#have charger cables and lights on both sides of your bed

[s0fter-sin]

because i need to hear it

needing accomodations for “little things” isn’t laziness

if it helps you, you don’t need to justify it

[sokaisen]

[ #𝐒𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍. ]

you can’t tell me; 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐍.

[ #one. ]

#𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷. 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨.

[ 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 ] — Y/N has feelings of betrayal and disillusionment as saturo repeatedly fails to keep his promises. Additionally, Y/N struggles to come to terms with the reality of saturo’s behavior and his past mistakes.

featured : saturo gojo x black fem!reader.

The shower gradually came to a gentle halt, the final droplets of water delicately descending from the shower head to the warm, tiled floor below. With a soft click, the glass shower door swung open, ushering in a refreshing chill that caressed your skin. Stepping out onto the bathroom floor, you could feel the sleek surface beneath your feet as you emerged, your body adorned with a subtle sheen from head to toe. The once-warm water now shimmered and slid down your slender, supple arms, tracing a path over your cocoa-toned skin, cascading over your waist, breast and flowing down to your shapely thighs.

Each step you took towards the pristine white marble bathroom counter echoed softly with the wet sounds of your feet on the floor. As you reached for the fluffy white cotton towel, wrapping it snugly around your body and tucking it in securely, a sense of comfort enveloped you. Gazing at your reflection in the mirror, you admired the richness of your deep brown ebony complexion, accentuated by the light pink silk bonnet adorning your head. With a sense of purpose, you reached for your tooth brush, ready to do your routine.

•••

Stepping out of the once steam-filled bathroom, having completed your refreshing hygiene routine, you enter your serene and inviting white bedroom. Glancing outside through the expansive bedroom window, you notice the darkness has finally enveloped the surroundings, with the swift movement of car lights zipping past while the streetlights illuminate the scene with their vibrant hues. As you make your way towards the right side of your bed, your steps sink into the plush white carpet beneath your feet.

Reaching for your phone, you feel the soft glow of the screen coming to life in your hand, revealing the time – "8:20 pm." With a sudden realization of the hour, you understand the need to hasten your preparations before you miss the opening of your event. Being a successful businesswoman who has climbed the ranks to achieve financial success, you now find solace in the fact that you have overcome past worries.

As you detach your phone from its charger, the cable falling gently to the floor, you make your way to your vanity dresser. Navigating through your phone to Apple Music, you browse through your playlist, seeking a song that will set the perfect tone for the evening. With a gentle tap of your finger, a melodious song fills the air, resonating throughout your apartment and igniting a sense of motivation within you to begin getting ready.

You gracefully untied your towel, letting it fall onto the plush carpeted floor, feeling the soft fibers under your bare feet. With a flick of your wrist, you opened the top drawer of your vanity, revealing an array of delicate bras and panties. Tonight, you were in the mood for something special, opting for a set of black lace lingerie to adorn your body.

Your fingers brushed over the intricate lace of the thongs, savoring the luxurious texture against your skin. Slipping your legs through the holes, you pulled them up snugly, reveling in the perfect fit against your most intimate parts. The sensation was exquisite, the fabric embracing you like a gentle caress, making you feel both confident and alluring.

Next, you reached for the matching lace bra, feeling a sense of anticipation as you unclipped it. As you slid your arms through the straps and fastened the clasps at the back, you adjusted the fit until your breasts were supported and accentuated just right. The black lace against your skin created a striking contrast, enhancing your natural mocha complexion with a touch of elegance and allure.

Admiring yourself in the vanity mirror, you couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence and sensuality. The black lace set hugged your curves in all the right places, accentuating your beauty in a way that felt empowering and captivating.

As you settle into the plush fur-covered vanity chair, you reach for a bottle of lotion amidst an array of sprays and fragrances. With a satisfying click, you open the lotion bottle, turning it over to squeeze a cool, white dollop into your palm. The sensation of the lotion against your skin sends a shiver of pleasure through you as you rub it between your hands, enveloping yourself in a delightful scent.

Your skin now glistening and fragrant, you rise from the chair and make your way to the open walk-in closet. The closet is a treasure trove of shoes, shirts, skirts, pants, and more, awaiting your selection. After scanning the options, your eyes settle on a cute, multi-colored skirt and a black velvet bodysuit with furry cuffs. With your chosen outfits in hand, you step out of the closet, ready to dress for the occasion.

Returning to the right side of your bed, you lay out the clothes, envisioning the ensemble coming together before you.

•••

As the clock struck 9:00 PM, you realized you only had about an hour and a half left to make it to your opening event. Your hair cascaded out from beneath your bonnet, revealing tight, luscious black curls that danced freely on your shoulders. A stylish cuffed black headband added a touch of chic to your ensemble.

You in the stunning black velvet bodysuit that accentuated your curves, while the brown and tan multi-colored leather skirt hugged your hips perfectly. Completing the look were your high-heeled boots, a mix of black and brown with fur accents that complemented your outfit flawlessly.

The sparkle of your studded necklace catching the light, and the twinkle of the studded gems in your ears added a touch of glamour to your appearance. As you stood there, exuding beauty and confidence, you not only looked stunning but also smelled delicious, every detail coming together to embody the essence of elegance and grace. You were a vision of sophistication and allure, ready to make a lasting impression as you stepped out into the night.

As you delicately apply a fragrance body oil to your beautiful brown skin, enhancing its natural radiance, a soft sheen begins to envelop your breasts. Just as you revel in this moment, a familiar ding interrupts the tranquility, signaling a message on your phone. With a sense of anticipation, you step out of the bathroom, deciding to complete getting dressed in there instead of in front of your vanity anymore.

As you glance at your vanity dresser, you reach out and pick up your phone. The screen illuminates as you unlock it, revealing a message from Saturo. Intrigued, you navigate to your messages, find Saturo's name, and begin to read the words that await you.

You let out a heavy sigh as you read Saturo's message repeatedly. Despite your love and trust for Saturo, moments like these always prove challenging. There have been instances when Saturo failed to follow through on things he promised, causing you emotional distress. You have consistently been there for him, attending his events and providing support, believing it to be crucial to stand by his side and offer encouragement.

However, there are times when it seems like the same level of support is not reciprocated. If Saturo fails to show up this time for something as important as this, it will cause a serious problem, as it feels like he doesn’t care about how you feel. If that is the reality, you may have to consider ending the relationship. Despite these doubts, your faith in him is what has kept you persevering, but this marks the final chance for him to prove his commitment.

As you reached for a spray bottle resting on your vanity, you carefully removed the cap and pressed your finger on the nozzle. A burst of the fragrance enveloped your body, mingling with the air in your room, creating a smell good atmosphere. Peering at your reflection in the ornate vanity mirror, you quickly assessed your appearance and found yourself looking beautiful.

The soft click of your heels against the plush carpet accompanied your graceful walk as you left the room. With a fluid motion, you reached back to switch off the light and gently closed the door behind you, leaving a sense of tranquility in your wake.

•••

As the car door closed, the cacophony of music and lively chatter filled the air, creating a vibrant atmosphere. Standing tall, you smoothed down your skirt and meticulously checked your belongings, ensuring nothing was left behind. With a firm press, you clicked the lock button on your car keys, the reassuring click echoing in the bustling surroundings. Satisfied, you turned away from your car, the rhythmic clomp of your heels resonating on the dark pavement as you made your way towards a towering, elegant building.

The structure loomed before you, its façade adorned with intricate decorations and expansive glass windows that reflected the city lights. As you approached the wide door entrances, observing the stream of people entering and the vigilant guard monitoring the flow, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. This was the culmination of your hard work and dedication—finally, you had arrived at the place where you had poured your heart and soul.

Gazing up at the towering edifice, you marveled at how far you had come. Stepping onto the sidewalk, you immersed yourself in the moment, acknowledging that this milestone was a testament to your resilience and perseverance. The dazzling lights and festive decorations beckoned, but your focus remained on the entrance guarded by two imposing figures.

As you neared the entrance, the tall men greeted you with warm smiles, calling out your name.

“Hello Ms. Y/LN.” [Your/Last Name.]

This moment was the culmination of your long-held dreams and aspirations, a scene straight out of your imagination. With a determined stride, you approached the grand entrance of the venue. As you stepped inside the brilliantly lit building, a wave of sights and sounds enveloped you. The air was filled with laughter and chatter, the clinking of glasses and the aroma of delectable cuisine lingering in the air.

You couldn't help but notice the guests sipping champagne, indulging in the sumptuous spread, and engaging in conversations. All eyes turned towards you, their faces lit up with smiles and expressions of gratitude as they extended their heartfelt congratulations.

“Thank you all so much for being here," you expressed sincerely, feeling a mix of joy and anticipation in your heart.

As you strolled leisurely through the crowd, you retrieved your phone from your purse to check the time - 10:40 pm. He was running 10 minutes late. Despite the slight pang of disappointment, you held onto the belief that he would arrive soon. Yet, a familiar ache tugged at your chest, reminiscent of unfulfilled promises, like a parent making empty assurances to a child.

Releasing a soft sigh, you returned your phone to your purse and composed yourself, mustering a gracious smile. With renewed composure, you continued to navigate through the spacious venue, entering various rooms to personally greet and express gratitude to each guest who had taken the time to celebrate this special occasion with you.

•••

As the hours continued to slip away, you savored a few sips of champagne, enough to tickle your senses without pushing you over the edge. Perched on a stool, you watched the lively scene unfolding around you, soaking in the sights, sounds, and laughter that filled the air. Retrieving your phone from your purse, the digital display blinked 12:10, prompting a soft chuckle to escape your lips. It was almost time to cut the ribbon, a moment you had eagerly anticipated with a desire for Saturo to share in the joy of this milestone. However, his absence loomed like a shadow, a broken promise echoing in your mind, stirring a mix of frustration, hurt, and irritation within you. The sting of betrayal lingered, casting a temporary shadow over your excitement.

Tossing your phone back into your purse, you steeled yourself for the upcoming ribbon-cutting ceremony. Regardless of Saturo's absence, you reaffirmed to yourself that this was your dream, one you had worked tirelessly to bring to life, and nothing would diminish that accomplishment. You acknowledged that challenges and setbacks were inevitable on this journey, tests of your readiness to embrace the path ahead. This familiar feeling of disappointment signaled a cycle that perhaps the universe was urging you to break free from, a sign that certain things were not meant to be.

With a quiet resolve, you made a silent vow to address the situation with Saturo after the ribbon was cut, setting aside your personal turmoil for the sake of the occasion. Nodding to yourself in determination, you rose from the stool and joined the gathering crowd, a faint smile gracing your features as you engaged in conversation and prepared to step out into the next chapter of your journey.

•••

The clock struck 12:50, the night sky shining brightly overhead as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees. A sense of anticipation filled the air, palpable as everyone gathered around you outside. In your hand, you held a pair of gleaming, oversized scissors, the weight of which symbolized the gravity of the moment. This was it - the culmination of your hard work and dedication. Your own official company, bearing your name, was about to become a reality.

Amidst the chatter and excitement of the crowd, you searched the faces around you, hoping to catch a glimpse of Saturo. Memories of your shared experiences flickered through your mind, a bittersweet reminder of the journey that had led you to this point. But as the seconds ticked by, you realized that for your own growth and success, you needed to let go of any negativity that could hold you back - whether it be relationships or self-doubt.

As the clock neared 12:59, the energy around you intensified. Voices rose in unison, counting down the final seconds. The world seemed to blur as you focused on the ribbon ahead, the numbers echoing loudly in your ears. And then, with a swift motion, the scissors sliced through the ribbon as the clock struck 1.

Cheers and applause erupted around you, a wave of support and joy washing over you. Tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of relief and pride cascading down your cheeks. Embraced by hugs and congratulations, you felt a sense of accomplishment that words could not fully capture. Even in the absence of the one person you had hoped would be there, the presence of those who stood by you filled your heart with gratitude and warmth. Today marked not just the beginning of a new chapter, but a testament to your resilience and determination.

As the evening outside continued to gradually slipped away, the cool breeze gently whispering through the air, signaling the late hour of 1:20am, a familiar routine unfolded. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, bidding farewell and offering quiet prayers as they made their way back inside the grand building. Amidst the soft murmur of goodbyes and footsteps fading into the night, you found yourself alone, surrounded by a sense of calm.

Taking a moment to absorb the scene around you, you could vividly perceive the details of the night - the dimly lit pathways, the faint scent of evening blooms, and the distant hum of closing activities. With a contented smile, you spun around gracefully, acknowledging the few remaining colleagues who diligently wrapped up the day's affairs. Their warm goodbyes echoed in the stillness, reciprocated by your own words of farewell as you started your solitary walk back towards the car garage.

Each step brought you closer to your destination, the soft glow of the streetlights guiding your way. Retrieving your keys from your pocket, you unlocked your car with a familiar click, the door swinging open to welcome you inside. The interior enveloped you in darkness, a comforting shroud as you settled into the driver's seat. With a practiced motion, you ignited the engine, the gentle purr breaking the silence of the night.

As the dashboard lights illuminated your surroundings, a sudden realization flickered in your mind - a task left unfinished. Remembering you needed to text Saturo, you reached for your phone, the soft glow casting a faint light on your face in the quiet confines of your car. It was time to send that message before finally heading home, the night embracing you in its peaceful embrace.

As you reread your message, a sense of relief washed over you, as if a weight had been lifted from your chest. You had carried those unspoken words for far too long, treading carefully to avoid causing any discomfort or tension. However, you realized that in order to truly be the best version of yourself, you needed to address the situation at hand - and so you did.

Backing the car out of the garage, you felt the cool evening breeze seep through the open windows, carrying with it the scent of smoke and distant laughter. As you shifted into drive, the gentle hum of the engine soothed your racing thoughts, guiding you onto the dimly lit streets ahead. The soft glow of streetlights danced playfully on the pavement, casting long shadows that seemed to whisper tales of the night. And as you navigated through the quiet neighborhood, a sense of calm enveloped you, knowing that you had finally spoken your truth.

my first smau. If you couldn’t tell, it was based on broken promises by Summer Walker! I hope you guys liked it. I will write more in the future. Until then, disregard any mistakes and continue to live in your 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘.

© [ 𝐒𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍. ] 2024.

[ no repost, modifications, etc., are prohibited without consent. ]

[oreoambitions]

Would love to see supercorp “I’ve never been festive”! Glad to see you back on my dashboard!

The thing about Lena, Kara thinks to herself as she strolls down Main Street with her hands shoved in her pockets, is that she wants to seem tough. That's the problem in a nutshell. And anyone else here in Midvale would tell you that it's just a city thing, that all the city kids want to seem tough, that Lena is no exception, but Kara doesn't think that's true. Well, okay, she knows it's true. But with Lena, it's something else. Something deeper. Something maybe related to the way that Lena has withdrawn into herself day by day as Midvale has begun to dress itself up for the holidays.

But Kara can do I'm-so-tough. She can do I-hate-Christmas, and she can do I-don't-believe-in-fun because at this time of the year she can do anything and get through to anyone. A little bit of light, a little bit of magic... maybe a little bit of love. That's how Christmas goes, right? Especially in a place like Midvale.

Kara likes to think of Midvale as a postcard town: the kind of town folks are only ever passing through on their way up and down the coast, a scenic detour, a cozy place to spend the night or just the afternoon before you move along. It's a place where time seems to have come to a standstill or at least a crawl, where it was a big deal when the first (and only) Starbucks opened, where nothing at all is open after 8pm, and you'd be hard pressed to run any errands on a Sunday, and you'd better not let Mrs. Nal catch you doing anything untoward or you can expect you'll be the topic of every conversation in or out of church for the next week or so at least. Kara would know; she's been the talk of the town on more than one occasion.

But these last several weeks the talk of the town has been the young woman who pulled up one evening in a car worth probably more than every vehicle on Main Street put together and strolled into the aforementioned Starbucks in a beat up hoodie sporting red rimmed eyes and trembling hands to ask the barista whether possibly anyone had a spare phone cable. She didn't want to bother anyone, only she'd left Metropolis in a hurry and forgotten hers and without GPS she didn't have any idea where she might stop to purchase one. She'd slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter as payment for the manager's beat up old charger and rolled right back out of town before anyone could tell her just how far from home she was.

Only then she'd rolled back into town some six hours later and booked herself into the bed and breakfast. And then she hadn't left.

The Danvers have assured Kara that in all the years Eliza and Jeremiah have run the bed and breakfast, and all the years Jeremiah's parents ran it before that, stretching back all the dusty decades since Midvale was founded, they have never had a longterm guest, no sir. It has simply never happened before. Kara doubts the veracity of such a statement but it has been delivered to her with all the solemn weight of sacred fact, and so she's taken it in stride - something which Alex seems to have found suspicious. And, true, on another occasion Kara might have been found elbow deep in records on a personal mission to prove that Jeremiah has pulled this particular historical "factoid" from some place the sun don't shine, but, well, she's been a little distracted these past weeks. Distracted by sad green eyes and coy smiles and the overwhelmingly mysterious circumstances that have delivered Lena directly into Kara's home.

Unfortunately Eliza has strictly forbidden Kara from asking the hundred and one questions perpetually on the tip of her tongue, and Kara's objections that she's twenty four now and she'll ask her questions if she so pleases haven't actually outweighed the sense that, at least where Eliza is concerned, she ought to do as she's told. So she's restrained herself. And as the weeks have gone by, she and Lena have fallen into an amicable, if not entirely comfortable, routine.

Kara serves Lena breakfast in the dining room with the other guests at precisely 8:15 every morning: two poached eggs with avocado on a thick slice of Winn's sourdough bread, a cup of coffee (black, diluted with hot water), and a side of roasted vegetables (no potatoes). Every morning Lena invites Kara to join her at the table, though Kara only does so when there are no other guests around to serve. They eat - together or not - in a silence broken only by small talk and the occasional lingering gaze when one catches the other looking until, at precisely 9:15, Lena excuses herself to seek out Eliza and enquire after the availability of another night's lodging. She pays in cash, one day at a time, without fail. She and Kara see one another again on the stairs, Kara on her way out to work a shift at the library and Lena on her way back up to her room. A small smile passes between them, affectionate and familiar, and Kara thinks perhaps... But no, the moment has passed and they've gone their separate ways for another day.

