debt.

Your hands clasped together, your shoulders drooped, you felt just how you looked, pathetic and small, “Please, please Mister Cobb.”

As he twirled his gun idly in his hand, the mobster hummed, “You wanna help your pops? You wanna pay off his debt?” he tilted your chin up with the tip of his gun. The safety was still off.

“Yes, hm,” you whimpered, “yes, Mister Cobb.”

He withdrew his pistol, setting it aside, and now cradled your face in his large, warm hand. His voice was gentle as he inquired, “Be honest with me Doll, did you read that book?” 

Your breath hitched in your chest as you realized he was referring to that smutty book, the one that had caused so much upheaval and embarrassment before you’d come inside to this horror.

Your face crumbled as you choked out your answer, a single syllable word. “Yes.” You wouldn’t dare lie to the Penguin. Not now.

The sinister smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth made your stomach churn. His reaction seemed almost gleeful as if he was secretly pleased by your admission. Extending his hand towards you, he quietly encouraged you to take it.

Your legs trembled weakly as you slowly stood He pulled you into his side, and your body was pressed close against his, intimate and too close for comfort.  He groaned happily, “Alright then, give me a kiss.”

You gulped hard as you tried to steel yourself, desperately holding back the well of tears that threatened to spill over again. He wanted a kiss from you, just a simple little kiss, it wasn’t that hard. You pressed your lips to his cheek. You shuddered and then pressed your mouth to the corner of his. He groaned and squeezed at your waist. Your fingers trembled violently as they gripped his lapels, your breath coming in short, shaking gasps.

“Good enough,” he groaned, “Now say goodbye to your Pops. You’re gonna come with me and you can see him once the debts been paid.”

Your father went back to fighting his binds, hollering behind the gag. He pleaded that the penguin would not take you. 

Your mind raced, filled with a library of questions about your impending fate: If you accompanied the Penguin, would you ever get to see your father again? What exactly would you be expected to do to pay off his debt? What could the Penguin possibly want from you? Where would you even stay, how would you survive?

The panic rose in your chest, and your voice trembled as you asked, “How long will that be?”

Oswald pinched your chin and pressed his nose against yours, “Depends on you, doll face,” he drawled, “I reckon a good six months to a year should be enough.”

Your chest felt tight, your heart clenching in sadness, as you whispered, “Oh.” Oswald allowed you to pull away and step over to your father. You gently cradled his bruised and bleeding face in your hands, tears streaming down your own cheeks.

“I lo-love you, dad.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, “Please, I’m sorry.” Your father cried into your palms, his sobs choking out through the gag.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your mind struggled to take in the gravity of what was happening as fear bubbled inside of your stomach. You felt a thick, black bag being dragged over your head, the rough cloth pressing against your face and blocking out what little light had been left in the room.

To be continued...

  𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒:

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚��𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬.

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[enmstorytime]

The Therapist

I chose the cheap graduate program, the one that I could complete without taking out student loans. I needed the degree to pursue a career as a therapist.

I don't know if my mistake was upsetting my professor, or if my mistake was signing up for the hypnosis course. I haven't asked any of my classmates if they suffer from the same condition. I'm afraid they don't. And if they don't, and they found out the condition that I suffer from, I worry that they could get my license revoked.

I know that whatever is happening to me started in that hypnosis class. There was one class period, where I remember walking into class, making a joke at my professor's expense, and then I don't remember the class. I remember waking up in my bedroom, ten miles from campus. I normally slept naked, so I wasn't concerned when I rolled out of bed naked. What made me realize that something had happened was the fact that my car wasn't in the parking lot. My clothes from the day before were also nowhere to be found. Somehow, I had made my way from campus to my apartment and somewhere along the way my clothes had vanished. I found my car on campus, but I never found my clothing. And I never knew if anyone had seen me naked that day. All the smirks and knowing looks my classmates gave me from that point could have just been my imagination.

That class was ten years ago. Eventually, I pushed that weird morning out of my mind and decided I must have taken the bus, and stripped on my front stoop. Some neighbor probably thought my abandoned clothes were litter and cleaned them up.

At least I allowed myself this thought, until my graduation party, when one of my peers showed me a picture of me sitting completely naked on the city bus, my face blank, my hands behind my head, my legs crossed.

"What the fuck is this?" I asked him.

"You don't remember this day, man?" my classmate asked. "This was the minute I started respecting you man. You just sat there so confident on the bus, your cock out for the world to see."

"That never happened, you sick fuck," I said. "You probably asked AI to make this image."

But I also had to admit that AI had gotten a lot right, if this was in fact AI. There was the mole on my hip. My nipples were the exact right size and in the right place, and my cock was the right size when I was flaccid and the circumcision looked right.

"Dude, I wouldn't spend my time making AI naked pictures of you," my classmate said, getting angry now. "Besides, I asked if I could take your picture, and you told me to go ahead."

"I don't remember that," I said, remembering the day I had mysteriously left my car on campus. Apparently those clothes I never found were somewhere between my hypnosis class and the bus station. But anyone riding the number 7 bus that afternoon got an eye full of me.

I dreaded that as I started my practice other passengers would post those pictures online, and some client would come into my office to confront me with my nudes.