Kara has resolved that this pattern will not repeat itself again. Not now, not when Midvale is draped in heavy golds and greens, when the smell of Christmas pastry is wafting through the streets, when the trickle of seasonal tourists is threatening to become a thunder which will by necessity pry Kara's attention away. Not now when Lena is withdrawing further and further, when those lingering glances at breakfast seem to be few and far between, and it seems the onslaught of Christmas cheer is threatening to drive Lena out of Midvale altogether. If Kara is going to get through to her, today is the day.

She swings into J'onn's diner with a determined expression, sidestepping the younger Arias who has eyes these days only for her iphone and not so much for where she's going. J'onn is predictably behind the counter; Kara isn't sure he's taken a day away from the diner in all the time she's known him.

"I need two to go mugs of Bad Day Danvers Brew," she tells him. "It's urgent."

He plops two large paper cups down onto the counter almost before she's done asking. "I thought your sister was on duty tonight."

"She was. Is. It's not- It's for me."

"I don't suppose this has anything to do with a certain green eyed young lady from out of town."

It's not really a question the way J'onn says it but Kara somehow still feels pressured to answer. She flushes, turns away, scans the room. The dinner rush hasn't quite arrived. J'onn bustles about behind the counter without further comment, though he does arch an accusatory brow when Kara meets his eyes again.

"You do know," he says as he slides the drinks across the counter, "She's going to leave this place. She may not be ready yet, but the day is coming."

Kara frowns at him. "Leave is a four letter word."

"L - e - a -"

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe you should consider it too. Whole world out there waiting for you, Little Danvers. Seems a shame not to go out and see it."

Kara thinks for a moment of this world as she saw it first: a little marble hanging in a black sea, so fragile and small, so far away from home. Midvale is home now, and she'll be damned if she's going to leave it behind. She forces a smile for J'onn's sake.

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be," she says. She tries to pay him for the drinks. As he has a hundred times before, he turns her money away. Kara slips the cash into the tip jar on her way out the door.

When she gets home it's to the smell of apple pies bubbling in the oven and the sound of some old 50's Christmas record playing almost too loud for Jeremiah's battered old bluetooth speaker and hardly loud enough to compete with Jeremiah himself. Kara creeps up the stairs two at a time, one Bad Day Danvers Brew clutched in either hand, quiet quiet quiet. If Eliza catches her she'll try to put her to work and Kara isn't sure she can explain exactly what she means when she says she's too "busy" right now to help out.

She occupies herself with that thought, thinking up excuses for Eliza, each one more improbable than the last, and then she finds herself standing in front of Lena's door. She feels suddenly grimy, foolish, clumsy. What she hasn't considered in all her planning for this moment is that with both hands occupied she can hardly knock on Lena's door, and with her heart pounding an urgent rhythm in her chest and her body trembling with something that is distinctly not fatigue Kara doesn't trust herself to tuck one of the drinks into the crook of her arm.

So she does what any sane person would do: she kicks the door. Gently. As gently as she possibly can, but it still feels brutish and Kara winces as the sound of it tumbles down the hall to clash with Jeremiah's crooning and the roar of the vacuum cleaner in the foyer. Grimy, foolish, clumsy. But then the door swings open and all such thoughts fall from Kara's mind.

She has words picked out for this moment but they don't come to her. Lena stands in the doorway in jeans and a cardigan and socks that have bumble bees on them and Kara feels like she needs just a moment but the moment is already passing. Green eyes search hers, curious, bemused. Kara wants to reach out and tuck that stray lock of hair away, but-

The drinks. Right. "I brought refreshments," she says, proferring the paper cups. "For us," she adds, in case it isn't clear.

Lena reaches out for one of the cups, hesitant, then pries the lid off to take a whiff. "Hot chocolate?"

Kara wants to melt on the spot but she sticks to her guns. "It's special hot chocolate," she clarifies. This is not how this conversation was supposed to go. She had this exchange all planned out, there were contingencies, it was all perfect and here she is muddying it all up. "I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight."

"Like on a date?"

Oh, Rao. Kara's eyes drops to Lena's mouth without her say so and then they travel a little further south to the line of that cardigan and she swallows. "No," she forces out, "like on a walk?"

There's a long pause and then Lena laughs. "You're really very charming, Danvers," she says, and Kara feels an unexpected thrill at the sound of her last name in Lena's mouth. "Let me just get my sweater."

"You're already-" Kara starts, but the door clicks shut before she can finish. "Wearing a sweater," she mumbles to herself.

Lena emerges some minutes later, just when Kara is beginning to get fidgety. She's thrown on a hoodie which is perhaps a size too big and a pair of converse rather the worse for wear and Kara isn't sure what she was expecting but it wasn't this. Which is not to say that she doesn't like it. Lena licks her lips and fixes Kara with a pointed look.

"There is whisky in that hot chocolate," she says.

Kara shrugs. "I did say it was special."

They make it down the stairs and out of the bed and breakfast without Eliza noticing, though Kara is all but certain Jeremiah saw them leave together and will have Questions with a capital Q about it later. The sun is just now sinking below the horizon as the two of them turn down Main Street, ducking around Mr. Schott who is occupying most of the sidewalk with a rickety old ladder in an attempt to install another strand of lights above the toy store window. Already the street lamps bear oversized red bows and long, heavy pine garlands, and it will be only a matter of days now before every storefront from here to the edge of town is bright and warm and magical. Kara takes it all in with a growing smile. Lena takes it in with an expression that borders on an outright scowl.

"So are we going anywhere in particular?" Lena asks. They duck around a knot of visitors asking after a table at the brewery and for an instant Kara is almost certain she feels Lena's fingers brush hers.

"We are," Kara admits. And then, because she doesn't want to give away their destination, she adds, "You don't like Christmas."

Lena grimaces and takes a long sip of the Bad Day Danvers Brew. "I wouldn't say that I don't like Christmas."

"But?"

"But I've never been festive. And this year..."

Kara's mind fills in the words that Lena doesn't say: This year it's hard. Hard to see the joy and the magic and the laughter all around when you're alone and far from home. Well, Kara knows a thing or two about that. She takes a sip of her own drink and, resolutely, carefully, looking straight ahead, she reaches out to touch Lena's hand, so gentle it could have been an accident.

"This year you have me," Kara says. She's shocked the line comes out of her mouth as smoothly as it does. Her heart is so far up her throat she almost fears she'll choke on it.

Lena steps in closer until Kara swears she can feel the heat radiating between them even through both of Lena's sweaters and her own Christmas flannel. They walk in silence for a block or so, shoulders bumping once in a while, before Lena asks, "Do you have any favorite holiday traditions?"

Kara shrugs. "I like the carols. Jeremiah and I always go out caroling on Christmas eve. Oh! And the cookies. Pie for breakfast on Christmas morning."

Lena laughs at that. "Pie for breakfast? Lilian - my step mother - she'd have a fit."

"Well you can have pie with us this year if you want; I promise not to tell Lilian a thing. If you're still hanging around."

Lena looks at her sharply and then looks away, leaving Kara to feel silent and small and a little rejected. But Lena touches Kara's wrist as they move through the crowd and then, when Kara doesn't pull away, she takes her hand.

"Christmas is always an important social event for my family," Lena says. She glances at Kara as if to check that she's listening and then away again so quickly that Kara almost wonders if she imagined it. "Everything has to be perfect. The food, the decorations, the music. The family. And it's beautiful, really. Imagine a pine tree towering up to the very rafters, all the ornaments carefully curated and arranged, and a cellist flown in from Italy perches in the corner playing O Come Emmanuel while the city's elite pass through pretending to enjoy bite sized Christmas pastries prepared overnight by a team flown in from France. I suspect it would feel magical if it weren't so much work. It's hard to enjoy the magic when you're a part of it. Especially as a child."

Kara frowns. Her fingers tighten around Lena's, tugging her ever forward towards the Christmas tree in the center of town. She's thinking of Krpyton, of a perfect family, a perfect people, and a perfect world crumbling under the veneer. But she can't say that to Lena, so she flashes her a bright smile instead and says, "In Midvale, everyone who wants to gets to put an ornament on the town tree."

"Everyone? That doesn't seem practical. There have to be, what, at least a thousand people living here."

Kara nods. "Yeah. Not everyone participates, but most people. And of course that means the tree isn't curated like your family's, but it's got a special kind of magic to it. The kind you get when you aren't trying to make magic follow the rules."

It occurs to Kara that there is a sort of comedic timing to this, as this is the moment Kara steps over the low fence with the sign that reads "do not walk on the grass" and tugs a protesting Lena after into the shade - or, in this case, the light - of the Midvale tree.

"Rules," Lena is saying, "Generally exist for a reason, and when you break them willy nilly you don't get magic, you get chaos. It's important to- Wait, is this your Christmas tree?"

"Yep," Kara says. She reaches out to press a hand to the trunk and then stares up at the tiny golden lights wound among the branches with care, ornaments dangling here and there, some homemade and some not. She's definitely not supposed to get this close to it but, well, it's Alex on duty tonight and she doubts her sister is about to arrest her for trying to make a move on a pretty girl. "This is the one."

"But it's an oak tree," Lena observes. She steps up beside Kara to touch the trunk.

"Couple hundred years old, or so they told us in middle school," Kara says. "She's a gorgeous tree, isn't she? Not a pine and not perfect, but. Our own kind of magic." Then she grimaces. "Sorry; I'm being terribly cheesy right-"

"Did you know that mistletoe often grows in the California oak?" Lena interrupts.

Kara falters. She did know that, but this tree is carefully tended. No mistletoe here. She opens her mouth to say so when Lena holds up a finger to stop her again.

"To be perfectly clear I'm suggesting that we kiss here under this tree. Because you're charming and a little over the top and I hate that I love your Christmas flannel and I would very much like to have pie with you on Christmas morning. So if you'd like we can pretend there's mistletoe in the Midvale Christmas tree. It would be a very reasonable mistake; mistletoe really does grow on-"

Kara kisses her. The surprised gasp that falls from Lena's lips almost makes her laugh, but this is a serious moment so she tries to keep it in. She's got only one hand to work with - the other is still hold her Bad Day Danvers Brew - so she slides it around Lena's waist to pull her closer, and it's her turn to gasp when Lena tilts her head to slide her tongue along Kara's bottom lip.

Someone on the sidewalk cheers, and that is when Lena drops her drink. And then they do laugh together there under the tree, spiked hot chocolate splattered over the bottom of Lena's pants, Kara pressing her own drink into Lena's hands, and the sound of Mrs. Nal nearby screeching about public indecency while James tells her to go suck an egg. The two of them will be the talk of the town for weeks. Certainly through New Years. Kara doesn't think she minds.

///

Merry Christmas to everyone celebrating; Happy Holidays and a lovely morning to everyone who is not! Thank you for this prompt! I expected to write a quick 800 words but it got away from me and took all month.

[burnedbyshoto]

life is not a shoujo manga

— Kaibara believes that his life with you could be a shoujo manga. Why? One, he’s in love with you and two, you work at a maid cafe he is prohibited from visiting. But nothing happens in life without doing what you’re told NEVER to do.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: kaibara sen x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, modern!au, reader is a sex worker, maid cafe but make it kinky, dubcon (spoiler: reader just services kaibara despite his embarrassment), semipublic sex, master and maid dynamic/kink, blow job, sex on a table, marking

word count: 4,570

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab for sex work lmaoooo, this was hella inspired by maid-sama,,, kinda sorta, not really, but hey!!!! check out the rest of the masterlist and I hope you enjoy this!!! happy birthday to me :D

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Kaibara Sen was pretty confident in the fact that he was not in a shoujo manga.

There are, however, some claims that he can unashamedly admit make him believe that he might be in one. Here is his gathered evidence:

1. He had a crush on a girl (you) that was practically written to be nothing more than a crazy, hopeful fantasy.

Explanation:

Kaibara has known you for his entire life, but you, the airheaded, mind focused on only those around you, had never noticed him. You were bright, intelligent, witty, with blazing eyes and a curling smile, you were an enigma in the world, and he was a bystander just waiting for a day when you would notice him. Popular as you were, Kaibara knew he stood no chance at ever playing a role in your life. There was no room for his initial stoic personality, the way that he walks away from you as you near because, god forbid, you see his ears tinge pink.

All in all, you never knew he existed, and his crush would have to remain one-sided and unknown. But you see, reason number two is yet a testament to his denied belief that he lives a shoujo manga.

2. He had gained your attention one day by catching you one day when you tripped off a brick wall.

Explanation:

Talk about falling into the arms of the one you’re destined for! Kaibara had been walking home from the end of his first year of high school, and as he turned a corner, there came a yell and he looked up to see a body plummeting towards him. With adrenaline coursing through his veins and superhuman strength supplying him the strength and ability to catch you, Kaibara caught you bridal style. He held you there for a few moments, the air suddenly blowing and the blossoming cherry blossoms swirling with the winds. He swore your eyes brightened at the moment you locked eyes.

3. He had a (former) love rival.

Explanation:

Pretty self-explanatory, Kaibara would admit. Before his introduction to you, another male student in your class had been essentially building up his intentions to ask you out. Kaibara wasn’t one to step on people’s toes; he respected people too much and often just didn’t want to spend energy where he thought was unnecessary. But you were never unnecessary. Kaibara wanted you and found himself clashing heads with this other love rival, but he seemed to have won the moment Kaibara was accepted into the same university as you.

4. You were working at a maid cafe.

Explanation:

Kaibara did not have an older sister for no reason. Maid-Sama and Ouran Highschool Host Club were constantly on repeat when he was growing up! Because of this selected memory and application, he believed that time and time again, whenever maids were involved — or any type of service job — it was shoujo material.

Four points and that was four more points than most romances, and Kaibara was convinced that he was in line to become the main star of a real-life adaption of some obscure shoujo manga. All he had to do now was seal the deal and get you, his now best friend of nearly four years, to fall in love with him.

“I have work tonight,” you sigh from your place on Kaibara’s bed, your face twisted in a dissatisfied pout, feet kicking a bit on the mattress. 

“Call out,” Kaibara simply replied, his head resting upon yours as you both watched an old All Might film. “I don’t understand why the maid cafe is open so late anyways. Who’s even awake and wanting to go out?”

You chuckle at his words, fingers tapping on your thigh — as they do when you’re a bit nervous.

“It’s a cafe for foreigners and people who are up late,” you repeat the same line you always say when Kaibara asks why you would go in so late. “It works out, and it pays well.”

“How long is your shift tonight?”

“Ten until three.”

Kaibara groans, “that’s rough.”

You snicker a bit in unknown irony, “you have no idea.”

Time passes, and Kaibara realizes that it’s nearly nine-thirty by the time you pull away from the small mirror on Kaibara’s desk (he bought it so that you could do your makeup in his room), and he looks at you in your beautiful form. You looked ethereal in the makeup, big eyes, and painted pretty lips. You turned to look at him, a grand grin painting your lips, and for whatever reason, a spoof of unspoken for confidence, Kaibara feels himself speaking before he can stop himself.

“Go on a date with me? Next weekend?”

You froze, before chuckling, lips splayed in a lazy grin, “you’d want to date a maid?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Kaibara watched as you flustered a bit, teeth tugging and tearing into your lower lip as you shook your head. “You’re a dork, Sen,” you push back a strand of hair as you stand up, “but let me think about it? As much as I love the idea of potentially being your girlfriend, I need to think about how you would feel about my job.”

And Kaibara smiled despite himself, his mind thinking about how sometimes shoujo protagonists often deny their own feelings at first. Not that his life was a shoujo manga anyways.

“I can do that.”

You laugh, the sound pretty and light on his ears, and you shake your head. Kaibara warmed at the sound and stood up too, already knowing that it was time for you to leave.

“Alright, but I must leave you now, my eternal love,” you grin, speaking with a mock accent. Your arms open for your goodbye hug he has since been accustomed to giving you when you both went separate ways. “I bid thee well when I’m away for the week.”

Ah yes, you would be gone for an entire week on account of a school trip you were taking.

“I do not know how I may live without you at my side, but I will try,” Kaibara spoke back with a low accent, too, his smile hidden in your neck as he hugged you near. “Have a good shift, and be safe on your trip.”

“Obviously!”

Two things about your job besides the obvious (that it was a maid cafe) that Kaibara knew.

1. You made a lot of money there.

He wasn’t all too sure as to why. He’s been to a maid cafe before and has definitely been called Kaibara-sama by pretty-faced females in French maid costumes. He knew that it was a popular place for otaku men and foreigners, but he also knew that pay range-wise, it wasn’t that much better than a typical waitress job.

2. Under no circumstances should he, or anyone for that matter, follow you to work or try to see you while you worked.

This made sense to Kaibara even if he didn’t particularly agree. There was no denying that he wanted to see you in a maid costume, he’d be a liar if he said otherwise, but he realized how embarrassing it could be for you. The fact that he knew where you worked was good enough for him.

Kaibara sighed, his body collapsing onto his bed, and he pulled out his phone. He checked the time on his phone and smiled, seeing that at this point, you were already at work because you sent a text saying that you had arrived. A small notification warning him that his phone was about to die pinged on his screen, and he frowned, hand reaching for his charger.

But instead of the white cord, his hand grasped onto the rose gold charging cable he knew was yours. You needed the charging cable; you were leaving on a trip basically right after work! Kaibara’s mouth twisted, weighing his options in his head. He knew that you had no other charging cables; you had a knack for breaking them without meaning to. 

Shaking his head, he stood up.

This was about your charger for your phone.

It would be okay! He would simply step foot into the maid cafe, hand your coworker (he was hopeful he would see you) your charger, and leave! He wouldn’t stay! Nope! Not at all.

Kaibara nodded at his resolution and pocketed your charger before turning on his heel and marching out of his room.

It took a bit to get to the cafe.

Fushi’s Maid Cafe is what it was called.

Its hours of operation were quite weird, at the very least in Kaibara’s opinion. On its website, it said that it was open between 11 am and 5 pm, a reasonable range for its demographic; however, there were many times in which you would go in much later in the night. You were in a 10 pm until 3 am shift after all.

It was currently midnight as the trains were down for the night, and Kaibara had resolved to walk a near hour to drop off your charger. He didn’t really mind, especially if he sees you in that costume.

‘No!’ Kaibara thought, ‘you’re in a shoujo manga, not a hentai!’

He frowned, remembering to continue to claim that he was not living in a shoujo manga, and strode to the door. Confidence in every step, his game plan being repeated time and time again. 

Kaibara swung open the door, readying himself to hear the onslaught of a chorus of ‘Welcome home, Master!’ but instead… oh…

He froze.

“F-Fukuda-samaaaaa!”

He blinked.

And as the door closed behind him, the most fucked out, blissful voice that he had only heard in his wettest of dreams called out, “Welcome home, Kaibara-sama…”

Kaibara locked eyes with you sitting alone at a table, your eyes laced with blissful lust, lips pouty and wet. The maid costume you had on exposed your beautiful breasts, shoving the curves, the tender flesh, and your sweat shined softly off it. Kaibara felt his breathing become shallower yet deeper as the sounds of meeting wet sex, lewd cries, the maids begging for more, demanding more. The clients — the masters — speaking in tongues as they fucked the women against the chairs, tabletops, anything in which they could balance. 

Oh.

It made sense why you never wanted anyone to follow you to work.

Kaibara had been so caught up in the scene before him, the somehow sex maid cafe themed orgy (sexy party? But there was no group sex minus the man in the back fucking three maids!) that he hadn’t noticed you approach him. He tensed yet again when your hands fisted into his shirt, your warm breath brushing against his exposed collarbones, a curling sweetness emitting from your person and knocking his breath away yet again.

“Kaibara-sama, I never expected you to finally come. I’ve missed you,” you whine, pressing your body so close to his. Your stocking-covered thighs were brushing against his slowly awakening dick. 

“Y-Y/n,” Kaibara stuttered, and he winced at how not part of the plan that was. “I-I thought this was a maid cafe?”

“We are a maid cafe,” you sigh as if he was asking an amusing yet dumb question. Your arms wrapping around his neck, and hips rolling against his. “We service our masters however they see fit! I wanna help Kaibara-sama feel good now that he’s here.”

Kaibara hisses under his breath, the feeling of your thigh rubbing against his growing dick insatiable as it is slightly uncomfortable due to the rough fabric of his jeans. “I’m here to drop off your charger! You forgot it! I-I’m leaving after this.”

You grin, your laughter bell-like in his ear as you nuzzle your nose against the smooth curve of his neck. “I left it there on purpose; I wanted Kaibara-sama to follow me here and see if he could still love me like this.” Goosebumps flash across his body, and Kaibara whines at the back of his throat as you begin walking backward, taking him to the table where you once sat. “I never wanted Kaibara-sama to see me like this, never wanted Kaibara-sama to see and know what a big whore I am before he confessed his feelings to me. But Kaibara-sama followed me to my work and didn’t run away… I’m so blessed.”

Your hands landed on his chest, and Kaibara yelped as you shoved him onto the spacious, comfortable chair before the table. Your teeth bit into your lower lip, eyes practically glowing with lust as a single sleeve began descending from your shoulder.

Kaibara suddenly forgot how to breathe.

“I’m at your service, Kaibara-sama,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering. “How may I help you?”

Kaibara was going to respond eloquently and affirmatively that he didn’t need you to service him, but the Kaibara-sama sounded so lovely.

“I— um, well— I— ohmygoD!” 

Kaibara nearly leaped out of his own skin as you pushed his knees apart and kneeled before him. Your eyes locked on his before glancing down to the prominent bulge in his pants. You grin, fingers stretching out and eagerly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling out his hard cock in less than ten seconds.

“Wowwww,” you breathe, eyes lighting up at the still hardening dick you were holding in your hands. “Kaibara-sama… you’re so big!”

You stared at the easily nine-inch dick in your hands, the slight curve to it making your core burn, and the bluish veins dancing under the skin making your mouth water. He was better than what you had expected him to be, and you wanted to know how he tasted, how he felt in your mouth and your pussy. 

His erratic breathing caught your attention, and you looked back up at him, the scarlet on his cheeks, the expression that told you that he was battling instinct and morals. It was up to you, his maid, to make the decision for him, it seemed.

“I’ll take good care of you, Kaibara-sama,” you promised, heart hammering in your chest as you leaned forward, and without much of an issue, swallowed at least half of his cock.

Kaibara’s reaction is instantaneous; the near howl of pleasure and surprise ripping from his throat is a sound you’re almost unfamiliar with. He was such a serious man; even when he was comfortable and energetic, there was a sense of seriousness to him. There was a time, however, that you remember him being near-feral, demanding, excited. It was when there was a competition or when his feelings truly and utterly overcame him. You smiled around his cock, your teeth barely scraping the length of his cock, and giggled.

You overwhelmed him.

But there was no time for celebrations, no time to think about how you were serving your master to the best you could; his hands were suddenly fisted into your hair, and his hips rolled up into you, fucking your throat. Tears sprung in your eyes, the uncomfortable sensation of his cock flushes down your throat, pressing so heavy on your tongue.

“F-Fuck, this feels so fucking good!” Kaibara gasps, his eyebrows scrunching and hips lifting off the seat to continue face fucking you. 

You relax your throat as best you can, chokes and gags pittering out of your mouth despite your best attempts. You hum, forcing your throat to allow the tip of his cock to go even further down your throat. Kaibara moans loudly, the noises he makes dripping down your back, making you feel sweaty, hot, and flush. His noises stir the heat between your thighs, making one of your hands go down beneath the layers of your puffy skirt to press to your throbbing clit, desperate to relieve the building, untouched tension.

“No!” Kaibara hisses, a single hand leaving your head to grab onto your wandering hand and bringing it back up. You yelp around his cock at the sudden movement, and you’re forced to come off his cock with haggling, rough coughs. Tears fall down your cheeks, and there's a thick line of saliva and precum trailing between the tip of his cock and the bottom of your lip. “You’re my maid, right?”

You cough, your lungs are burning with wrongly swallowed saliva, and the recent asphyxiation you had. Cocking your head to the side, you startle when he suddenly leans in near, pinching your cheeks between two fingers and drawing you near him.

“Answer me, y/l/n-chan.”

“Y-Yes!” you squeak, swollen lips trembling and your breathing hitching as you shiver. There was a fire in his eyes, a type of lust-fueled rage that made your skin tingle and crawl in the sweetest of ways. “I’m here to service Kaibara-sama.”

“Then why are you trying to relieve yourself?” he snaps, face so near you want to kiss him, and you whimper because his scolding and humiliation do nothing to ease the fire in your cunt… it only ravages it, letting it fester into a raging wildfire. “You’re here for me, your master, so fuck me — focus on just me.”

“Yes, Kaibara-sama!” you shiver, body tingling as you reclaim his cock in your mouth.

And unlike before, where Kaibara merely sounded like a man who was feasting upon the food of the gods, he sits up straighter, more commanding, a man who sat in his chair knowing his worth. He took on the deception of a master.

“Hold my dick with your hands,” Kaibara grunts, hands fisting the hair at the nape of your neck and forcing your head to tilt up towards him. “I can’t trust you.”

You nodded your head, hands coming up to hold onto the base of his cock that your mouth couldn’t take in. You were fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks doing all it could to please your master. You sucked his dick with the intention of promising him that you were worth it, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you wanted to consume.

“Such a good sluttly little maid,” Kaibara praised and degraded. His hands tighten almost painfully in your hair. “Taking my big cock so easily... Don’t tell me you’ve been practicing on other men.”

You make a noise that screams no.

You would never!

“Oh, no?” Kaibara grunts, his tongue licking out past his lips, and you shudder under his gaze. “Did my slutty fucking maid keep her mouth clean for me?”

You whine in approval, your lungs burning as he keeps you still on his cock, eyes deceivingly angry.

“Good… that just means I’ll have to fuck your whore pussy so good you’ll never ask or seek a  new master,” Kaibara grinned, and your eyes widened. 

It happened so fast, you were on the ground one second, and in the next, he had you pinned with your back against the table. It was almost uncomfortable, the edge of the table pressing into your spine, and your hands scrambled to latch onto his shirt as his jeans fell to his knees and his hands gripped the top of your maid outfit down, exposing your naked breasts. 

His hands found a place on your breasts, warm and calloused fingers moving against smooth, soft skin. You moaned loudly, hips twitching unconsciously as he brushed against the swell of your nipple. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Kaibara groaned, fingers pinching roughly against your skin, and you warbled a scream. It wasn’t painful; it was pleasurable. Your head swam in a way it never had before when you had serviced other men, your clit was throbbing with an increase of needed attention, and your voice keened with his praise. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you — wanted this. I wanna make you feel so good, let your master fuck you however I want, y/l/n, I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

You nod your head, words failing you, and you watched Kaibara let out a heavy stream of air out of his nose, a near perverted, happy grin on his face.

“Say it.”

“Fuck me, Kaibara-sama,” you whisper, hands fisting into his shirt. “Ruin me. Claim me. Make me yours.”

His eyes flash dangerously.

“You were never not mine.”

And with a hand looping underneath your knee and with the sudden shove on your shoulder to knock you back, Kaibara pressed his cock against your wet, sopping entrance and shoved into you. You scream loudly, hands digging into his back as his cock enters you, unforgiving and demanding. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his hips as you shudder and shake, body twitching under the dull, hot stretch of him in you, your body sweating with the consuming heat and pleasure that his entrance gives you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you squeal, fingernails digging into his skin, face burying into his neck. “Kaibara-sama is so big, he’s stretching me out so much, I’m— I can’t—”

Kaibara clicks his tongue, his nose nuzzling into your cheek, “Don’t say that, y/l/n-chan. Don’t ever tell your master that you can’t. You can do anything so long as I ask of it, right? I don’t like the word can’t.”

You whimper, head nodding in understanding as you shift your hips partly for needed friction, partly for relief. 

“Stop that,” Kaibara orders, hands suddenly on your hips, preventing you from moving. “Ask permission from your master if you can move. You are here to serve me; you are not here for yourself. Do you understand?”

Your breathing is heavy, your legs shaking as you nod, breathlessly saying that you agree even though you need relief. You need to please your master; you have to make sure he continues to want your service: just you, no one else.

“Good girl,” he praises and somehow pushes even further into you.

You moan loudly at the movement, fingers digging into his skin yet again, and Kaibara laughed, teeth nipping at your collarbone. Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single happy noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“So tight, so hot,” Kaibara groans, his teeth dragging up and down your neck as his hips roll back and thrust back into you at his own pace. It’s steady, slow almost—a steady beat like a subtle heartbeat that kept you sane. “Don’t be quiet… I want to hear what I do to you; I want everyone to hear what I do to you.”

And a hand pinches your clit at the same time he slams roughly, with tremendous strength into you, and you wail.

It’s as if that wail was a starting sound, the sound that told Kaibara that he was in the clear to do whatever he wanted. To fuck you as he deemed, to make you fulfill your duty to providing and exceeding his every need and demand. He fucked into you, each snap of his hip, every roll, sending loud slaps through the room. The table creaked and shifted with every advancing move, and you rolled your hips up, fucking back into him, desperate to make his breath hitch and hiss in pleasure. His teeth buried into your skin, sucking and nibbling marks onto your skin, subtle and near bloody marks to show the world that you were his.

“Kaibara-sama!” you scream at a particular thrust, back arching wildly, eyes slamming shut as you moan to the heavens. “Kiss me please! Please kiss me—”

Kaibara’s mouth was over yours immediately. You cried into his mouth, shuddering and shaking as he continued his maddening dance with you, the endless, exciting cycle of tingling sensations and exploding warmth. His tongue entered your mouth, tasting of him, iron, and sweat. You moan louder, your velvet walls clenching and milking against his length. You don’t want to ever pull out; you want him, his seed, everything.

He kisses you like a madman, someone who believed that if he stopped, he would die.

You eat it up, returning it in full, unable to even believe you want him to stop. 

“You drive me fucking insane,” Kaibara pants, hands coming back down to your hips and keeping them in place as he suddenly, powerfully, and somehow rhythmically pounding into you in short, strong fucks. 

It’s overwhelming, the feeling of his girth stretching you out and abandoning you so quickly, the way his tip licks against your cervix, teasing up against your sweet spot. His face is desperate, needing, and so powerful that you cry to him, your master, your god. Your pussy is soaked with your essence, the sex spilling it all-around your thighs and on him, the wet squelching pounding making you embarrassed and so much more turned on. His teeth sink into your jaw, and your body is begging, twitching, the heat in your stomach overwhelming and no longer building but waiting for it to be unleashed. 

“K-Kaibara-sama!” you cry, a warning for the near-inevitable.

But you wail his name, the electricity in your veins and blood scorching the levels of your skin, and Kaibara takes that as a reason to do more, to fuck more. He drills into you at a new speed, a new power. Your head is swimming in the delirium, and your body trembles, the words “more, faster, harder” spilling from your mouth without consent, but tears build in your eyes as his fingers seem to almost spin against your clit and you scream.

You cum loudly, aggressively, all your energy destroyed as you hit the high. Kaibara moans against your bruised and marked skin; the warmth heat of spilling seed expelling into your cunt is a sensation that drives you insane as he collapses his weight on top of you. You’re breathless, speechless, a part of you unable to comprehend that your crush had fucked you before he had kissed you, that he was the best fuck you had, and how this man wanted you back.

It’s quiet for a bit, the two of you laying on the table as cum dripped out of your cunt, and he rested his head between your exposed breasts.

“So,” you finally rasp, a soft grin coming onto your face. “You have my charger?”

-

“18000 yen?!” Kaibara barked, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the older lady at the counter who was billing him for his session.

“We are a sex club, Kaibara-sama,” she sighed. “Not only did you have a three-hour session with our most requested maid, but you also marked the merchandise.”

“I couldn’t?!” Kaibara snapped but cooled down almost immediately when the lady pointed at a: ‘Fines for every mark on the maids!!!!’ sign. “Oh.”

“Take it from my paycheck,” you sing from beside him, bundled up in a coat, the marks he gave you completely hidden now. It was the end of your shift and closing time, after all. “I got him riled up without telling him the rules.”

Kaibara chuckled as you arranged a proper check for him.

He thought about what he thought of his life, and while he couldn’t say that his life wasn’t a hentai right now, he knew, without a doubt, that life is not a shoujo manga.

[briswriting]

『 a soft morning with kenma before leaving for class 』

pairing: kenma kozume x gn!reader genre: fluff wc: 1663

a/n: a little self indulgent fic i whipped up for kenma’s birthday because he deserves the world and i love him very much !!! also sorry this is not proof read and the banner is kinda lame cause i have to start getting ready for work LOL

Mornings with Kenma in your shared apartment were never routine. Every day started differently.

Some days you woke up to him by your side, a lean arm draped over your waist, legs entangled with yours, the sight of his sleeping face partly covered by strewn hair the first thing your bleary eyes see when they open to the sound of your school alarm.

Other days you woke up to the spot beside you in bed cold and untouched throughout the night, the faint sound of clicking and quiet mumbles coming from where he had his desk set up in the small spare room on the other side of the thin apartment wall.

Today you had woken up to yet another empty side of the bed, but this time the covers beside you were still somewhat warm; the lingering scent of your shampoo remain settled on his pillow, informing you that he had at least come to bed after all.

A slight smile coming to your face at one of the earliest memories you shared with him when you first moved in together.

“Kenma, have you been using my shampoo?” You ask, peeping your head into the small office.

“Hmmm?” His cat like eyes flittering across the editing software on his monitor, paying no attention to you or the question you asked him.

“Have you been using my shampoo?” You repeat, walking into the room and placing yourself behind his gaming chair. Arms reaching out to wrap around his shoulders as you lean in to watch the screen with him, his tense form immediately relaxing into your embrace.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You washed your hair last night. I can smell it.”

“Okay, fine, I do. We live together anyway, might as well just share, so we aren’t spending money on two different bottles.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense. I’ll start buying the bigger bottle then so we don’t run out as fast.” Your brain mentally making a note to remember for your next run to the store.

“It smells like you too. That’s why I use it,” he admits, eyes still not leaving the monitor in front of him as he softly talks to you. A soft smile growing on his face as you hide your own into the crook of his neck because of his words.

Your mind is immediately brought back to reality when the blaring of your alarm goes off, indicating that it was time for you to start getting ready for your classes. Letting out a groan as you stretch out your tired limbs, you feel around the bed for your phone, remembering that you had fallen asleep scrolling through your social media apps while waiting for Kenma to come to bed.

Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you notice that your phone is placed on your bedside table, the small cat cable bite of your charger plugged into the end of your phone. Another smile growing on your face as you realize that Kenma must have walked in on you sleeping with your phone in hand, plugging it in for you before going to sleep himself.

Turning off the alarm and finally slipping out of bed, feet softly padding across the cold wooden floor beneath it, letting out a loud yawn as you walk to the bathroom across the hall.

Opening the door, you’re unprepared to be greeted by the harsh yellow shine of the bathroom lights, eyes quickly closing in distress as you let out a groan, face twisting in discomfort.

You’re about to open your mouth to shout out to wherever Kenma was in the small apartment that he, again, left the lights on, a habit you had noticed ever since moving in with him.

But as your eyes open, you realize that Kenma is, in fact, in the bathroom, clad in his pajamas, hair still a mess from the hours of sleep, toothbrush moving back and forth in his mouth as he stands in front of the sink.

“Oh. Good morning,” you mumble out, pressing a quick kiss to his puffed out cheek before grabbing your own toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste.