What I didn't expect was to wake up one afternoon two years ago, five years into running my own therapy practice, in the middle of a session with a barrel chested, clean-cut daddy, completely naked.

The daddy was laid out across the couch in leather handcuffs, a collar, and a cock cage, his business suit coat hanging on the back of the office door, the rest of his clothes piled up and rumpled right at the office door.

Searching for my own clothes, I saw that my client's messenger bag was over stuffed, a pant leg and one of my argyle dress socks sticking out of the side.

"What the fuck is going on here," I asked, hurriedly covering my penis with my hands. My client jumped.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sitting up, and covering his caged cock with his own hands.

"I mean, why are we naked?" I asked. "Why the hell are my clothes in your bag?"

"Is this some kind of fucked up exposure therapy?" My client asked, sounding angry. "You were the one who answered your office door butt naked, and told me today we'd try something new. You handed me your clothes and told me that whatever you said, I needed to take them with me at the end of the session."

"Obviously that will not be happening," I said, standing up while still covering myself and crossing to open his bag.

"What the hell is going on here?" My client demanded. "I was actually making breakthroughs before whatever the fuck this is."

"I don't care about your fucking breakthroughs," I said. "I mean, I do, but I'm naked here. This is entirely unacceptable."

"Is this some kind of test," the man asked, his anger soothing. "Yeah, that's what this is," he said, standing up and blocking my path to his bag. "You told me not to let you take your clothes back, no matter what you said. I need to be a man of my word, huh? That's what this is about."

"No, it's not," I said, trying to get past him.

But he took his hands off his cock and started to use his arms to block me from reaching my clothing that he had somehow gotten from me.

"I'm sorry to have reacted so poorly to this test he said, pushing me away, and I fell backward on the rug, catching myself with my hands, my legs flying up to expose pole and hole to my client. "I really didn't expect any therapist to go to these lengths to help me. I can't thank you enough."

He grabbed his clothes, but didn't take the time to get dressed. Instead he pushed my office door open, his clothes bunched in his hands in front of his crotch, his messenger bag with all of my clothes swinging off his shoulder.

I spent too long debating whether or not I should follow him, and by the time I decided I should, as I stepped out of my office door, hands glued to privates, I watched his car backing out of his parking space through the waiting room's front windows.

I also saw my next client sitting waiting, and they certainly saw me.

I ducked back into my office, and shouted to the receptionist to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day because I wasn't feeling well.

The client who saw me standing in my office doorway with nothing but my hands covering me never came back for another session.

My receptionist, a hot young college guy did come back to my office to run some paperwork past me. He didn't knock, just barged in, catching me with my back to the office door, standing at the window, peeking around the curtains.

"You're naked," he said.

I turned around, flushing red, and quickly covering my privates again.

"No need to hide it," he said. "I've seen a cock before."

"But not your boss's cock," I said, walking to my desk where I could hide at least my lower half.

The rug in my office felt soft under my bare heels and toes, but my ass also jiggled obscenely in front of my receptionist, who was grinning stupidly and certainly not looking at my face.

"No, I've never seen my boss's cock," he said, and closed the door behind him. "But I'd certainly like to."

It was the right words, and my body reacted with very little thought. I had hired my receptionist because of his easy boy-next-door grin. I'd spent hours fantasizing about taking the glasses off his face to look him in the eye. I had imagined all the ways my receptionist and I could move our relationship from professional to sexual, but I hadn't imagined this.

And at the simplest encouragement from him, I took my hands off my cock and stepped toward him. He was on his knees before I had fully processed what was happening, and his soft, fat tongues slithered down the head of my cock to the base and back.

I moaned.

He grabbed my ass cheeks and pulled me all the way too him, sliding my cock into his mouth, into his willing, open throat.

It took seconds for me to swell to my full mast in his throat, and he gagged once, before adjusting, before beginning his delicate, trained rhythm. His tongue lapped up and down my penis, his hands pulled my cheeks apart, a few fingers making their way to my hole, to probe and explore.

His hands and mouth maneuvered me, and I became putty in his hands as he slurped and sucked, sliding up and down, until I couldn't handle it anymore, and I pushed out the first shot of cum.

Immediately, he pressed a finger against my prostrate, and I came harder, my knees knocking against each other, the cum coming even more forcefully, the moan bursting uninhibited from my own throat.

I thrust and thrust and thrust sending stream after stream of hot cum down the throat of my sexy receptionist.

When he released me from his mouth, I slid to the floor, completely spent. I laid on my back, one arm behind my head, one arm, holding my scrotum, my deflating cock still on full display.

My receptionist stepped over me, and did the only thing that could make this moment more perfect. He unzipped the front of his slacks, and dropped his slacks and underwear. He stood over me, still wearing his shirt, but naked from the waist down, and began stroking himself over my naked, spent self.

His cum hit my chest and my face, hot and sticky, and he moaned as he continued to milk himself. It was a full minute of moaning and globs of cum falling onto me.

Without a word, he pulled up his slacks and underwear, zipped back up, and left me naked on my office rug, covered in his cum.

This was the best time I ever woke up naked mid-session completely naked. But it certainly wasn't the last.