Spitting out the toothpaste in his mouth and quickly rinsing out the remains, Kenma quirks an eyebrow at you as you start brushing your teeth. “You were going to yell at me for the lights again, weren’t you?”

“Cam’t repie, I’m bwushing my teef,” you tease out, toothbrush still in your mouth, a playful smile on your face.

He just smiles back before leaning in to press his own kiss against your puffed out cheeks.

“I made breakfast. Come eat before you have to leave.” Slender fingers reaching up to softly flick your nose, his delicate laughter filling the small bathroom as your face scrunches up at him before he turns around to head towards the living room.

Your mind quickly forgetting the small flick as you think of the breakfast waiting for you. Stomach grumbling loudly at the thought of eating an actual meal before class and not a quick granola bar or bagel on your way out.

Eyes widening at the loud noise your empty stomach made, wondering if Kenma had heard it on his way out. More laughter fills your ears as you reach out to turn the water faucet on, indicating that, yes, he had heard the monstrous noise your body had made at the thought of the meal waiting for you.

Hastily you finish getting ready in the bathroom, walking back into the bedroom to change out of your pajamas quickly. Grabbing one of the sweaters thrown over the foot of the bed to wear in the icy lecture halls, you had your classes in, paying no mind to which sweater it was as you shove it into your bag.

Dropping your bag by the front door with a light thump, you finally place yourself next to Kenma on the couch, your breakfast waiting on the coffee table. Your mouth watering at the sight of a plate full of pancakes and fresh fruits set out for you to eat.

Kenma laughs at you again for the third time that morning as his golden eyes watch you shovel the food into your mouth. “Slow down, you’re gonna choke.”

“Mmmm tastes so good,” you groan out, mouth full of the sweet and fluffy cake.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence as the both of you eat the meal Kenma prepared, the TV in front of the two of you quietly playing a random show that Kenma had turned on earlier that morning while making breakfast.

“What are we watching?” Your question breaking the silence between the two of you.

“No clue.” His answer quickly causing the two of you to look at each other before breaking out into laughter. The giddy aura that surrounds the two of you quickly cut off by another alarm blaring from your phone, indicating that it was finally time for you to leave for today’s classes.

As you get up to go quickly wash your dishes in the kitchen, Kenma reaches out to grab them from your hands.

“I’ll clean up in a bit. You better start heading to class before you’re late and can’t find a good seat again,” he points out, stacking your empty plate on top of his and placing the dishes in the sink.

Letting out a small sigh at the thought of having to go to class, you head over to the front door, leaning down to put on your shoes and to pick up your school bag. You’re about to reach for the handle of the door when you feel a presence behind you.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” You hear Kenma ask quietly.

Turning around, you give him a questioning look, head slightly tilted to the side as you try to remember what you could have forgotten. Kenma silently watching you as your eyes quickly widening in remembrance.

Leaning in, you press a delicate kiss to his soft lips. A smile on your face as you pull away. Your eyes blinking confusingly as you come to notice that Kenma’s eyes are blown wide, a reddening blush rising to his face.

“I meant this, but thanks,” he mumbles out, thrusting his right hand out to you to reveal your keys that you had forgotten to grab from the key holder on the wall.

“So, you didn’t want a goodbye kiss?” You teasingly ask as you grab the keys from his fingers, making sure to safely put it in one of the pockets of your bag.

“Goodbye kisses are nice too,” he grumbles out. “But I don’t want you getting locked out while I’m in class. Now hurry up and leave before you’re late.” His hands placing themselves on your shoulders as he turns you around and lightly pushes you towards the door.

“Okay okay, I’m going,” you laugh out as you exit the comfort of your apartment and enter the hallway of the complex. “See you tonight!” You call out as he slowly shuts the door behind you.

A couple of moments later, you receive a text message from him. See you tonight <3

Your eyes scan the short yet sweet message as a smile forms on your face, thoughts occupied by memories of your boyfriend as you walk to class.

As a slight breeze flutters through the air, goosebumps growing on your exposed arms. Reaching into your bag, you carefully put on the hoodie you had thrown in earlier that morning. Only to realize that it wasn’t your sweater, but Kenma’s prototype merch sweater that he had received from the merchandise company.

Another smile grew on your face as the warmth of his hoodie enveloped you; the sweet smell of your shared shampoo filled your nose as you happily walked to class, looking forward to the end of the day where you can be embraced by him once again.

[lovewriting-5]

Roads:

*gif credit goes to @angelshizuka*

6. Sand Castle

8. Long Road Ahead

7. Room With A View:

We walk pass the front office as the manager turns the lights off. Daniel is carrying Mushroom. He asks “Do you think it will have Netflix? Or a jacuzzi?” Sean tells him “Dude, this is a motel, not an Airbnb. If we’re lucky, it’ll have cable and a hot shower.” We trudge up the stairs and Daniel reached room 10 first. He says “Look! Room 10! I found it!” Sean says “No shit, Sherlock Diaz.”

I unlocked the door and Daniel was the first one through. He noticed the bathtub and says “Check it out! It even has a bathtub!” Sean tells him “Good! We’re gonna throw you in, cave boy!” Next thing, Daniel noticed was the TV, then he takes in the rest of the room. He places Mushroom on the left side bed. He says “We can even watch TV, too! And there’s a balcony! Whoa, this is nice! And warm!”

Sean plugs his phone into the charger. Daniel takes off his shoes and climbs on the other bed. I sit down on the left side bed and begin petting Mushroom. It feels really good to sit down on an actual bed and inside a warm room.

Danie sits down on the bed closest to the TV, “Oooh...This bed is soft...What about this one?” He gets up and moves to the bed where I was sitting with Mushroom. He says “Uuuh, not bad...But too far from the TV!” He asks Sean “Can I take...the one in front of the TV? Huh? Wanna play it over rock, paper, scissors?” Sean getting ready, says “Oh, there’s no way you can beat me, but...Ready?” Daniel says “I am sooo ready to beat you!”

Sean won, Daniel says “Aww...shoot.” Sean tells him “I told you, man.” He asks “Can we play another round? Come on!” Sean says “Sure, I mean...you’re gonna lose again, but...suit yourself!” Pretty confident, he says “Not this time!” Sean won the second game. Daniel not happy, says “Aww...Come on...Not fair...” He says “You lost, man! What’s not fair?” Daniel says “I wanted that bed.” He decided to give up “Eh...take it.” Daniel asks “For real?” He says “I don’t really care.” Daniel hugs him and says “Awesome!” Sean trying to convince him, “They’re the same, y’know?” He says “Yeah, but I like this one better!”

Daniel picks up Mushroom, moves to the bed and sets her in front of him. Then he turns on the TV. Sean says to him “All right. I’m gonna run a bath. We totally reek.” He says “Especially you! “Pig-pen!” Sean says “I wouldn’t be so sure, cave boy. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” He says “I’ll be right here!” Sean says “Course you will...” Daniel turns on Hawt Dawg Man, “Oh cool! HAWT DAWG MAN IS ON! Ooooo, I remember this episode! Weird it’s on so late...”

Daniel begins going through his new backpack. He pulls a little blue square package out. He says “Yuk, Sean! There’s a condom in my bag...Gross!” Sean yells “Hey!” I get up and walk to the bathroom door. I say “So...Sean...I see what your party plans were for tonight.” He looks at me and gives an embarrassed smile. I give him a smirk and walk back to the bed.

As Daniel and I watch Hawt Dawg Man, I noticed a little hula girl sitting on the bedside table. I point to it and ask, “What’s that?” Daniel says “It was in Brody’s car.” I ask “He gave it to you?” He says, sheepishly “Uhhh...Well...Yeah!” I ask “You stole it from him?” He says “I dunno...it looked cool and...Sean stole before, so I thought...” I tell him “Stealing is bad. We only do it if...we really need it. Okay? Plus...Brody was super nice with us...” He asks “If it’s bad, then...why did Sean do it?” Sean comes back out of the bathroom for a second, “Hey! We had to. It was different! I don’t want you stealing around, understand?” Daniel nods as the hula girl sits on the bedside table, “Yeah. Okay...”

Sean sits on the other bed next to me. He asks “So...What’s up?” I tell him “The Buns want to catch Hawt Dawg Man...and turn him into sausage meat!” He says “Oh yeah! The Giant Meatball attacks in the next episode, right?” Daniel says “Yes! And they get to meet the city Mayo!” Sean says “Man, it’s been ages...” He asks “Why don’t you watch Hawt Dawg Man with me anymore?” Sean gets up and moves next to him, “I’m too old, dude...And I’ve seen it so many times.” He says “Okay, grandpa Sean! Feels so good to sit down and watch TV!”

Sean says “True” then begins to tickle him, “Watch out for grandpa Sean!” Daniel while laughing, “Stop! Sean! No! Come on!” I begin laughing along with them. Sean says “Next time you’ll respect the old man!” After a few minutes of everyone catching their breaths, Sean says “Okay. I’m done here.” Daniel says “You’re missing the best part!” He tells him “I know. But I gotta take care of the bath. Don’t forget, you’re up soon!” Daniel says “I know!”

Sean decides to step out on the balcony for a few minutes. I pick up the towels from the bed and hang them in the bathroom. I remind Daniel “There are fresh towels in the bathroom.” He says “Yeah, yeah...”

That’s when Sean came back in from the balcony. I told him “I put the towels in the bathroom.” Sean says “Thank you, I’ll go ahead and check the tub for Prince Daniel.” Daniel was too focused on Hawt Dawg Man to hear. He walks in to the bathroom and I hear the faucet being turned off. Daniel says to me “This episode is awesome. You should sit down and watch it with me!” I sit down on the bed to watch.

After five minutes, Sean yells “HEY, DANIEL, BATH’S READY!” Daniel disappointed, yells “What?! Already? Can I finish this episode first?” He tells him “No man. You smell so bad, there’s no time to lose.” Daniel picked up Mushroom and walked to the bathroom, he says to him “Hey, you smell too!”

There were small bubbles starting to come from the bathroom. Daniel excitedly, says “Oh my God...Whoa! So many bubbles!” Sean says “Try and keep them in the bathtub.” He is now looking forward to it, says “I will! Promise! Thanks!” Sean reminds him “And no, the dog is not taking a bath with you!” A little disappointed, he says “Okay, okay! Don’t worry.”

Sean checks on Daniel quickly, then walks to pick his phone up from the charger. I walk with him out to the balcony. I say “It’s nice and peaceful out here.” He says while looking down at his phone “Yeah.” He turns it on and notices a lot of texts coming in, “Shit! Lyla’s freaking out. Should I leave her out of this? I think she’ll get in trouble.” I peered over his shoulder at the phone screen and noticed all the texts from her. I tell him “She might or she might worry ever more.” He decides to not call her.

I throw my phone, when I noticed he sat down in one of the white plastic chairs out here. I sit on his left side when he pulls up a video of him, Daniel and Esteban from Christmas. I lay my head on his left shoulder as he presses play.

The video begins with Sean making sure the camera is working, “Okay! Wait...Okay, okay...And...ACTION!” The camera is on Esteban who yells to Daniel “Daniel! Get your butt in here right now!” Daniel thinking he’s in trouble “What? What did I do?” Esteban holding up a small box wrapped in colorful paper, says “You forgot to open this present!” He opens the box and is disappointed “What is this? Socks...Underwear...That’s it?” Esteban playing it cool, says “Yeah, pretty cool, huh? That’s what I got when I was a kid...” He’s not buying it, says “Not funny...” Sean can be heard laughing from behind the camera, “Yeah it is! Dude! Check out your face!”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see him begin to tear up. He wipes the tears away on his sleeve. I place an arm around his shoulders and place my chin on his left shoulder as the video continues. Daniel notices a medium size box left under the tree. He says excitedly “What, what...Look! There’s another one here! What is it...?” Esteban moves to help him with it, “Daniel...let me help...Looks bigger than underwear...”

They both continue to tear the paper. Daniel’s face lights up “Ooooh, what? No way! Can’t believe it! The new...PlayBox! Thank you Santa!” As he looks to his dad. Denying it, he says “Hey, don’t look at me...You were a good boy this year...” Sean jokingly annoyed, says “Yeah. Lucky boy.” Esteban reminds him “Daniel. This is for the whole family too, right? So you gotta share...With me! I want to play that game where you steal cars and go on high speed pursuit...”

Sean jokingly tells him “Dad, you totally suck at games...” Esteban looking to get him back, says “Oh yeah, track star? I was the dodge-ball champ of my high school...So duck!” The ball comes toward the camera and hits Sean in the arm, “Ow! No fair!” Daniel blocking the PlayBox, “You guys, don’t crush the PlayBox! Hey! Let’s set it up! Dad, come on!” He got hit with the ball and kept it, “Ow! Okay! My ball now! Watch out!” Esteban says “Merry Christmas, kids...” The video ends with Esteban wearing a Christmas sweater. Daniel is holding the PlayBox with decorations in the background.

Sean then gets up and throws the phone toward the beach. He takes a few minutes before heading back. I heard music coming from the room. I turn around and see Daniel rocking out on top of the bed. We walk into ‘Banquet’ by Bloc Party blaring from the TV.

Sean asks “Are you kidding me?” Daniel says while dancing “Remember that song?! Come on! Dance!” We join him on the bed, Sean says “Oh man! We haven’t played Guitar Fighter for years!” He says “You never beat my score!” Sean tells him “You played on Easy Mode. I was on Hardcore, dude!” Daniel says “You’re so jealous! I’m the best guitar player!” Mushroom is barking happily while the three of us are dancing. After the songs ends, Sean steps down and turns off the TV.

I step down while Daniel jumps to sit down. Sean says “Daniel...Come here. We need to talk.” Daniel asks “Can we get a drink first? I’m thirsty...” He asks “Right now?” Daniel says “You said I could have a coke...or something...” He says “Okay. I’ll get you a soda. But when I come back...we’re going to talk. Serious.” Daniel says “Fine...What’s the big deal?” Sean leaves the room.

I sit with Daniel and check to see how he’s doing. He seems happier and more relaxed. Next, we start talking about random things. He can come up with anything to talk about. I went to use the bathroom and when I came out, Daniel had the remote in his hand. The local news was on. Everything was going fine until they mentioned Seattle.

Daniel shouts “Dad!” Objects started floating and the lights started flickering. I say “Daniel!” He managed to push the beds aside. The desk and chairs were tipped over. The lights are going haywire.

That’s when Sean runs in and sees what is happening. Daniel’s fists are clenched with tears in his eyes and there is a photo of Esteban on the TV. He says “Oh fuck! Oh my God...Daniel...?! What is happening?! Daniel, calm down!” Daniel is angry and I’m trying to comfort Mushroom who is barking. Daniel yells “YOU LIED! Dad! Our dad is dead!”

The news shows the headline BREAKING NEWS: 2 DEAD IN SEATTLE INCIDENT. Daniel yells “WHY?” Sean frighteningly tells him “It was an accident! A cop fucked up and shot him! That’s it.” He angrily, yells “No! No! IT’S NOT TRUE!” Sean says upset “I’m so sorry...” Daniel gestures to the TV and says “Why? Why did you LIE to me?!” Sean tells him upset and trying to calm him “I just wanted to protect you until I could-“ He says “Protect me from what? You?” There was a loud tearing of fabric as Sean is pushed back. He says “Daniel, I...” Daniel yells “I hate you!”

The closet door bursts open and the contents fly out. Daniel tells him “You’re not my brother!” Sean says more upset with tears in his eyes, “Don’t say that. I know I messed up everything. We’re gonna get through this...”

Sean tries to get closer to him. Daniel yells “Don’t touch me!” Sean finally reached him and pulled him in to a hug. He says “Daniel! Please!” Daniel tries to break from him but Sean hugs him tight. Daniel says “No!” Sean slowly begins to calm him down, “Shh...It’s okay...”

Everything falls to the floor as Mushroom and I step forward as Daniel begins to cry. He says “I want dad...” Sean tells him “Me too.” The lights stop flickering as the three of us look around. Daniel says “You told me, we were gonna see dad...” Sean says “I’m sorry...I just...” He says “Just don’t lie to me ever again. Ever.” Sean tells him “I promise. I won’t lie to you again. I promise.” Daniel looks at me. I nod and tell him “I promise as well.” He says while crying “I’m serious...” Sean says “I know...Me too, Daniel...” Daniel asks “What are we gonna do without him?” He says “Sssshhhh...It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

[stutterfly]

Love Bytes 04 | Addressing Error | KNJ (M)

Last time on LB03: You're ready to go home with Jimin, but obstacles arise, namely your own drunkenness. Namjoon helps you out of a tight spot and you find a new way to stave off loneliness: falling asleep in the comforting arms of a trusted friend. But is there more to it?

Rating: M (18+)

Word Count: 11.4K

Series: Love Bytes (4/?)

Genre: F2l, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, ANGST! pining, sexual tension, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, S O F T Namjoon

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

CW: anxiety, hidden erections, nip-slips, and masturbation(teaser)

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

A/N: Leave a comment if you like! It’s like fuel to my fire. 💜  Do not repost.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re stiff,” you murmur, nuzzling your head into the fabric of his shirt, trying in vain to get comfortable at a ninety degree angle. “Can you like… lay down instead?”

He sighs and repositions, wiggling down beside you. His massive hand cups your head close to his chest as he does so. His head falls against the pillow and he nudges the side of your face with his knuckles. “Better?”

Your face angles upwards and you can just barely make out the mocking flick of his tongue in the moonlight that slips through the blinds. You bury your face, humming a note of approval over his collarbone. You’re quick to splay an arm across his torso and uncurl your fingers against his chest. Heavy fingers climb on yours, trapping your hand between his and the heartbeat beneath your palm. His other hand lands on your shoulder and you shiver when he starts to trace lazy lines up and down your skin.