[argumate]

you've mentioned china's trade surplus effectively ripping of Chinese citizens (they are generating product but not getting access to it, I think?) and I was wondering... why? what benefit does this give to the people of China? I assume they operate that way for a reason but I don't know what the reason could be

I think it was a sensible strategy for at least 25 years or so, from when open policy began under Deng Xiaoping in 1979 up to the Beijing Olympics and Global Financial Crisis in 2008, then it became increasingly unhelpful but it was difficult to stop.

China was coming out of 30 years of Maoism when Deng took over, disconnected from the global economy, lacking infrastructure, and extremely underinvested: the GDP of Japan was 5x larger than China and it was exporting 10x as much as China, despite China having 8x more people.

under open policy, China created special economic zones across the south east and encouraged companies from Hong Kong and Taiwan to setup low cost operations there, then later invited US and European corporations too but always with strict conditions to partner with local businesses and state owned enterprises to ensure technology transfer (the classic story of investing in China is to do the work of setting up a partner company then later have that partner company take over the market).

at the same time as opening up to global markets (and getting rid of rations and price controls and switching to a market economy domestically), China poured resources into infrastructure investment, building factories and highways and bridges and docks and harbours and the largest high speed train network on the planet and vast cities of apartments to accommodate the biggest urbanisation project in history and so on and so on.

this transformed China at vast scale with shocking speed into the industrial powerhouse that it is today, with GDP 4x Japan and exporting 5x as much, an incredible turnaround from the 20th century, when cyberpunk authors were predicting the Japanese economy would eat the world.

but all that infrastructure and property development required to urbanise and industrialise was a massive investment, funded by the government and paid for by the hard work of Chinese households, whose incomes were suppressed by a range of mechanisms: fixed exchange rates and tariffs making imports expensive and helping exporters, bank spreads giving low deposit rates for savers and cheaper loans for favoured industries, the hukou system taking away rights from rural residents so they could be used as cheap labour in the cities much like undocumented immigrants in the US, and of course the labour movement was carefully controlled by the government and suppressed when its demands grew too strong.

the Chinese people paid for the transformation of China, but by and large I'd say it was well worth the effort: even if the politically connected elite siphoned off the top and wealth inequality increased, the overall quality of life improved enormously from the Maoist dark ages that preceded the open era.

the transition from the rationed economy to the market economy was rough, and inflation and unemployment not always perfectly managed, but the unrest of 1989 was relatively minor in the scheme of things, compared with the chaos and dysfunction of Russia's failed attempt to cross the chasm and liberalise its economy.

so that's the Chinese success story, which I think peaks in 2008, when China is inviting the world to the Beijing Olympics while America is busy spending billions of dollars invading other countries and has just blown up the global economy thanks to poor regulation of its banks inflating a mortgage bubble into a credit crisis.

however at this moment of triumph, China faces a quandary that it has not resolved to this day: the development model that has made it the industrial envy of the world has run its course and must be changed in order to continue steady growth, but it is very difficult to change course when politically connected vested interests owe everything they have to the continuation of these policies!

but first, why were exports important to China's growth in the first place? I think there are multiple reasons for this:

foreign companies that setup operations in China were focused on the export market because the Chinese people at the time had very little money, making them great workers but poor customers, and although the domestic market would steadily grow in size over time, the size of the global market and the suppression of local wages would continue to favour exports.

the government knew that the export market was highly competitive and would keep industry honest in a way that the domestic market might not, avoiding the problems seen in the USSR where protected industries could manufacture low quality products and faced little pressure to improve: "Made in China" would start cheap and then work its way up in quality, a classic tale of market disruption, as we see today with China subsidising Tesla factories as a rabbit for its own greyhounds (BYD) to chase.

possible geopolitical advantages to taking over critical industries for the entire world, along with an ideological bias in favour of production over consumption which means industries will habitually produce more than the domestic market can consume, requiring exports to meet the demand for demand.

so the problem was that over time China began to run out of opportunities for productive investment: when every person has an apartment and every river has a dozen bridges and the country is exporting a trade surplus of a trillion dollars a year it's time to slow down investment driven growth, shift towards consumption, pay households more, and let increased demand from Chinese consumers drive future development.

however, this requires reversing the transfers currently in place that take money away from households to subsidise exporters, which would immediately hurt export competitiveness and risk businesses downsizing and spiking unemployment -- much as we're seeing with Trump's tariffs in the opposite direction, any poorly managed change causes an economic downturn immediately but the potential economic growth is delayed, leading to a painful adjustment period and possible political instability.

as a result the Chinese government has been announcing plans to raise consumption and deleverage (reduce debt-fueled investment driven growth) for fifteen years now but it has balked from actually doing it every time, so the trade surplus mounts ever higher and popular discontent grows as -- much like America -- the people see the economic growth opportunities that their parents enjoyed now receding into the distance.

in theory the US could force this adjustment unilaterally, ideally by controlling financial investment from China (which is how China balances its enormous trade surplus) or much more clumsily by the kind of tariffs that Trump is levying (although bilateral tariffs may just push trade into more circuitous paths through other countries to evade them).

if the US no longer accepts Chinese trade surpluses then the government will have no choice but to shift the economy in a different direction, and perhaps it will be easier to justify the transition when the disruption can be blamed on a foreign adversary.

so if I had to summarise I would say that extracting wealth from the people can be beneficial if it is invested productively, but ultimately what makes an investment productive is that it meets demand from the people, that is what an economy is for, and we see countries experience growth booms when demand drives investment to meet demand and stagnate when demand drops and investment becomes increasingly unproductive, pushing on a piece of string in the hope that people will spend money they don't have if you just build enough shopping malls.

[kopiicryptid]

Can you yap about Squidwashing?

Oh my god OP you're gonna so regret this/lh

SquidWashing AU: LORE EDITION‼️

CW: Spoilers for Mouthwashing and Season 2 of Squidgames, mentions of death, assault, what you can typically expect from these two medias.

Gonna start by discussing the world-building then hop to the characters!!

So in this universe, Pony Express is still a giant company, although far from financial ruin. They're actually more of monopoly if anything, just consuming more and more business enterprises. While the company itself isn't majorly relevant to the plot, I like to think the people up top are somewhat involved as VIPS or sponsors of the game. Part of me is tempted to say that Polle is also an actual person in this AU as the one in charge of the games or even as player 001 in season 1.

In addition, the layoffs are still relevant in this AU. With the rise of AI and technology, they ended up dismissing a huge portion of their workforce to cut costs and because human labor has become unnecessary. However, the real ulterior motive here is that they laid off employees that they knew were financially struggling a.k.a. most of the lower-working class in their company, which in turn creates more fodder for the games. It's a coincidence that Pony Express just can't help but to take advantage of.

The games themselves are held on a massive ship in space, called the Kraken. It travels far from where usual transport lines cross so there's little chance of the contestants being found. It's only close enough to some lines just for the sake of importing materials and things needed on board, otherwise, you can argue that all the contestants are practically stranded in space. Given that rich people are investing in this, there's enough money for them to build giant rooms and decks on this ship, along with utilizing technology like simulators, holograms, etc for the games.

Now onto the players!

Curly - #456

It's obvious that he of all people plays our main lead, player 456 in place of Gi-Hun. He's won the game before so now he's back to save people and put an end to it. His first time in the games was mostly people he didn't know aside from a couple of coworkers he's known for quite some time and people from long ago. Either way, it's enough for him to feel such survivor's guilt that he can't just sit back and do nothing.

As to why he's in the games, it's partially similar to Gi-Hun's. Years ago he participated in a worker's strike against Pony Express, one that got violent and left him with some PTSD. Ever since, he's been struggling to hold a job due to how technology-driven their world is, most piloting jobs are done by automatic systems so he ends up doing odd jobs here and there, small deliveries and such for cheap. However, losing his job from PE left him with crippling debts that have yet to be paid, and it doesn't help either that he had a habit of loaning money to less fortunate friends of his, so there's not much for him in the bank.

After the first games, Curly, like Gi-Hun, spent his money and time investigating the games, but it all boiled down to him knowing that it'd be near impossible to take it down from the outside. He'd have to do so within the games themselves. During his investigations, he also discovered the potential involvement of Pony Express, yet there's still not enough evidence for him to present...

Anya - #222

Although this was another obvious choice, I'd like to say there's a lot of change in terms of Anya's story and that of #222's/Jun-Hee's. Anya is still pregnant in this AU and yes it's Jimmy's (I'll get to that in a bit), but instead of wanting the money so that she can raise the baby, it's so she can afford the abortion and have money left over for medical school because of how the procedure would take all the money she has left.

Now for the pregnancy, I still wanted to make it Jimmy's because I didn't want to erase that from the source media after all. The two know each other only because were coworkers at some minimum wage job, but they weren't that close. You might ask why doesn't Anya tell the others about Jimmy, she can't. In this AU, all of them are strangers to each other except for Curly, Jimmy, and Swansea, and Swansea only knows Curly. She wouldn't feel comfortable just dropping that bomb onto a bunch of strangers, it’s not an easy thing to confess something so personal to someone you just met. Especially when she realizes that Curly and Jimmy are close friends. Not to mention, I don't think she'd want this to define her, Anya would try to focus on the games themselves without causing further unnecessary drama. She knows this team is the only group she can rely on to survive, so she's taking advantage of it all she wants, even if it means dealing with Jimmy. There's no point in bringing up something that could tear them all apart or worse, put her on Jimmy's hit list.

In a way, these two have a mutual understanding that the r*pe is something they're keeping under wraps because Jimmy knows Anya has the power to tear him down with it, and doing so is Anya's way of keeping Jimmy in check. A way for her to regain some kind of control over him, if you will.

Jimmy - #001

Jimmy's story is the most different from his character here, and I envision his storyline and personality being a mix of #218/Sang-Woo from S1 and #001/Frontman from S2. He went to piloting school with Curly and was fairly good at it. He and Curly were close friends, although they slowly drifted after graduation due to their jobs. Jimmy fell from grace when he kept screwing up jobs and got reported at work one too many times, that and a few problems in his personal life like getting into fights, picking up bad habits, etc, going from a dependable pilot to a washed-up nobody leeching off of all his connections.