You don’t have time to fully appreciate the motion as sleep threatens to take you. The last thing you feel is his chin falling against the top of your head, both of you subconsciously snuggling closer. Never in your life have you felt so relaxed, so fast. You forget whom is resting beside you, holding you in a way that keeps you from drunkenly crying yourself to sleep. The world falls away. The thoughts of the night fall away. The emptiness is replaced by something good. Something tender. It’s a strange and foreign concept, and you can’t quite put your finger on it, but what you do know is that it’s the closest thing you’ve ever felt to a place you’ve never truly had: Home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The first time Namjoon awakens, it’s to the sound of your heavy snoring. He lazily removes the cocked glasses from his face, relieved they hadn’t broken when he fell asleep. Turning his attention to you, he holds in a laugh, then a disgusted snort when he feels the moisture leaking from your mouth onto his arm. You’ve managed to roll away at some point, which makes it easier to slip his arm out from beneath you in order to remove the two layers of shirts from his sweating body.

How many times had he told you to get on the landlord about fixing the broken air conditioning in your unit? On such a hot night, this is torture. He’s tempted to remove his pants, but even half-asleep he knows that would get awkward real fast in the morning. Instead he carefully rises from the mattress and turns on the fan idling beside the bed.

A deep, quiet sigh passes his lips as he rests his head on the pillow once more, a wave of relief  flowing with the air towards him. He blinks a few times, eyelids incredibly heavy as turns to face you, letting the breeze cool his back. Your legs are out from under the sheets and you’re hunched over, oversized shirt scrunched up and exposing the small of your back. He catches the goosebumps that form on your arms and quickly realizes your body might not be running quite as hot. Maybe he can share his natural temperature with you?

He tries as best he can to slide back into position with his arm beneath you, gently feeding it under the crook of your neck. As gross as your drooling and snoring is, it isn’t going to stop him from holding you. He’s been thinking about this for too long to let the opportunity pass him by. He snuggles in closer, blanket acting as a barrier between his now bare chest and your back. His arm falls over your hip as he leans closer, inhaling your scent and committing as much as he can to memory before letting the sounds of your snoring lull him back to sleep.

The second time his eyes open, the sheet is partially draped over him along with an arm and a leg. He takes in the dimly lit view of your face pressed against the skin of his chest. It feels like he’s dreaming, hazy thoughts tempting him to press his lips to the precipice of your forehead. His fingertips twitch against your shoulder, tugging the sheet up and swirling his fingers across it a few times with a smile. That’s when he notices the subtle tremble of your form. Not knowing if you’re cold or having a nightmare, he gently presses you back towards the comfort of your pillow, slowly, regretfully untangling his limbs from yours. He reaches down towards the foot of the bed and hikes a soft, fuzzy blanket to cover whatever chill you may be feeling. He waits, studying the quake of breaths as your chest rises and falls.

He rolls towards you, cradling your head into him, arm draping over you. Your cold fingers quickly find their way to the heat of his core. He breathes a sigh of relief, taking in the beauty of your face before closing his eyes and letting sleep reclaim him once more.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When the sun creeps in through the blinds, it’s a good sign that it’s a lot later in the day than you’d like. You groan, rolling away from the light hitting your face and splay your hand across the mattress. Your eyes flutter open with the realization you had asked Namjoon to sleep with you last night. The sight of the empty space next to you has you breathing a sigh of relief --and if you’re being honest with yourself, just a hint of disappointment.

The recollection of his hands intertwined with yours causes a dull ache to form in your heart. It had been so long since anyone had held you like that. It felt so good. You close your eyes, envisioning those long, slender fingers cupping your shoulder. Were you remembering the details correctly? Had he actually been as caring and sweet as your mind recalled? The blanket covering your torso says yes. Scooching over to the side of the bed, you grab at the phone on your nightstand, pulling it from the charger. Your mind struggles to remember the moment you had enough clarity to charge your phone; you quickly surmise Namjoon probably did that for you too. As you swipe the screen, a message is waiting.

Joonie 😬: Drink up

That’s when you notice the cup sitting on the nightstand. The sweating glass and remnants of ice indicate it’s been there for quite some time. You throw your head back against the pillow and look over at the place where he had been laying last night. Again your hand drapes across the empty expanse of mattress, missing the heat from his chest when it comes into contact with something hard. Your fingers clasp around the plastic frames of Namjoon’s folded glasses. You puff your cheeks and expel a burst of air, wishing he were here instead of the item in your hand.

You attribute the thought to the frustration coursing through your lower abdomen. You reach into the drawer of your nightstand, pulling out the pink vibrator nestled between the lingerie you never wear. You’re sorely disappointed as you bring it to your aching cunt. Of fucking course the battery is dead. Tossing it aside, your fingers work quickly to ease the tension radiating throughout your body, remembering the way it felt grinding on Jimin’s cock.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s early in the week when you get the tech service request for Professor Kim’s office computer. It’s been relatively slow so far. If Namjoon’s good for one thing, it’s your job security. You’ve only gotten a couple repairs and a stream of basic support calls, most of which were fixed by turning the computer off and on again. You roll your eyes as you read the description of the problem, but when they click “in-person appointment: required, status: urgent” you hardly have a choice in whether or not the trek across campus is worth your time. How many times could you tell him what the ethernet cable looked like? Although with his luck, he might have ripped it from the tower with his gangly legs and broke it.

Regardless, you stuff an extra ethernet cable into your tool case and click “accept.” A message appears on your work tracker with a smiley face with thick black frames and buck teeth: “Your Tech Service Is On the Way!” On one hand you hate that stupid emoji, but on the other hand it makes you laugh that management is convinced this is the way you make people not scream at you when their wireless mouse needs a battery changed.

You begin the journey across campus on foot, knowing it’s a little over a kilometer to his office in the library. As you exit the computer science building, you longingly stare at the little golf carts you once had the luxury of using for quick transport from one end of campus to the other. However, since the last IT guy they hired took one for a joyride and crashed it into the koi pond in front of admissions, all carts had been recently restricted to security only. You also find the campus courtesy bike rack empty as you round the corner. You swear they should always keep at least one bike reserved for maintenance, but whatever. Your mood lightens a few steps in as sunshine floods your skin; it’s been a slow day anyway. Who knows? Maybe Joon actually has a reasonable problem with his network this week.

After a leisurely stroll in the sun, two flights of stairs, and stack after stack of bookshelves, you finally arrive at his office door. It occurs to you that he might be with a student as you approach the closed door, so you take a deep breath and try to put on your best fake customer service smile before rapping your knuckles against the wood, narrowly missing the plaque with his name engraved on it.

A few seconds later the professor is opening the door, with an expression as hard as stone. You can tell by the bags under his eyes that he’s fatigued, but physically composed nonetheless. It never ceases to amaze you the transformation he undergoes from slicked-back, slacks and suit coat “Mr. Kim” to mussed up hair, Saturday night baggy sweats Namjoon. The smile falls from your face as you look at him. You feel like Smeagol emerging from his cave for the first time in years, highly aware of the lack of makeup on your face, the disheveled birds nest that is your hair, and the cheap white t-shirt and cargo pants full of screws that loosely hang about your waist.

He blinks a few times and his expression softens, little dimples forming with a wan smile. “Oh good. It’s only you.” He nods towards his desk. “Come in.”

“Rough week, buddy?” you ask, half teasing, half concerned for his state of mind. When he doesn’t answer, you quirk an eyebrow at him, slipping in past his far-off stare.

The door closes softly a moment later and you’re already getting your case open in the event it’s needed. Clearly he’s not in a chatty mood, but you feel the need to offer anyway. Gripping his shoulder brings him back down to earth, looking at you through troubled brows. “Hey, if you wanna talk… I’m here, Joon.”

“I’d love to get your opinion…” A frustrated sigh passes his lips and he breaks past you to pace around the comfy chair across from his desk. “But... I can’t talk to you about my students, you know that.”

You cock your head to the side, sheepishly scratching your cheek with a fingertip as you watch him stride across his office. “Is this another one of those ethical things or an actual policy?”

You don’t take it personally when he glares daggers at you. As you settle in his computer chair you do a preliminary scan of his network settings, stealing cursory glances towards him. He plops into the cushioned chair across from the desk, sinking into it with a sigh.

“So there’s this student,” he begins, locking eyes with you briefly.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum in a tone that tells him to proceed, gazing at the screen as you wait for him to spill whatever he’s so preoccupied with.

“They’re brilliant, but they don’t care about the work. They don’t even need to try that hard; they have this natural talent, but they can’t be bothered to even put in the bare minimum. I don’t think they’ve even read any of the required texts for the course,” he continues, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t like seeing anyone fail my course, especially not someone as smart and creative as this. How do you reach someone who doesn’t want to try? How do you keep someone from falling through the cracks?”

Your eyes rest on the screen, not really looking at anything as your brain scrambles to piece together some kind of advice. “I learned years ago when I tutored people… you can’t make people care about the content. You can suggest ways of making the experience unique or fun for individuals. But ultimately, it’s on them. Three things I think when I show up for work every day: do your best, be patient, and don’t give up.”

Your eyes meet again and you can see him exhale, features still troubled, but the smile he sends your way is warmer, more relaxed. “Do you best. Be patient. Don’t give up,” he repeats softly and lets a halfhearted chuckle loose. “Thank you. I’ll think about it some more.” He groans, rising to his feet and smoothing back his hair. “After I grade the rest of the tests and essays.” You stiffen as he circles the desk, standing behind you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Make any progress?”

You tongue the inside of your cheek as you stare at the blinking cursor on command prompt. You haven’t actually done anything yet and in an attempt to look busy you run a quick ipconfig command, knowing it will look like a bunch of gibberish to someone like Joon. With the computer not recognizing the ethernet and no wireless adapter installed, you know the first step is to check the physical connection. You clear your throat loudly as you drop to your hands and knees, mumbling a quick. “Working on it.”

The tower is further back under the desk than you would like and you pull it towards you just a bit, falling onto your elbows to inspect the cables. Seeing everything in tact, your vision follows the cord to the jack in the wall; everything looks normal.

Namjoon keeps his hands tucked away, watching the delicious sight of you on all fours before him. This is easily one of his favorite parts about your visits, though he always tries to act casual about it. Face down, ass up; you really get into it. He wants to say you do it on purpose because maybe you know what it does to him--he had seen your games of chicken with Jimin, ever the tease-- but he also knows it’s more likely a side effect of you being passionate about your job.

Still, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get a sick satisfaction watching you like this. You grunt softly, lunging even farther forward onto one knee in order to physically ensure the cable is pushed into the wall. Namjoon’s eyelids close and he sighs, biting down on his lip to force the air through his nostrils. He turns towards the window to hide the way his pants begin to tent, but keeps his head turned to watch your ass sway from side to side, the thin outline of your panties visible through the cream-colored fabric.

God, he hates himself for being so gross, but he can’t seem to break away from the sight, especially not with the lingering memory of Saturday haunting the gap between his thoughts: your legs dragging across the sheets, enticing him to join you in bed with the subtle pout of soft lips that promised more than they could possibly deliver. He wonders if you even remember, but doesn’t dare to get his own hopes up by assuming you do. You were drunk. Didn’t really mean it. Cuddling you was a one time thing. He knew that and yet he was still trying to find a way to reassure himself that once would be enough to sate the craving deep inside. But now he knew how it felt to wake up next to you, and it only intensified his desire to repeat the interaction.

You reach back towards the end of the cable plugged into the computer and push against it with your thumb and forefinger. There’s a small ‘click’. That will probably do it, but you lean back and wiggle out of the crawlspace beneath the desk, staying on your knees as your eyes scan the screen for any difference in connectivity.

You feel Namjoon hovering behind you and your eyes dart to the face that appears beside yours as he leans in. “Did you fix it?”

You fix your eyes back to the screen. Network connected. You do another ipconfig and flush the DNS just for good measure. “Looks like it. Ever thought about not kicking your big clown feet into the mess of wires down there?”

“Is that how you talk to all your clients?” he scoffs as he stands up straight. He casually walks behind the computer chair and plants his hands on the back cushion, careful to hide the softening bulge in his pants.

You move to seat yourself as he nudges it toward you. “Just the ones that are incompetent enough to need my help every week when they unhook their ethernet."

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in a huff. "Okay well it could have been something more. You would have yelled at me if I tried to fix it myself 'cause you know I would have probably made it worse somehow."

"That's true," you mutter, falling back to rest against the cushion of the chair. "Alright, is there anything else you needed or is this it?" You tilt your head back up to look at him.

His eyes lock onto yours. Could he tell you? Is now the time? He starts playing all of the possible scenarios in his head of how this might play out. The anxiety bubbling in his chest causes an uncomfortable span of silence to choke the air out of his lungs. Nope. Not today.

You clear your throat loudly as you stand. "Okay well, as always, don't forget to leave a review on the app if I resolved your issue, Mr. Kim."

He blinks a few times in rapid succession, snapping himself back to reality. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

You grab your tool case and turn back for a moment, coy smile on your lips. "Just being professional."

"Professional, my ass," he laughs and you can still hear the tiredness in it. "Don't worry. I'll give you a good review."

"Okay, but like don't be too extra 'cause they'll know we're friends. Short and simple," you say, opening the door and flashing him a phony smile. In an attempt to make him smile, you put on your best customer service voice once more. "I hope my services were pleasurable, Mr. Kim!"

He chokes out a cough to restrain his laughter as you turn to face the student waiting outside the doorframe. You inhale deeply, holding the air in as you try to think of something that will save face with this doe-eyed, timid-looking girl --most likely a freshman.

The breath leaves you in a quick huff as you attempt to make a statement. "Sorry. I need to go service someone else, excuse me."

Hoping the words came out too fast for the poor girl to comprehend, you nearly sprint around the closest stack of books and try to purge the memory of the horrified look on that girl's face. Your phone beeps and a message appears: 'Feedback: Professor Kim Namjoon: "Better than GeekSquad."' You shake your head and mutter "he's so lame" as you travel through the stacks, but you can't help the smile that creeps across your face. Despite just embarrassing the shit out of you both, you take pride in the personal flare of his comment.

The rest of your day goes by painfully slow and for some reason you find yourself thinking how professional Namjoon always manages to look in his professor attire. Even dead tired, he still manages to look so good, so composed--again, not that you'd ever admit it to his face. You catch a glimpse of yourself in a blank monitor nearby and crinkle your nose at the reflection. Your boss is a pretty chill dude and is super laid back about dress code, but maybe you could stand to try a little harder. It's not like you're trying to impress anyone, but something about feeling like a shriveled goblin next to Namjoon today has you second guessing the laissez faire nature of your wardrobe.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A little later in the week, you're sprawled across the loveseat after work, neck craned around the armrest as you're catching up on a tv show. The phone resting on your chest buzzes and your heart damn near stops beating for just a second. Panic slowly seeps into your mind. It's not often you get a direct message from Taehyung. Group chats are one thing. You seeking him out for advice is another. But unprompted texting direct from the god of baritones? Why do you get the feeling there's something sinister at play here?

Oh, right. Because Taehyung is a beautiful goddamn hermit.

You stare blankly at the keyboard on your phone. Over the last year, you've gotten close to the seven of them, but Taehyung has been the most closed off, the hardest to get to know. His resting bitch face makes for a great barrier between the outside world and himself and you can't help but think maybe he likes it that way. Come to think of it, you still don't know much about him, except for the fact that he's loaded, good at painting, and insanely attractive. And you know how he makes you feel: nervous, faint, like a helpless animal caught in a trap.

You've never been well-equipped to talk to someone of his stature. Just catching eyes with him makes you feel unworthy of his gaze, like you're so far beneath him that it's a crime to do so. You know he's not so scary, that he's not a god to be placed on any pedestal, but his presence intimidates you. His eyes, his body language, the way he talks; it's all very closed off compared to the others and you worry it might be that you've done something to upset him at some point and he's just held onto it instead of mentioning it directly.

In fact, you sometimes worry that you might not even be friends at all, what with the level of distance he seems to maintain. You hope that he considers you one, but you find yourself growing increasingly nervous the longer the message before you remains an inquiry in need of response.

Tae: Are you busy?

Should you just pretend you didn't see it? No. He has a fancy new iPhone. There's no way he won't get the read receipt on it. Stop taking so long and just act normal.

You: Haha just me and some Netflix. What's up?

The loud gunshots playing from the TV do nothing to distract you from the silence of your phone. Your eyes are glued to the image on your lock screen, waiting for Taehyung to message you back. You nearly jump when the vibrations hit your hand.

Tae: Come over

Your eyes feel like they're going to pop out of your skull. Why? An invite to his place? Are we on a group chat? No? Oh fuck. The panic sets in and you feel like you're going to pass out as you read far too much into the two simple words on your screen. A knot forms in your stomach and sweat begins to build on your forehead. Clumsy fingers fumble their way across the keyboard.

You: Excuse me???

Tae: Oh... has Hoseok not talked to you yet...?

You peel your eyes from the screen and stare blankly at the television for a moment, brows immediately furrowing.

You: about what

The knot in your stomach grows bigger as you wait for the response. What the fuck did Hobi do now?

Tae: ...

Tae: The photoshoot?

You rise from the couch, dread filling the expanse of your belly. What the fuck do you mean photoshoot? You're a bitch on a mission, already sprint-stomping down the hallway towards Hoseok and Yoongi's apartment. Your knuckles rap against the door in quick succession, not having time or the patience for your special knock. Almost a minute passes before you press an ear against the door. Nothing. Again you knock, louder this time. There's a grumble and shuffling from the other side before the door swings open.

You're about to vent your frustration and confusion when you realize it's not Hoseok standing before you, but his roommate. You don't know why it hasn't dawned on you until this very moment that there was a very good possibility Yoongi would answer the door. The annoyance in his face fades with the recognition of the shock on yours.

He flashes you a subdued smile, sucking his bottom lip through his teeth. "Yes?"

Immediately your posture becomes rigid, bristling at the innocent response to you pounding on his door. Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you prepare your lips for the words funneling painfully slowly out of your brain. You haven't had a chance to permanently quarantine the memory of Yoongi finger-fucking two girls at the club. You're positive that fact is written all over your face as he raises his eyebrows and darts his tongue out to wet his lips.