It should be obvious why Jimmy's in the games but what's less obvious is why he's a traitor. Rather than being the Frontman, Jimmy's working with the Frontman. After hearing that Curly was coming back to the games to stop them and then finding out that Jimmy used to be a close friend of his, the Frontman struck a deal that they'd guarantee Jimmy moderate assistance in the games, in exchange for keeping Curly in line. And of course, Jimmy took the deal with no hesitation, but in reality, he's just another pawn on the board.

And like #222's ex in the show, Jimmy at one point goes to Anya and tries to convince her to keep the baby, that their money combined will be enough for them to start a family. Obviously, this is just a tactic for Jimmy to control most of the finances and it's him fooling himself, thinking that he could 'turn a new page' by pursuing a 'normal' life. Anya declines, and rightfully so.

Swansea - #390

Ironically, Swansea is the most disconnected from #390/Jung-Bae in terms of personality, yet his story is quite fitting. Alongside Curly, Swansea was a participant in the PE worker strikes, which also meant that he lost his job and ended up with barely enough to support his family, especially with his looming alcoholism. On the brink of a divorce, Swansea joined the games in hopes that the money would convince his wife to stay with the kids and that he could afford rehab in the process. He's simply a man who wants to keep his family together, but deep down, there's a cynical part of him that just wonders what would happen if he let it all fall apart then and there.

Out of everyone aside from Anya, Swansea was the first to catch onto how suspicious Jimmy was, confirmed only when he witnessed Jimmy kill another player without hesitance, just like Jung-Bae did with the Frontman. On a different note, Swansea has the same slight parental instinct that Jung-Bae did to #388, who in this case, is obviously Daisuke.

In relation to Curly, Swansea is closer to Curly here than in the games, mainly for the fact that they were coworkers for years in Pony Express and kept some contact after the strikes. I like to think Swansea invited Curly to his home on occasion, and that his wife welcomed him too, pitying that such a nice man was struggling so much.

Daisuke - #388

After seeing so much fanart of Daisuke and #388/Dae-Ho, I had to watch S2 and jump on this AU, so thank that for the reason I'm even yapping. Daisuke's backstory is also different here, maybe a little drastically. Daisuke and his mom were refugees escaping a warring region when he was fairly young. Years later, they became citizens of the region they're in and are considerably well off in terms of career, yet his mom still has numerous debts to be paid from the process of citizenship and the years she spent on her education so that she could provide for Daisuke.

Daisuke decided to participate in the games to relieve her debt, and hopefully make her proud.

And yes, the warring region mention is relevant since Daisuke ends up having a PTSD episode similar to Dae-Ho during the player uprising. Also, it's partially me projecting my SE Asian background and history onto one of my favorites, sue me I guess. Daisuke likes to boast that he's a brave kid with a mean swing and how he managed to escape a war so the games are light work.

So if you've made it this far, congrats! I'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas if you have any! I definitely have some more, but for now, I just wanted to make a basic post to establish the roles and world around it. If you guys make any content based specifically on my version of the AU, PLEASE TAG ME, PLEASEEEEE!! Also...

Bonus // Atlas - #120

Because why not? There's no harm in me inserting my Mouthwashing OC and plus, they actually really fit #120's/Hyun-Ju's character.

Just like Hyun-Ju, Atlas is a trans person, although their assigned birth gender is private and they're specifically a trans-nonbinary individual. Besides needing the money for the rest of their operations, Atlas is also impoverished and hopes to use the funds to finish piloting school. In this AU and their official canon, Atlas is ex-military; they worked in special forces as a unit captain and used the money to afford their surgeries. However, after an incident that caused them to voluntarily step down from service, they became severely indebted and eventually homeless.

Atlas is aware of Anya's pregnancy and knows Jimmy and Curly well through word of mouth in the few years of piloting school they attended, but they were hardly friends or acquainted with the two before the games. They're suspicious of Jimmy, however they're more suspicious of the Frontman and those in charge of the games. The games were a rumor in the special forces, and something about the Frontman seems familiar...

[wizard-on-whales]

Modern AU! for rdr2 characters

These are my headcannons for each character and what I think they would do in modern times.

Characters included: Arthur, Micah, Dutch, John, Abigail, Mary-Beth, Karen, Tilly, Sadie, Strauss, Charles, Susan, Bill, Lenny, Hosea, Sean, Molly, Javier, Swanson

_______________________________

Arthur Morgan: 

He works a blue-collar job. He would most likely be a ranch hand, but for some reason, I can also imagine him being a plumber or welder. In his free time, he does art and sells prints on Etsy. He is still an old-fashioned gentleman (In a good way), and all of the ladies he meets swoon for him, but he is a himbo and doesn't realize they are practically in love with him. They will give him the most obvious hints, but he will think the women are just being nice. 

Micah Bell:

He's the creepy uncle that you avoid at every family gathering. He hasn't had a job in like 15 years, and no one knows how he can still pay his bills. And he also always smells like lingering alcohol and cigarettes. He will lean too close to his nieces and say extremely concerning things everyone would choose to ignore. Im also getting the vibes that he went to prison for several years, but no one knows what for.

Dutch Van Der Linde:

He sells people scams or owns a pyramid scheme business. Similar to Scentsy products, he somehow convinces all of these people to buy his products to sell to other people, telling them they will get rich by selling these products, but, in reality, he's screwing them over and making most of the money himself. 

John Marston: 

If we are talking about early Red Dead 2 Marston, he still lives in his parent's basement and plays video games on his PC all day. He also watches Andrew Tate and would try to boss Abigail around and tell her he's an alpha male. (She'd slap him and tell him to get over himself) Late rdr2 and rdr1, he's grown out of that mindset and has become a working family man. Potentially also a welder, like I said for Arthur. But any high-paying physical job works.  

I feel like Abigail, Mary-Beth, Karen, and Tilly would all have a mom group they host every week to discuss their child's newest achievements. Their husbands think that is all they do at the meetings, but they also have in-depth conversations about women's suffrage and how the world caters to men. They think of ways to better the world and bring more women together to discuss these topics and bring light to issues regarding women. The girls would run a pretty popular Facebook group where they let other women express their opinions on those topics. (Arthur is a part of the Facebook group and likes every post he sees and comments shit like, “You're doing great, ladies! Keep up the good work! 😁🥰👍”) 

Sadie would probably occasionally attend these meetings (Although I dont see her having children, she would go for the cheap wine and to hang with her friends). Sadie would also go for the in-depth conversations and bring new thoughts to the table because she is a CEO or manager for a very successful company. She would share her experiences of what it's like to be on top of the men who work for her but still be looked down upon by them simply because of her gender. She would also probably share tips on that Facebook page on how to create a successful business without having to attend years of college and give tips for all stay-at-home moms who want to be more than just moms and wives. (She would also be the cool rich aunt)

Leopold Strauss: 

He would do the same thing. He gives loans to people who he knows won't be able to pay back the money, and then when the bill comes, he'd ruin their lives and probably end up breaking up families/ relationships and send people to jail for not paying back the money in time. 

Charles Smith:

I can see him being a park ranger or working in any conservation field. Potentially even a firefighter who deals with all of the forest fires that happen in places along the West Coast. He’d also be one to do something similar to what he did in the game, but he would work with the local native tribes against companies to try to win back their lands before it gets plowed over for an Amazon factory or something. 

Susan Grimshaw:

I can see her being the mean substitute teacher who yells at everyone to get to work, and then when someone does something slightly wrong, she would yell at the whole class and be like, “In all of my years of teaching, I have never seen a class behave this badly.” Either that or she would work at the front desk of the business Sadie runs. Miss Grimshaw would NOT play with anyone who would try to be rude towards her. 

Bill Williamson: 

Ehem…a police officer. I feel like this one is self-explanatory. But he would mostly sit in his car and do nothing his entire shift. Occasionally pulling someone over for speeding. If they are a white dude, he'd would let them off with just a warning. Poor Lenny would probably get the ticket. 

Lenny Summers: 

I feel like he would be the one to graduate high school early and go to college as soon as possible. I dont know exactly what he would choose for his degree, but I feel like it would be something involving politics. Maybe that wouldn't be his major, but he would take a government class. Or Potentially going into journaling. 

Hosea Matthews:

He's the retired grandpa who used to work in a factory where he made a surprising amount of money and was able to retire early. He spends most of his days walking up at 5 in the morning to watch the sunrise and read the morning paper. And he’ll spend every opportunity he gets to take his kids or grandkids fishing. And if you stay at his house overnight or for the weekend, he gives you a bowl of ice cream every night before bed and recounts every story he could think of that happened from the last time you saw him. (Some of them are surprisingly concerning, but he is one of those badass grandpas)

Sean Macguire:

Similar to John, Sean would spend most of his time gaming on his PC and arguing with children on COD or Fortnite. But he also works at a local bar as the bartender and won't hesitate to argue with the drunk assholes and would slap a bitch if needed. But he also embarrasses himself by flirting with women who will give him dirty looks or tell him that they are gay. (I feel like Karen would also work late-night shifts at the bar with him, but shes also taking online college classes because she wants to be a social worker) 

Molly O’Shea:

Instagram and TikTok influencer 100%, and lots of brands like to sponsor her and send her free stuff (Mostly because of Dutch’s business.) and she posts videos of her and Dutch, and everyone in the comments freaks out about how he is grooming her because of their age difference but she denies it all and says that they are actually in love.  But then she would post a video to that one sound, “My god this reminds me of when we were young.” And Molly be like 8, and Dutch be in his mid-to-late 20s. 

Javier Escuella: 

He’d be a musician. He would have started out in a shitty garage band with Sean and John or something, but then he’d realize he actually wants to be a serious musician while the other guys were just messing around. So he’d leave and make solo music that blows up, and he ends up going on tour, and making a lot of money and becoming hugely successful. 

Reverend Swanson:

The preacher you always see in the corner of the bar Sean works at. And if you went up to him and started talking to him, he’d tell you the most profound things. He would tell you about his life when he was younger and what happened that made him lose hope, but he would motivate you to never give up. He’d be that person you meet by chance for a few seconds that you would never forget. Hosea probably invites him to go fishing with him from time to time. But instead of fishing, Swanson stares at the water ripples in silence. Hosea would let him sit in silence and let Swanson enjoy the company and the time to think while being sober. 