Amused by your silence, he leans against the doorframe and tilts his head up at you with a cocky grin. "Do you always freeze up when you see something you like?"

Your jaw snaps shut as you swallow the frog in your throat and shake your head. "Just when I see something I'm not expecting."

He seems entertained as he crosses his arms. "So did you actually need something or are you just desperate for attention?"

The direct nature of his question catches you off guard and you feel your pride take a hit. You mirror his stance, shrinking in stature as you fold your arms across your chest. "Y-You don't have to be rude!"

A smile cracks at the corners of his mouth. "Relax I'm kidding... Mostly."

You roll your eyes. "Well I'm not here for your mean jokes today. Where's your roommate? I've got a bone to pick with him."

You don't hear Hoseok approaching from behind you, a finger pressed to his lips as a signal for Yoongi to remain silent. The mint-haired man raises his eyebrows and cocks his head in the other direction, the anticipation of the upcoming scare growing the smug grin on his face. "Not up for banter? Tsk, tsk. That's not like you. Did your night with Namjoonie go that poorly?" he teases, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Are you sensitive because Jimin's rubbing off on you?"

Even ignoring the insinuation about Namjoon, which is totally ludicrous, the double meaning of his last statement is not lost on you. Yoongi laughs in his obnoxious way, shoulders rising and falling with the nearly breathless, croaky sound emanating from his throat. “Or is it because he’s not?”

The humiliation tints your cheeks with pink, although it's hard to hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears. Hoseok takes the opportunity to sneak in closer as you attempt to stutter out a defense.

He gives a sudden stomp towards you and grips your shoulders. “Again!?”

You jump hard, reaching out towards Yoongi for safety. The lurch forward is accompanied by a frightened yelp passing your lips. The two boys burst into a fit of laughter as you spin on your heels to face Hoseok.

"You're such a dick, Hobi!" you hiss, running shaky fingers through your hair, pretending you can comb the anxiety from your scalp if you just keep trying.

He grins and bows. "At your service. Still better than those Tinder dicks though."

"She's looking for you," Yoongi says with a yawn, scratching at the back of his head. "Sounded pretty pissed from the way she was stomping around."

Hoseok's brow knots and he puckers his lips at you as he whines, "Why?"

You note the duffel bag strapped to his chest and the sweat drenching every inch of his body. He looks absolutely exhausted. That almost lessens the desire to bring it up, but Taehyung's message is still unanswered. Every time you think about it you die a little more inside.

You take a moment to sharply inhale through your nose, sighing out a long exhale as you thrust the screen of your phone in his face. "Why is Taehyung texting me about a photoshoot?"

The way you're waving it around makes it difficult for him to see. He leans back, cupping his hands around the edge of the phone to get a better look. His eyes suddenly snap to you and a crooked smile splits his face in two. The knot in your stomach ties itself up a second time as he snatches the phone from your grasp and books it down the hallway towards your apartment. You blink a few times and give chase just as he steps inside; you want to scream at him but you're very aware of the public hallway separating you. Yoongi rubs his eyes and slowly returns to his lair, ready for the relief of sleep to cure the pain of extra shifts. "I'm not awake enough for this."

"I live here you know," you remind Hoseok as you close the door to your own apartment.

The man is oddly absent from the room, Netflix still blaring on the TV. The contents of his duffel bag have been dumped onto your living room floor and you can hear him talking to himself in another room.

"Hobi?" you call, rushing into the bedroom. "Hobi! What the hell?"

The duffel bag lays open on the bed, already half filled with clothes: your clothes. Hoseok doesn't bother to spare a glance as he tosses something in the bag; it looks vaguely familiar, but you don't bother to look closer because he's already taking out another item. He's careful with both delicate straps as he pulls it from the hanger, cellphone glued to his ear. A series of thoughtless one-word affirmations are mumbled into the receiver as he traps the device between his shoulder and neck. He cocks his head to the side as he inspect the dress, running his fingers down the material. Spinning on his heels toward you, he presses the fabric against himself, mouthing "WOW!" with a cheeky grin. You wish he'd act a little less surprised to find something sexy in your wardrobe. Dick.

You tongue the inside of your cheek as he runs one of his hands along the material draped across his chest and throws his torso back dramatically. That thing has been the back of your closet since the day you bought it; there is literally never a reason to wear it, but you can't exactly bring yourself to donate it either, not for the money you paid. He pauses a moment and notes the long slit in the side of the dress, playfully dragging a hand up his thigh. The impulse buy clings to him as he rotates his hips a few times to mock you, and heat rushes to your face. With a silent laugh, he tosses the garment into the bag.

"Yeah, we'll be over soon. See you in 15. Okay, bye." As he hangs up he slides the closet door shut, shining smile doing nothing to lift the frown from your lips.

"Hobi. What. Did. You. Do." The stippled words cut their way through your mouth. You can't help the bristle in your tone but your impatience has gotten the better of you.

His grin grows impossibly wider. "Ah, what are you mad for? Can't you at least hear me out before your face gets like this?" He scrunches up his features in an attempt to drop the scowl on yours, but your expression remains unchanged. "Hmmm. Okay!"

With a quick zip, he tosses the bag back around his shoulder. You raise your eyebrows at him and cross your arms. "You wanna tell me why you're packing my clothes?"

"We're going to Tae's. I'll explain on the drive," he responds simply, trying to loop his arm in yours but you shrug him off and step out of range. His face drops into a pout. "Come on. Why don't you trust me?"

"Because I know you," you snort, wagging your finger in his face. "You are not one to be trusted. Sneaky, Jung Hoseok."

He places a palm over his heart and looks at you as though you just wrongfully insulted his character, but you know better than to trust the dramatic act. He needs to explain himself and not just drag you off on some bizarre adventure. You're exhausted. While earlier this week had been pretty lax, an upsurge in service requests had you running all over campus on a tight schedule and not all of the issues were quite so easy as re-seating a loose cable. There’s a lot waiting for you tomorrow, so for tonight you want nothing more than to mindlessly binge TV and vegetate.

"Explain."

He shifts his weight to one foot and folds his hands over one another, sheepishly twiddling his thumbs. "Well... After looking through your dating profile, I thought maybe we could help you make it better."

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. "That's what this is about? Hobi…” You want to forget he even knew about that, but his words replay in your head. Your eyes narrow. "...Wait… We?"

"The group. Me. Yoongs, Tae, Chim, Kook, Jin... even Namjoon. We all wanna make you a new profile."

"There's nothing wrong with what I have. Give me my phone." You hold your palm out and flex your fingers at him a few times.

"Oh really?" He tosses your phone back at you, causing you to fumble. "Tinder's going good then? Talking to a lot of people?"

"I haven't really had time to look," you fib, an innate eye twitch threatening to give you away. Swiping is part of your bedtime routine and you haven't gotten any matches, but he doesn't need to know that. In your defense, you've only been shown bottom-of-the-barrel neckbeard types anyway. You look from the phone back to Hoseok's smug face.

"What's so bad about my current profile? I worked really hard on it!" The brittle tone of your voice betrays the defense of your words. Tears are building up behind your eyes, but you won't let them out yet. How embarrassing, how sad must your life seem if all seven of them want you to start over? He said even Namjoon was on board. Could it be because of Saturday?

Your eyes scan the disheveled blankets, remembering how stupid you sounded that night, how pitiful and weak you had been to practically throw yourself at him in a hopeless attempt to feel something with someone. Did he tell them? Or did Hobi just figure it out on his own? The lump in your throat makes it hard to swallow but it's all you can manage to suppress the rage bubbling inside you.

No no no no no. Do not fucking cry right now. The tears hold for now, but the dam can break at any second.

"Okay I'm gonna be honest. Your profile? Meeeeeeh." He holds out his hand and flips it rapidly back and forth. "But with our help we can make it like WOAH SO AMAZING!" He flips both palms and raises them to the ceiling before waving his hands around to further accent his statement.

How the hell did he have all this oomph left after dance practice? You can practically feel the positive energy radiating from him, doing your best to keep your expression sour. But the genuine smile on his face makes you want to believe he will make things better, not worse.

"...How?"

"Well, taking new photos for starters," he says, sheepishly scratching his cheek.

"What? What's wrong with my photos?" You're already pulling them up to review again, just in case they're actually embarrassing and you're just too clueless to realize.

"Ah! Nothing!" he yelps, pulling you into a hug. "But I think you can have better ones, not just selfies." He tussles your hair and you crack a smile.

The weight of his hands move down and tug playfully on the hair behind your neck, forcing you to look up at him. The memory of his offer at the club resurfaces in your mind. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire. You swallow, looking up into deep brown eyes that radiate hope. You lose the argument on the tip of your tongue before it can even form.

"I asked Tae if he could shoot something a little more sexy."

You step back to create some space, breaking the teasing hold he has. Your eyes drift to your phone and scour the app for your profile. You hold up the full body shot for him to see again, as if this time he will agree that you don't need their help. "Um, excuse me? This one is sexy."

He tilts his head to the side and throws up his hands. "Ah, yeah. That one's sexy and mysterious. I like the curves, but I think we can turn up the heat. I'm thinking more of you in that dress!" he adds with a wolf whistle.

A small chuckle escapes your lips. Of course he thinks that; he’s Hobi. His fire burns hotter than most people’s. Even so, maybe he has a point. "You think that will really help?"

"I know it," he says with the confidence of a man who knows he's got you on the ropes. "Ah... Look we all know how amazing you are. Let us help you show it!"

You're still not totally convinced this is a great idea, but your batting average is zero right now and you're at least somewhat willing to entertain the idea that they can help increase the number.

"Okay. Let me grab my makeup. We can't be out all night though. I have to work tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know it's a school night. Don't worry. I'll have you back before you turn into a pumpkin." He grins, jingling the car keys now between his fingers. You're already texting Namjoon to help you hatch an escape plan.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You've been standing with your arms covering your chest for the better part of five minutes, internally dismantling what little confidence you possessed before coming here. Hoseok had been persuasive enough on the drive here; he made a good argument for taking nicer photos in slightly sexier clothing with better angles and lighting. But you had gone far past "slightly sexy" the moment Hoseok abandoned you for a shower in Taehyung's master suite, handing you off to an almost too eager Jungkook. 

Needless to say, Hoseok failed to mention Taehyung's gorgeous roommate would be involved, nor did he mention Jungkook would be planning your outfit combinations with Tae's scene setup. Did they really have to get so involved and make a huge deal about your stupid dating profile?

Standing in Jungkook's bedroom now clad in swimwear, you stare at the grumpy reflection in the full-length mirror before you. I can't fucking go out there like this. I feel practically naked.

You carefully open a dresser drawer in search of cover for your humiliation. Jungkook is just outside with the rest of your clothes Hoseok stuffed into his gym bag. If only he let you have it so you could at least see if there was something in there to cover up with.You can tell his patience is waning as the familiar quick rapping of knuckles comes once more.

"Y/N, are you okay?" The concern in his tone almost makes you feel guilty for going through his shit, but you can't just go out there dressed in just your bikini and some cutoffs.

You swallow hard, eyes scanning every last piece of fabric crammed in the drawer. How the hell does he even fit everything in here???

"Yeah, I'm fine," you call back, trying not to sound as distressed as you feel. "Just, uh.... struggling with the straps."

There's a short pause. "...Do you need any help? I'm pretty good with straps." The words travel to your ears accompanied by visions of the mischievous grin you know he's sporting.

Inhaling deeply, you hold your breath. When you had first met Jungkook, he was shy, timid, kind, and definitely not the teasing brat you had come to know. No matter how much time passes, he still seems to hold onto immature remarks that make you want to toss him out a window. Like you could. That guy is built like a brick shithouse.

You take a moment to collect yourself, grabbing at the nearest piece of fabric that catches your eye. "Aw, it's so cute when baby wants to help."

As you quickly slip the white flowing fabric over your shoulders, you check yourself in the mirror one last time. Thank god you shaved this morning or this would be way more awkward. Combing your fingers through your hair drives you to look for more imperfections, wishing he hadn't taken your hair-tie.

The groan from the other side of the wall pulls you out of scrutiny-mode. "I am not a baby."

"Bras are a little different than the jockstraps you're used to, Kookie," you sneer, pulling the door open in a huff.

Jungkook is hunched over the frame with an elbow. The rebuttal dies on his lips as his gaze travels from the floor up your body. Your ears start ringing at the silence and the undeniable thirst in his expression, the way he darts his tongue out, holding his teeth over his lower lip. His stare lingers a little too long on your breasts so you cross your arms, the flowing material around your form obscuring his view.

Agitated eyes snap to your face as he uses his tongue to poke the inside of his cheek. His features scrunch into a scowl. "I do have game you know. You're looking at an international playboy."

God he's so full of shit. Making out with a girl at the 'Small World' ride at Disneyland doesn't count.

"Yeah okay, Kookie," you scoff, rolling your eyes as you move to walk past him.

A rigid forearm reaches across the doorway to block your path, sleeveless shirt showcasing every bulging muscle in his arms. He straightens his posture to tower over you, flexing in a show of bravado. "It's Jungkook."

The air is sucked from your lungs as he pins you with a dark, taunting look that almost rivals Yoongi's. Almost. Needles prick at your ears and you can feel your hands immediately start to break into a cold sweat.

"What, you don't believe me, Noona?" he asks innocently, sweeping gentle fingers along your shoulder and around your neck. You grow tense at the sensation, doing your best to fight the stutter in your blink and the hitch in your breath.

The arm crossing the doorway drops and tugs on the material covering you. "Is that my shirt?"

"You're not using it," you argue, grateful for the distraction as you slip past him. "Does it really bother you that much?"

"No, I don't mind. But..." His lips pucker up into a ridiculous pout and he sways his body back and forth. "The whole point is to make you look sexy but you're here covering up. Hyung trusted me with this job. Promise you'll take it off when you're in front of the camera?"

"You're taking it off for the camera?" Namjoon's voice booms out from over your shoulder. He takes a second to snap his tongue against his teeth as he approaches. "Wow. Guess you don't need saving after all, Geeksquad."

You spin to give him a playful shove, but an uneasy sensation quickly settles in the pit of your stomach. Time seems to slow as the strap around your neck falls. The words passing your lips are frenzied nonsense, clumsy hands fumbling to keep soft flesh from spilling out of your top. Namjoon's eyes go wide, mouth falling open at the sight of your failure. You curse, turning back towards Jungkook as you manage to regain coverage.

If the smug grin didn't give him away, the cocky words that follow seal his culpability. "I'm pretty good with straps. Sure you don't need some help?"

Your eyes narrow, fingers floundering with the tie around your neck. "Don't you have something better to do?"

His obnoxious laugh echoes down the hallway as he slips past you. "I'll tell Tae you're on your way."

You fold the cover across your chest and face Namjoon, clearing your throat weakly. "Y-You didn't, uh..."

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, blush mirroring yours. "No, no. I didn't."

"Okay." You breathe a sigh of relief. "Good. Good."

"I-I mean I barely saw--" He puffs out his cheeks, guilt painting his features.

You inhale deeply, trying to quell the shame in your chest as you cast your gaze at the floor. Silence fills the air between you for a few seconds.

He sputters out a held breath and pinches his fingers together. "Okay, like just a-- just a little nip-nipple--"

"Oh my god! Namjoon!" You bring your hands to cover your face, wanting to slither back into Jungkook's room and seal yourself away. But you force yourself to brush past him and make your way to the room Taehyung had converted to his studio. You can hear Namjoon’s long strides behind you, barely needing to try to keep pace with your pathetic attempts at jogging. He keeps muttering out apologies, but every word only heightens your awareness to the awkwardness of the event rather than helping you forget it.

The door to Taehyung’s studio is already open and as you turn the corner to enter, you come to a screeching halt, causing Namjoon’s to smack against your back. He reaches to your shoulders to steady himself, but it doesn’t even register on the list of things currently buzzing through your brain. It’s so well lit in here. No one told you it would be this bright. You cross Jungkook’s shirt impossibly closer to your torso and swallow the hum buzzing in your throat.

Sensing your discomfort, Namjoon leans down and whispers, “Hey, we can just leave. This is too much. I’ll talk to them.”

A relieved chuckle bursts from your mouth with the breath you’ve been holding. He offers the escape you asked for. He offers the familiar comfort and safety of returning to your apartment. But these things bring you no closer to the companionship you crave, meaningful or trivial in nature. Maybe what you asked for isn’t really what you need.

Looking about the room, Taehyung’s back is to you as he works on finalizing the tripod in the middle of the room, focusing the camera atop it at the well-lit screen. Off to the side, a very casually dressed, very wet, curly-haired Hoseok holds both ends of the towel draped around his neck. Beside him Jungkook stands with arms crossed and crinkled nose as he throws his head back in obnoxious laughter that fills the room. The pair are speaking to a short, well-dressed blonde man who contrasts everything about the two standing adjacent to him. If his stature, tight pants, and billowing overshirt didn’t give it away, the way he quickly roams his fingers through his hair as he talks to Jungkook certainly does.

Jimin?! Jimin’s here too?! What kind of fucked up intervention is this? I’m going to kill Hobi.

Hoseok’s attention span wavers and settles on your form in the doorway as you all but cower back into Namjoon. Hoseok’s excited wave draws the attention of his companions and they turn their gaze on you. Jungkook’s smug smirk, Hoseok’s thrilled grin, and Jimin’s shy smile illicit extremely different fear responses, which mingle to form a deep panic in your gut that threatens to cause hyperventilation. 

Namjoon’s fingertips dig into your skin, thumbs kneading soothing circles into the meat of your shoulders. He speaks softly, but his deep voice buzzes deep in your eardrum. “Breathe. It’s okay. I’ll tell ‘em to call it off.”

You let out a deep, controlled exhale. Then another. The panic attack that threatens to take hold quickly crumples in your belly. You often take for granted just how well Namjoon knows you, how well he can read the signals of your body and avert disaster before it arrives. Never once have you given it a second thought, never questioned the stability he offers with a touch, the praise that mollifies you. Today is no different; you push the gratitude aside and settle your eyes on the blonde man across the room.