----------------------------

[beefyav0cado]

Little Yellow Rabbit - Interview (1)

Fear coursed through my veins as I ran down the dimly lit hallway. There’s something familiar about this corridor, but all I cared about was running. I could hear the heavy thud of metal behind me, and it was getting closer. The checkered floor was a blur as I turned a corner and entered some sort of dark room. Seeing a desk tucked away by the wall, I quickly crawled under it. Huddling my knees to my chest, my hand shot up to cover my mouth and muffle my breathing. Whatever it was that was chasing me was right outside the room now. The footsteps slowed as they entered the room, but they were loud, and each one spelled my doom as they approached the desk. I could clearly see its large, yellow, animal-like feet as they stopped right in front of me. Holding my breath, I cursed that I didn’t keep running. It started to lean over, and just as I was about to get a glimpse of its head, I woke up.

Another nightmare. Ever since I moved to this godforsaken town, I got them almost every night. I could never remember them after waking, the only indication of them ever happening was the pool of sweat I woke up in and the way I shot out of bed every morning with my heart racing and out of breath. Groaning, I rolled out of bed. My apartment was still littered with moving boxes, with only the necessities being unpacked. I had been too busy going to interview after interview trying to get a job to unpack anything else. I was freshly out of college with a Bachelor's in Engineering, and with the impending doom of student loan payments approaching, I needed to get a job. I shook the anxiety from my head, heading to the bathroom to get ready for yet another job interview. I washed my face with cold water and dried it off with the towel hanging to the side of the sink. It still smelled like the store I bought from when I first moved to Hurricane. The towel was cheap and it felt scratchy against my skin. Sighing, I hung the towel back up on the rack and began to strip out of my pajamas. The cold air of my apartment made goosebumps rise on my skin, and I hurried to put on the clothes I had set out last night. I looked in the mirror and eyed myself up and down to make sure the outfit was appropriate. The black high-rise pants I paired with a dark sweater looked professional enough for me to be satisfied. Besides, the owner told me to dress casually. I tugged at the cuffs of the white button-down shirt that hid underneath the sweater and exited the bathroom. I tiptoed past the mess of moving boxes and made my way to the kitchen. My stomach growled at the idea of a quick breakfast before I headed out, but I ignored it, too anxious to eat. I grabbed my keyring from the table beside the front door, along with my brown cross-body bag. The bag was a gift from my mother before she passed, and it felt nice to have something that reminded me of her so close. Trying not to think about it further, I pushed myself out the door and down the set of stairs that led to the outdoors. I double-checked that I had my wallet and rèsumè in my bag before opening the driver’s side door of my car and sliding into the seat. I had a decently small car that barely liked to start some mornings, but she got me where I needed to be. 

Today was, thankfully, one of the days my car started on the first turn of the key. Pulling out of my driveway, I sped off toward the only place left in town that gave me a callback. I applied to every place I could that was looking for someone who could do robotics or any semblance of technician work. They either didn’t call me back or turned me away after the first interview. I shuddered as I pulled into the uneven parking lot. It was full of cars, making me park decently far away. I took a deep breath to maintain my composure before stepping out of the car and locking it.  

Walking closer to the building, I looked up at the large neon sign hanging above the front door. Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place. The sign had a few dead bulbs on the outside. The R in Fazbear’s was completely dead. Above the name was a large depiction of the mascot, Freddy. I had recognized him from a cartoon and a couple of television advertisements I had seen over the past few days. The rest of the outside of the building left much to be desired, with paint chipping in certain places and random stains adorning the walls. The smell wasn’t the best either. The scent of old pizza and scattered trash would hit you as soon as you got close. I felt the little spark of hope I had that I might actually enjoy this job quickly getting snuffed out. 

Shivering from my lack of a jacket in the cold weather, I took another deep breath, reaching out to grab the door handle. A voice to my right stopped me before I could continue. I looked over to see a tall, older man staring down at me. He had a smile on his face, and although it was probably meant to be a kind gesture, something about it felt off, almost forced. Since I was too distracted trying to stay calm to hear him the first time, he repeated himself.

“Can I help you? I don’t think I’ve seen you around, and you look quite lost.”

He had a cold British accent that made my hair stand on end. Even though the words had a hint of concern laced in, they still sounded disinterested. I studied him, trying to get a read on how I should answer. I figured at the least he knew this place and could help me find the man I needed for the interview. “I’m looking for Mr. Emily. I have an interview scheduled for today.” 

I watched as he eyed me up and down, his smile somewhat wavering. Without answering, he nodded and led me inside the pizzeria. I was initially supposed to ask the person working the prize counter to lead me there, but whoever this man was, he clearly knew the way. I didn’t mind though, it looked like the girl at the counter was too busy ignoring the parent yelling at her to help me. I took note of my surroundings as we walked through the crowd of children and parents. Most of the parents were sitting at the tables in front of the closed main stage while their children ran around unsupervised. The inside was slightly more taken care of than the outside, with less trash scattered around, but there was still a slight smell of something rotten in the air. The carpet was somehow a bit sticky as we walked across it, making our way to the two hallways that seemed to be at the back of the building.