“Good. Good...” The delicate string of breath against your ear trails off, knowing full well you’re already past it.

The others have fallen silent, waiting for you to move in and say something. The snarky comment on your lips shrivels and your lips melt into a goofy smile at the awkward air filling the room. Taehyung senses something is off and turns slowly, one hand still on the tripod as he locks eyes with you from across the room. An icy chill fills your lungs as his intense stare bores into you. Your shoulders raise, muscles tightening as you slink back into Namjoon’s chest. Taehyung slips his hands in his pockets as long, confident strides carry him towards you.

“You look terrified,” he mumbles with a stony expression that twists your stomach into knots. “Are you afraid of me? Of us?”

The hardness in his eyes fades in an instant and is replaced by a kindness you rarely see. His mouth curls into a warm smile as he leans forward with a slight bow. “You don’t have to worry so much, you know. We’re friends. We want to help, but I understand if it’s too much being put on the spot like this.”

We’re friends. You knew that and still the anxiety corroding your insides persists. The energy shift in his persona nearly gives you whiplash. Was this the same angry-looking man, poised like a god as he did his peacock strut over here? He raises a hand towards you, palm facing the ceiling. The rings around his fingers seem to shimmer as they reflect the lights set around the room.

“Only take my hand if you want to be here,” he says softly, the low bass of his tone almost apologetic. “There’s nothing joyful about taking pictures of someone who doesn’t feel like smiling.”

He seems so sincere and genuine. Is this what Taehyung is really like under that cold exterior? Your shoulders relax and your arms drop to your sides, allowing Jungkook’s shirt to partially expose your torso. His eyes never waver from your face as he waits for your answer. The others watch on, silently nodding at his words. You can feel Namjoon’s fingers drop down your back, tracing light, reassuring lines as they go.

“Taehyung,” you begin, voice stronger than you imagined it would be. You clasp your cold, clammy fingertips along the warmth of his. “I would be honored if you would photograph me. Sorry it’s not for anything more exciting than a dating profile.”

His smile grows wider and he offers a playful tug, lurching you forward. “It’s not the final output that matters so much to me as the moments spent taking them.”

Was everyone else seeing how sweet he was being? You look over at the trio, but they appear unfazed. Were you really the only one surprised by Taehyung’s hidden kindness? You suppose it makes sense, considering they have all known each other for much longer. Not everyone is going to spill their guts to someone after a year of only moderate interaction.

You nod, appreciating the sentiment. “Okay. Show me where I should stand and what I should do.”

He gently directs you to a seemingly random spot in front of the camera. You feel washed out under the heat of at least three different lamps shining at you. Taehyung steps back, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you. His brow twitches lightly and he shifts his jaw back and forth before turning his attention to the trio standing nearby.

“Jimin, warm ups. Jungkook, reflector. Hyung--” Taehyung starts barking orders, but Hoseok interrupts already on his way to you.

“I got it!” He cheerfully replies, pulling a small lip balm from his pocket and hastily twists it open. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I thought about it for a long time before finally picking this color for you.”

You purse your lips and reluctantly tick your jaw a few times. Reluctance has a strong hold on you.

“Oh relax, you big baby,” he chides, vicing your cheeks with his thumb and index finger to force your lips to pucker. He’s careful with his application of the color to your lips, making sure not to veer off course. “You’re gonna do great. Trust me. Just relax.” He demonstrates by taking in a deep breath, holding it, and then exhales. “Easy!”

"Yeah, easy." You sigh and force yourself to give him a smile and a thumbs up. "Okay."

"Oh, are you going to keep this on?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over the silky collar around your neck. His eyes drag across the faint glimmer of skin hidden underneath before darting to Jungkook as if to say 'you had one job.' Jungkook catches eyes with him and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with a pout.

"I don't know..." you trail, trying to find the right words to convey your feelings. "I just... don't feel very confident, I guess."

Hoseok dabs your lip with his pinky for good measure. "That's okay. That's why Jimin is here. He's going to help you warm up a little. Maybe you'll want to take it off after you get comfortable?" He smacks his lips a few times, indicating you need to rub your lips together to make the color even.

You do as he asks, feeling a little foolish as you share a shy smile with the blonde man nearby. There are certainly other ways Jimin could help you warm up; it was still pretty hard to face him after bailing last Saturday though. You do your best to push the thoughts from your mind and turn your attention to the doorway where Namjoon is standing, arms crossed with a sly smile decorating his features.

"What are you just gonna watch the whole time?" you call out, feeling uncertain about his cheeky grin. Suddenly you remember not too long ago he watched your tits come toppling out of your bathing suit and you fall silent, focusing on the legs of the tripod.

He licks his lips and takes a few steps forward with a sharp raise of his brow. "You texted me, remember? So now that you don't need me for anything," he pauses as he takes a folded chair from the wall nearby and sets it down a short distance behind the camera, "I think I'm gonna make it worth my while and see how this plays out. If you don't mind, Tae?"

Taehyung's eyes flicker between the both of you. "I don't have a problem with that. Having you here might be more relaxing, don't you think?"

You resist the urge to bite on your bottom lip. Relaxing. Right. Hoseok moves to quickly change the backdrop behind you; the image is that of an ocean, calm, peaceful, and absolutely gorgeous. You squint as Jungkook begins to blind you with the reflector.

"Okay. It's a summer day, very hot, but not as hot as you," Tae says, quirking an eyebrow up at you from behind the camera. "Compete with the sun for me."

What.

You swallow, staring into the camera like a deer caught in headlights, your body stiff as a board.  The shutter sounds off only once before he shakes his head very lightly, a laugh escaping his lips. Namjoon brings a hand to cover his mouth as he manspreads and leans back.

"Ah, Jimin. Look at Jimin," Tae instructs, pointing to the blonde man close enough to touch, but far enough to keep out of frame.

Jimin sighs dramatically and cranes his neck towards the ceiling, looking up and blinking a few times. He angles off his body just enough to create a flattering view, balancing his casual stance with relaxed, broad shoulders. Oh right, he's a professional. You try to copy his stance, and do so perfectly, but you forget what you're supposed to do with your face. You steal a look back at him, almost immediately falling victim to his angelic features. 

Your heart aches when you think about the way you left things last weekend. He seems unbothered but you wonder how; Joon had explained that he was used to keeping things casual, but you sure as hell weren't and that's why you needed to keep that sort of thing off limits. Saturday night was a big faux pas and you couldn't feel more ashamed about it if you tried. Yet somehow you head still found a way to be smitten.

The shutter clicks again and you look over at Jimin, who is already modifying his pose. You continue mimicking him for some time, slowly increasing pace every time the shutter clicks. It starts to come more naturally and you feel yourself opening up. Jimin drops his outer shirt down, revealing a bit of his shoulder and without thinking you do the same, exposing the bathing suit underneath. You look over at Jimin, feeling slightly embarrassed at the display, but he just laughs and drops the fabric from his other shoulder. You continue to mirror his actions until you finally slip the shirt off completely and toss it Namjoon's way, covering his face briefly before he pulls it down while sporting a coy smirk.

An hour passes as you continue on with Jungkook coordinating your outfits, Jimin helping you pose, and Hoseok creating ambiance while Taehyung does all the shot calling with his camera. Namjoon is your cheerleader, offering words of encouragement with each new scene. Honestly the weirdest thing about the night is that it starts progressing smoothly and you almost feel comfortable in front of the lens now. That is, until you’re standing in the dress Hoseok pulled from your closet.

They’ve turned most of the lights off to create a candlelight effect. The warm glow of the remaining lamps barely kisses your skin and you’re thankful for the loss in heat, as well as the cover of darkness. Whatever confidence you’ve built up quickly diminishes as you catch Namjoon’s expression off to the side. His jaw is tight, screwing into a lopsided grimace; it’s hard to read the rest of his face in this light, but it certainly looks like a cross between sympathy and disgust. It could just be your brain filling in the gaps with nonsense, but you hug your elbows close to your chest and shrink back, finding a spot on the floor to stare at while the rest of them continue to tweak the scene.

This is for sure the most beautiful he’s ever seen you; there’s no way you could look more breathtaking, yet there’s something hidden just beneath the surface of your beauty. Namjoon swallows hard, watching your hesitant movements. You’re uncomfortable; it’s hard to miss the uncertainty of your posture, the shaky exhales, trembling fingers, subtle quiver of your lip. 

Okay, so maybe he searches for these things, but reading your body language has become a pastime. He’s not sure if it’s more for your benefit or his own masochistic torture --reading into every little detail to assure himself there’s no way you can feel the way he does-- but either way he can’t seem to stop himself from doing it. 

He’s thinking of ways to assuage the anxiety, but a heavy fog blurs the possibilities. The words become scrambled on their way to his lips as he looks you over again, and again, and again. Desire clouds his mind, moving in like a storm to coat every last thought with obscenities. His cock twitches against his thigh, already rock hard and aching to be touched. He stares blankly ahead as he crosses his legs and hunches forward onto an elbow, trying to will away the tent in his pants by silently reciting the alphabet. 

He’s absolutely disgusted with himself for being so lewd when clearly you’re in need of some support and he clenches his jaw in frustration. There’s no way he can stand right now without drawing attention to it, so the best thing he can do is try to compose himself and keep it that way. As he nears the end of the alphabet, he finally notices the way your gaze is cast at the floor and feels the need to say something, anything.

“Geeksquad.”

Your head snaps up to find Namjoon’s eyes locked onto your face, hard expression softening. “You look amazing. Try to breathe, okay? You’re doing fine.”

Your face brightens as you crack a smile, grateful for the reassurance. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, Joonie.”

He smiles back, dimples forming in his cheeks as he folds his hands over his lap. You fail to realize he’s equally happy about the lighting conditions in this moment.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The makeup is being stingy about coming off. You’ve been scrubbing remnants of eyeshadow and mascara off your eyelids for the better part of five minutes. A toothbrush lazily hangs from your mouth as you toss the makeup-caked pad in the trash bin. As you resume brushing your teeth, you pick up your phone with your free hand and begin texting.

You: hey… so

You: i may have overreacted earlier when i asked u to save me 🤔

You: but you still came through for me and i do appreciate it

When no response comes, you decide to come out and say what’s on your mind. You’d like to cut through any residual awkwardness left over from the nip slip incident because god knows it’s all that’s been on your mind since donning your regular clothes. As long as you can both pretend like nothing happened, you’re good.

You: i guess what i’m trying to say is thanks

You: it was nice that you made an attempt

You’re concerned about the amount of time that passes in silence as you finish up. You watched Hoseok drop him off at his apartment before returning home yourselves, so you know he got there safely. It’s only nine thirty. You doubt he’s asleep so you’re about to call, but you reconsider once you remember he’s had a lot of papers to grade this week and could be catching up on extra sleep. Or he’s avoiding you.

Your belly twists with the turmoil suffocating your brain. Do you just send something asking him if things are okay between you? It’s really awkward, but you can’t stop thinking about the fact that you accidentally flashed him. He’s probably avoiding you. Well fuck it.

You: are u avoiding me Namjoonie????

You: pls don’t :c

You sigh, falling back into bed as you open Tinder. What’s on the swipeLeft radar for tonight? A  blue star appears, telling you this person “super-liked” you; he’s an average looking guy, but once sentence into the profile tells you all you’d need to know about his shitty personality. Douche. 

You swipe left on a few more guys either holding fish, didn’t fill out their profile, or only have pictures of their current vacation destinations. There’s so much trash to sift through; it’s disheartening. Maybe Hoseok’s plan really will work and you’ll have guys eating out of the palm of your hand in no time. Maybe even eating you out. You’d have to find a viable candidate first, either way.

Your phone starts buzzing, familiar cross-eyed photo of Namjoon taking up your screen. Quickly swiping the green button, you answer, “Hello?”

“Geeksquad… Why you being paranoid?” Ragged breaths seep through his words just enough to pique your interest.

“Are you okay?” you ask, not entirely meaning to deflect, but still grateful for the opportunity to do so. “You sound a little out of breath.”

“Oh,” he sighs loudly, trying his best to reduce the sound of any following exhales. “Sorry I’m… just uh, working out.”

“You,” you begin in an accusatory tone. “...Working out?”

“It’s a great stress reliever,” he points out defensively. “Anyway, I’m just calling so you won’t worry yourself to sleep.”

“Wow. What? Pshh. I wasn’t worried, like, at all, dude.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah…” you answer, hearing the insincerity in your own tone. “I was just making sure you weren’t too mad about the false alarm.”

He chuckles. “Look, I’ll say it now and any time you need me to repeat it: I’m always gonna be there for you when I can. I wasn’t doing anything important tonight anyway and the uber ride was hella cheap from my place to Tae’s. Plus… I got to see you model next to Jimin, which was hilarious by the way.”

“Har. Har. Har. I got completely blindsided by Hobi and Tae. Super hilarious. Especially considering I haven’t spoken to Jimin really since Saturday. You know. When I made him think we were gonna hook up and then just peaced out. Like a bitch.”

“He’s not going to hold it against you. You know that.”

“Yeah.” You hum a sound of discontent as you fix your gaze on the ceiling. “Hey Joonie? Do you think those photos are going to look okay?”

“I think Tae can pull out some decent ones. He has an eye for that kinda thing. Once you started smiling for real and let go of that fake shit, I think those were the money shots.”

You can’t help but smirk at his words. “Good. I’m anxious about it still, but I feel slightly better.”

“Glad to help. Is there anything else?”

“Um….” You bite your lip, tasting the remnants lip balm. “W-We’re good right? I mean...about that whole thing with Kookie in the hall.”

Namjoon clicks his tongue against the receiver. “Ah, I hadn’t even thought about it all that much. But I suppose we need to address it.”

“Do you think you can pretend like it didn’t happen?”

“Like what didn’t happen?” he asks lightheartedly. 

You fail to catch on and you grind your teeth together before hissing, “The nip slip!”

He fumbles with his words on the other line. “I-uh,Ah, yeah-Hmm. I know. I was, uh… making a joke Y/N.”

“Oh.” You breathe a sigh of relief, while filling with embarrassment. You force the words out of your mouth at torpedo speed “Well... I think that’s all we need to talk about.  I need to go to bed. Thanks, Namjoonie. You have a good night.”

“You... too.”

“And remember to forget!” You want to die as the words pass your lips. 

You wish the mattress would swallow you as your head falls against the pillows.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As you hang up, Namjoon sits back against his chair and stares down at the exposed swollen head of his cock, already dripping with precum and ready to continue where he left off.

“No worries… Hadn’t even thought about it at all.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The One That Stays

Keanu Reeves x Reader Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4 Warnings- SMUT/NSFW

Chapter 5- Nebulousness

“Blurring all the lines, you intoxicate me.” -Camila Cabello, Never be the Same

A knock on the door had Y/n dragging herself off her sofa and padding barefoot towards her front door. Without thinking twice of it, she undid the chain lock and pulled it open, grinning giddily at the sight of Keanu; standing in the hallway with his helmet wedged between his arm and his side, riding back still over his shoulder. “You’re early,” she greeted after taking his hand and pulling him inside, giving him a quick peck at the side of his lips.

“I am,” Keanu held her for a minute in a lingering hug and then continued, “And I brought wine,” from his backpack, he produced a dark tinted bottle of white wine, offering it to Y/n.

“Thank you,” they walked to the kitchen and Y/n made a place for the wine in her refrigerator, “I made pasta,” she gestured to a covered pot on the stove.

“I didn’t think you were much of a cook,” Keanu joked as he helped her set up a couple plates and then open an already chilled bottle of red.

Y/n made a noise of mock offense, her hand, almost swallowed up by her over-sized cable knit sweater going to the center of her chest, “That’s a bold assumption, I’m offended.”

“No you’re not,” he laughed. They set the plates on the table near the floor to ceiling window and before he joined her, Keanu shrugged off his jacket, drapping it to where she pointed to on the sofa, near a throw blanket laid on the back. “How was work?”

Y/n’s shoulders shook as she put her glass back down, “It was work, I’ve been working on projections for a product we’re launching this Christmas, if it goes well I could get a raise.”

“That’s great. What’s the product?” He probed, and Y/n’s insides bubbled excitedly at his genuine interest. The few men she had gone out with usually thought that her job was all numbers; a bore, and the couple who hadn’t; had accused her of being superficial for working in the beauty industry. 

“It’s an entire winter inspired line; a partnership with a beauty influencer,” for a couple minutes Y/n excitedly went on about the specifics of an eyeshadow pallet and some of the expected profits.

When she was finished, Keanu was still wearing a goofy smile, but it was mostly out of second hand excitement. Co-owning a company had given him a considerable amount of knowledge when it came to projected profits and pricing, hearing her talk about make-up though, that was something that he had trouble following, “I know those words mean something, but I have no idea what cream eyeshadow is. Is that like a color or....”

“It’s a type,” she corrected, “It’s better during cooler weather, very versatile. Well, enough about that, what about you, how was your day?”

“It was okay. My agent sent me a couple scripts a while ago and I finally got around to starting on them,” he explained nonchalantly.

Y/n raised her brows with silent intrigue, “Anything you like?”

Her cool interest was refreshing compared to the extremes of barrage of questions from those who were too interested and the blank stares of those who thought his job was reserved to what happened on camera. “Not really, they were okay, but they aren’t really for me.”

“Well, you’ll find something soon,” the light from the full moon filtering in, coupled with the dimmed blubs imbedded into the ceiling washed Y/n’s delicate features with a cool glow. With her face free of product and half of her hair only held back by a tiny black hair clamp, strands fell out the sides, casting dark shadows on her skin; she looked almost ethereal. 

“Yeah,” Keanu nodded, “But I don’t know, I’m enjoying the down time more than I usually do,” by then, his free hand had reached across the table, meeting hers half-way, his thumb tracing her knuckles. In response, Y/n just blushed, biting her lip as her cheeks took on an almost unnoticeable shade of pink.