I stood frozen at the entrance to the East Hallway as I noticed the checkered linoleum flooring. A sense of dread washed over me, and I felt the color drain from my face. Something felt strange about this hallway, but I couldn’t place why. The man I was following turned around to look at me when he noticed I was frozen in place. He cocked his head at me, confused as to why I stopped. I looked up from the floor and up at him before swallowing the lump in my throat and moving forward. I tried convincing myself that I was just nervous about the interview, part of me even believing the excuse. Refusing to look down at the floor in fear that my stomach would try to get rid of the breakfast I neglected to eat this morning, I tried my best to simply focus on the man leading me to the first door in the hallway, my eyes boring into the back of his head. Without warning, he halted in front of the door and quickly turned around to face me. His eyes were sharp as they looked at mine.

“When you’re done staring, you are more than welcome to knock on the door.”

I felt my cheeks warming into a shade of pink, embarrassed to be called out. Scowling at him, I turned to face the door he brought me to. There was a name placard on the door: Henry Emily, Co-Owner. I gave the door a confused look as I reread what the sign said. I was almost sure that over the phone I was told Henry was the owner. I didn’t know there were two of them. I looked over to ask the man if he knew who the other owner was, but all that was left in his wake was stale, dusty air and the lingering scent of…coffee? I brushed it off and softly tapped twice on the door with my knuckles. I heard someone let out a small noise of surprise from behind the door, accompanied by footsteps. When the door was opened, I was greeted by a short, rather scruffy-looking man. He was at least a couple of inches shorter than me with a dirty blonde mullet and matching beard. His outfit was a simple yellow button-down shirt and a pair of blue overalls. It looked quite comfortable, seeing as it was freezing outside this time of year.

“I assume you’re here for the interview?”

 I nodded. 

“Good,” he smiles. “Come in and have a seat.”

The man, who I assume to be Henry, stepped aside and ushered me into his office. It was a decently organized space, although his desk had many stacks of paperwork that had financial words I didn’t comprehend. One small stack caught my eye. It looked like papers about a lawsuit being filed. That didn’t surprise me. Children were a safety hazard no matter where you were. Henry took a seat behind the desk as I sat in the chair across from him. He quickly cleared off most of the desk before pulling out a small packet that had the resume and job application form I filled out about a week ago. I ended up mailing it in because it was too cold, and I wasn’t sure my car would even start. He set the bundle of paperwork on the table before turning his gaze onto me.

“Your resume is pretty impressive. What made you want to join Freddy’s? “The atmosphere. And I heard about your animatronics. They intrigued me.”

It was only a half lie. I honestly had no clue what the atmosphere was like until I stepped in through the door just minutes ago, and I absolutely hated it. The animatronics, however, did intrigue me. I had seen small advertisements of the four animatronics they used here, and curiosity was eating me up inside about how their internal designs worked. In my college courses, we only worked on small-scale robotics, claiming that those simple things would give us enough knowledge to work on bigger things. Granted, I wrote my entire thesis paper on the ethics of giving robots emotions instead of researching stuff like that, so I suppose it could be my own fault.

“William would be thankful to hear that. Recently, only the kids seem to think they’re interesting,” he sighed. “Anyways, how soon can you start?”

It took me a moment to process what he said, but when I did, I beamed at him. Finally, a job and a semi-stable source of income. I knew the pay was terrible, but it was just enough to pay for my shitty apartment and the bare necessities. 

“Oh! I can start any time. Tomorrow, even.” Henry smiled back at me before passing the packet over, along with what seemed to be a training tape. It contained the normal job intake paperwork that I was used to filling out by now from all the random part-time jobs I could never stand. There were a couple of liability waivers mixed up in the stack, but I chalked it up to normal robotic work hazards. I saw the way my classmates would act sometimes, and wouldn’t want to get sued by a worker accidentally electrocuting themselves either. I shoved the bundle of papers and the tape neatly into my bag as both of us stood up. Henry then reached out his hand, and I quickly shook it, sealing the deal. 

After the initial interview, Henry then proceeded to give me a tour of the restaurant. It was loud, to say the least, and I was having problems trying to concentrate on every detail he was telling me. I also couldn’t get over the feeling that there was a strange air about the building, and that someone or something was watching me. We eventually stopped in front of the stage, where three out of the four animatronic animals stood. I recognized the one on the right as Chica and Freddy as the one in the middle. When I turned to look at the animatronic to the right, something familiar stirred in me. I knew I had seen him in the TV commercials, but it felt like a deeper recognition than that.

“That one’s Bonnie, right?” I asked, pointing to the large blue rabbit.

“Yes. That one is also William’s favorite, I think.”

William? I think Henry has mentioned his name a couple of times now. Once during the interview, and then a few more during the tour. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was the other owner of Freddy’s since I now know that Henry is only the co-owner. When we walked back over to the hallway where Henry’s office was stationed, he ended up leading me a bit further. My earlier suspicions were confirmed when we stood in front of another office door. It had the same exact placard as Henry’s office but with a different name:

William Afton.

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