When they were finshed with dinner, Keanu helped her clear up and afterwards, they had moved on to their second bottle of wine, lingering in the kitchen long after they had finished with the dishes, when Y/n’s eyes widened, “I almost forgot, I wanted to show you something.”

“What is it?” Keanu laughed, watching her grab the bottle and encourage him to follow her lead.

They walked down the hallway he had seen on his first visit to her place, when he picked her up for their first- well, ‘forth’ date. It was just a bit longer than the front hallway, but was lined with doors on both side, going about thirty feet in and ending with a simple set of white double doors. Y/n turned the knob of one side, pushing it in, and Keanu followed her as she flicked on a light switch; presumably, her room.

It was nice, and Keanu wasn’t sure what he expected, but it somehow suited Y/n. A large bed at the center of the room, was pressed with it’s head to a cream wall, a set of abstract paintings hanging a couple feet above it. The wall to the left was interrupted by two doors, both with shiny gold hooks, set about five feet apart. The flooring was a dark colored hard wood but her bed sat stylishly upon a fluffy white rug that came out a few feet on all sides. Furniture was minimal; a couple shelved nightstands, both topped with matching antique lamps, but only one packed neatly with books, a couple chargers and other little trinkets. There was a dresser, and finally at the awing, full length window, covered by pale gold drapes, a wide vanity, the top decked with various perfumes and beauty products.

“You room?” Though the answer was plainly obvious, Keanu asked anyway. 

“Yeah, you can sit on the bed. Or where ever you want,” she gestured around, pointing out a printed floral, accent chair and the other at her vanity. When he opted, for a reason that he couldn’t attribute to anything other than the wine, for the floor, Y/n giggled musically, “The floor?”

“Yeah, it looked comfortable,” he patted the spot next him, and Y/n sank down, cross legged holding a carved wooden box in her lap, “Is that what you wanted to show me?” He questioned, intrigued.

“It is,” taking a long swing of her wine, Y/n set her glass a little ways from the rug, then cast the cover of the box aside. From where he sat, it seemed to be filled mostly with pictures, mixed in with a couple odds and ends; key rings, a tiny stuffed animal and some other telling treasures. The printed photographs were her focus though, and she sifted through a few, looking for the right ones. “Here,” she finally offered, depositing a few in her lap, “I know I said you’d never see them, but I thought about it, and maybe prom pictures weren’t so bad.

Keanu placed his glass a couple feet away, looking through the memories Y/n had handed him. Most of them were in fact, from her prom, and on the white backs, they were dated for 2009. She looked almost the same, though, her hair was longer and she looked a more of a child than the woman he sat next to. What a difference ten years could make. Most of them were of her and Julie, though there were others taken with a large group. The remainder appeared to be from college, mostly taken on places around a campus. 

“This was taken on spring break during my last year in college,” she pointed one out, of her and Julie and two men, probably their age, one with his arm loosely around Julie, the other hugging Y/n from behind, “That’s my college boyfriend, Andy. I met him after my run in with the I.T guy.”

“Miami?” The beach seemed familiar, though Keanu couldn’t readily recall the last time he had been there.

“Mhm,” she hummed her response, “Julie planned the whole thing. Well, if you call, going to the airport and booking the cheapest last minute flight ‘planning’. That trip was a mess,” she continued and her smile suggested that even with all the bumps along the way, her last spring break as an undergrad had been more than memorable, “We weren’t exactly rolling in money, so we all had to share this one tiny hotel room, with one bed and a bathroom the size of a matchbox. And if things couldn’t get worse, the guys thought it would be cost effective to save money on street food, and ended up spending the first two days with food poisoning.” 

“That sounds terrible,” Keanu scoffed, mirroring her amused smile, “How’d it turn out?”

“With the exception of their pride, they got over it pretty quickly. And afterwards, it was actually really fun. We skinny dipped on a private beach, almost got arrested for trespassing on that beach. We got drunk, went hiking and at some point, Julie talked onto this boat party thrown by a pro league footballer. It was awesome.”

“Sounds like fun. What happened between you and Andy?” He wasn’t jealous, it would be ridiculous, but Keanu was curious, always eager to learn more about her.

“Nothing really,” Y/n shrugged, “He wanted to move to New York, go to grad school. I wanted to stay here for my MBA, so I did,” for a minute, Y/n continued looking at the picture and her face fell a little, “He asked me to go with him, and when I said no, he.....” she scoffed, “He said that I never really loved him.”

“Didn’t you?” Besides Y/n’s head resting on Keanu’s shoulder, they weren’t touching, their thighs kept apart by about an inch of space.

“I don’t know.....I don’t think,” she paused, swallowing thickly, “I don’t think I’d know if I did. I mean, how do you even know? Do you just wake up and decide you’re in love with someone? Do you feel the same way you did before? How do you know if you can’t make sense of it; identify it, measure it”

Keanu mulled on her words for a while, thinking carefully before he spoke, knowing his next words might be risky. He shouldn’t say them, he thought, but he did anyway. “Maybe you always know; from the beginning, when everything changes, when you can’t them off your mind and the thought of them makes you smile. Maybe its simple, and all it takes is one night,” Y/n shifted and their eyes met, something that should have been new, but was instead, oddly familiar flowed between them. A little reminiscent from the first night on the balcony, but more so on their first ‘in person’ date and on their afternoon at the beach. Bits and bits of whatever it was during their lengthy phone conversations; the ones where they'd spend so long talking, hours into the night, that they’d fall asleep, the line dominated by even breathing and soft snores until one of them would rouse, barely awake and whisper a quiet ‘goodnight’ to the other. “Or one day,” he finally added in an attempt to cover his tracks.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled questioningly. Even if she knew what he meant, she still wasn’t willing to believe it. Would she know it if she felt it? What if Keanu was wrong and it was too soon. Like Julie and his friend had said. They were supposed to be going slow.

“I really like you,” he said quietly, breaking the short bout of silence, his face close to hers. Y/n could smell the alcohol on his breath and the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. On anyone else, it might have been off putting, but something about Keanu, it was just.....intoxicating, “I want to kiss you.”

“We’ve kissed before,” Y/n breathed nervously. No moment had ever felt that way, so private, like there was something buzzing around them, pushing them together. Her hand slid from the softness of the rug, resting on his thigh, a silent signal that she wanted it to happen.

Keanu’s hand rose to cup her cheek, tangling with escaped dark strands; they felt like strands of silk between his fingers. He had known her for two weeks, they had been doing....whatever it was that they were doing for a measly one week. But still, Y/n was unlike many of the woman Keanu had gone around with, she was like a breath of fresh air, and if people were water, she’d be champagne. “We have,” he cocked a faint half smile, “But not the way I want to kiss you right now.” Taking a deep breath, Keanu pressed his lips to Y/n’s cradling the back of her neck with his free hand.

His lips melded with hers easily, like two puzzle pieces just being put together, working so well with each other. His tongue slipped passed the barrier of Y/n’s teeth, tangling with hers and she found that he tasted unsurprisingly of wine. So much was poured into the gesture; passion and lust with notes of something softer and more lasting. Something that would make it past a steamy encounter, that Y/n wasn’t sure if she was ready for, but wanted to hold on too.

As things grew more heated, Keanu pressed her against the base of the bed, and Y/n adjusted her legs, spreading them so he was kneeling between them. His tongue swirled around hers between teasing nibbles on her bottom lip, and her hands roamed his strong back, eventually tangling in the ends of his hair. 

Soon enough, Keanu found the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head clumsily, before Y/n did the same with his t-shirt, not caring where it fell as she tossed it aside, “I thought we were going slow?” Y/n questioned against his lips, smiling as Keanu’s fingers hooked into the waist of her yoga pants, urging them into a laying position.

He hovered over her, taking a moment to admire her bra clad chest, cleavage pushed up a little by cups decorated with light grey lace and silk,  before peeling her pants off at a tantalizingly slow pace, “I can go slow,” Keanu smirked, lifting her left leg, placing an open mouthed kiss on her inner thigh, near the lacy edge of her underwear.

Y/n’s breath shook and her toes toyed teasingly with the button of his jeans, slowly running the length of his crotch, watching him inhale sharply. When Keanu dropped her leg and leaned over her, Y/n reached for the fastenings on his pants, letting him kick of his shoes before pushing them off.

His lips made contact with the warm skin in the valley of her breasts, favoring the left with his hand after he  had quickly slipped it beneath the cup of her bra, groping and squeezing enthusiastically, “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, his lips still against her skin. Y/n’s bare heels rubbed against Keanu’s calves, her hands tangling in his hair.

Eventually, his hands slipped to her back, holding her to his chest as he clumsily undid the fastenings of her bra, helping her out of it and then letting it join the rest of their clothing. “Is this what you want?” Keanu asked, suddenly a little unsure of himself, not wanting Y/n to feel pressured just because they had gotten carried away.

“Yeah,” she exhaled with a steady smile, inviting him with her touch; fingers running along his back, nails barely grazing his skin, sending shivers though his body. With her other hand, still tangled in Keanu’s hair, Y/n urged him down into another passionate kiss, her legs wrapping around his middle, grinding slowly though encouragingly against his erection.

Once again, one of Keanu’s hands travelled to her front, fondling her breasts, and for the slightest second, Y/n faintly recalled the night when Julie so surly determined that Keanu was a ‘boobs man’. Though, the memory was pushed hastily aside when two of his digits invaded her underwear, startling her as he pumped slowly. His ministrations, the rough yet gentle texture of his fingers, touching her, sparked pleasurable shocks throughout her body, ones that Y/n swore she could feel in her fingertips. Her back arched, yearning for more, “Keanu,” she breathed heavily.

His response was a low hum as he continued favoring her chest, his tongue swirling around her hardened nipple, the fingers of his free hand pressed into the silky skin at her hip, probably already making bruises that that Y/n would have to remember the moment by. 

Y/n’s manicured nails sunk deeper into his back and she pleaded again with his name on her tongue, “Keanu,” she begged, sucking in a sharp breath when his fingers started going faster, her panties consequently slipping down her thighs, creating an excitable friction. When the flimsy lace garment was low enough, Y/n let her legs shake them off, gridding against Keanu’s stocky fingers. “More,” she begged.

Groaning when his still clothed erection brushed her thigh, Keanu let Y/n aid him his getting rid of the last bit of clothing between them; a pesky pair of grey boxers that didn’t make it too far. It barely took a minute for Keanu to line himself up with Y/n’s entrance, easing into her, admiring how her jaw slackened at the new sensation. 

With slow thrusts, Keanu marveled in how tight she was, feeling her warm, slick goodness around him, “You’re so tight baby,” he moaned through gritted teeth, the side of his head pressed to hers. 

Y/n’s grip dug into Keanu’s shoulder blades as she moaned a garbled plea, “Faster, go faster.” With a low, carnal groan, Keanu picked up the pace and as their bodies moved, the rug below Y/n felt oddly rough, rubbing against her bare skin. He felt so good inside her, stretching her, his generous length reaching her deepest point of pleasure. As they kept going, Keanu reached between again, them, his index and middle finger rubbing her cilt and Y/n moaned breathily, shutting her eyes and biting her lip at the added sensation. 

Eventually, the coil in the pit of her stomach was about to snap and Y/n was clawing at Keanu’s back, her nails raking across his skin, hard enough to leave angry red bruises, “I’m gonna.....god Keanu,” she moaned loudly.

“Do it,” he encouraged, his voice hoarse and low, his face buried in her hair, “I want to feel you come around me.”

With her breathing still ragged and heavy, Y/n moaned Keanu’s name again, clenching around him as he rode though her orgasm. Her legs, which were still around his waist, held their hips close and shook with pleasure as her back arched and she threw her head back.

Keanu was close behind her and when he was about to pull out, Y/n tightened her legs around him encouraging, “Come inside me baby,” she suggested, the overwhelming desire to have him lingering in her like that, giving that to him, clouding her judgement.

“Fuck!” He managed, the word muffled by his lips on her neck as he shot his hot release inside of her, his formerly controlled thrusts going sloppy and their thighs growing sticky with release.

Even after his own orgasm, Keanu lingered between her legs, and eventually, when he pulled out, rolling onto his back, Y/n winced at the emptiness. Their breathing slowed as the high took its time to fade, and as they adjusted on the floor, Keanu pulled Y/n to his chest. They didn’t speak- there wasn’t much to say, at least not right then, but Y/n and Keanu both knew that soon, they’d have to.

*******

Tagging- @baphometwolf666  @kindainlovewithkeanu  @a-really-bi-girl  @soarocks  @harrisongslimited

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Passing Through

Part Five: Thaw

A/N: The storm is still swirling over the mountains and burying you in snow, but things start to warm up despite the chill in the air. 

Word Count: 5,034

The sound of your phone buzzing and the sudden flash of bluish light against the empty white walls of your bedroom jolted you awake, your eyes flying open as you took a quick breath in through your nose. Hmm? I didn’t set an alarm, what’s-  Your hand reached blindly for your phone, fingers feeling around in the dark until they caught the charger cable between them. Pulling it up off of the floor by the cord and then unplugging it, you checked to see what had woken you up. Before you could enter your password to swipe open the screen, you heard another sound that your still sleeping brain didn’t readily recognize as the opening of cabinets and clinking of glassware. Is that? But your question was answered by the hissing and sputtering of your ancient coffee pot and the nutty aroma as the brew started to drip. Oh. You sat up in bed, pulling your blanket up around your waist as you did. Ryan.

 You blinked a few more times and took another breath. You’d been dreaming, or at least you thought you had been, but as soon as you opened your eyes you lost every detail. There was music. I know that, and...light? It felt… You heard Ryan shuffling around in your cupboards as you tried to piece your fleeting dreams back together, but instead the events from the previous day and night came back to you with vivid clarity. Despite the drafty sliding door that lead out onto the patio and the faulty heat that was less predictable than the weather, the air temperature was warm. He must have kept the fire going all night. You dragged a hand through your hair, collecting the loose strands around your face and combing them back. I should get up...I need to… Though you hadn’t been nervous or hesitant around him at any point since your chance encounter in the coffee shop, you suddenly felt a flutter in your stomach at the thought of leaving your bedroom and seeing him, fresh from slumber and standing in your kitchen. You tried to chase the thought from your mind before it fully formed, but whereas your dreams didn’t want to be caught, it seemed this thought wouldn’t be deterred; what if I like it too much, him being here?  

 Your phone buzzed again in your palm, pulling your attention back to the present. Stop. You shook your head, clearing it of what ifs as best as you could, and focused on the text messages that had just come through. One was from Greg, your boss, and the other from Missy, both informing you that due to the weather, Jake’s was going to remain closed for the day, and that depending on how long the storm stuck around, they could potentially be closed the following day as well. Nothing like a snow storm to put a damper on your rent money. But as much as you depended on every shift you worked, you found yourself glad to have another day with Ryan. If he stays. You tried not to get too far ahead of yourself, tried not to assume that he’d want to spend another entire day with you, sitting on your floor in front of your fireplace and sharing the quickly diminishing contents of your fridge and pantry. You glanced out between the tilted slats in the blinds to see that big cotton ball flakes were still silently and steadily coming down. Though I guess he’s stuck here for now either way. From what you could see, it looked like around two feet had fallen, everything coated in a thick casing of snow. 

 You quickly responded to Greg and Missy, telling them to stay safe and to keep you posted about tomorrow. Dropping your phone onto the bed next to you with a soft thud, you swung your legs to the side to stand when another sound hit your ear and froze you in your tracks. It was the sound of his voice, and though you couldn’t hear every word and weren’t familiar with the song, you were captivated. You took a few steps closer to your door, hoping that you’d be able to hear him more clearly. You had, but you realized that he was only singing a few words at a time, then intermittently humming, and you wondered if it was a new song that he was working on, or an old song that he was trying to recall. You wondered if it had meaning, or if it simply made him happy, or if it was just what came to mind for no reason other than to fill the silence.

 “Halfway up ...rolling…” Straining your ears and holding your breath, you caught a few clear lyrics, incoherent hums filling in the gaps between them. You smiled to yourself as he reworked the line, adding to it. “Got halfway up that rolling hill…”  There you go. Something in the way that he sang, a sort of surprised satisfaction in his tone, made you believe that it was a new project, something he was still working on. You always admired songwriters. It was one thing to play music written by or for someone else; not that there weren’t innumerable ways to put your own distinct mark on a song, because there were. Every musician brought something new to every piece of music that they played, you knew that. But it was another thing entirely to conjure every bit of the song into being, to pull the melody from the air and the lyrics from your heart. He continued to try the line in different pitches, changing the cadence and timing. Wonder if I’ll get to hear it someday. You tried not to want it as much as you did, but just those few lyrics, just the hint of a rhythm, made you crave more of the song. Don’t, you warned yourself for what felt like the hundredth time since bringing him into your home.   

 Sighing, you pulled the oversized sweater that you wore more tightly around yourself, shrugging deeper into it as you pulled yourself away from his song, moving over to the mirror that hung on your closet door. Combing your fingers loosely through your hair, you twisted it into a rope, circling it up on itself and tying it off in a knot. A few strands inevitably fell free, and you tucked them behind your ears. Wiping the sleep out of your eyes, you gave yourself a once over; thick gray socks pulled up over black leggings, burnt orange cable knit sweater that was older than you were layered on top of a plain white long sleeved tee. You weren’t dressed to impress, but you were warm and as put together as you were going to be, and you couldn’t hide out in your room any longer. Leaving your phone behind, you took a breath and headed out into the hallway. 

 The second the door opened everything intensified; the warmth from the still crackling fire spreading over your cheeks, the familiar, cozy smell of your favorite roast drawing your lips into a sleepy grin. But it was his voice that made the biggest impact. Ryan didn’t just sing, you’d learned. He poured himself into every lyric and all the notes between with such passion that it was impossible not to feel it when he made music. If you want to know him, you just have to listen. You could listen all day, feet planted on the beige carpet, arms wrapped around yourself and his magic filling the air. 

 Instead, you took a few more steps and came through the hall to turn towards the kitchen. Sucking in a breath, you felt your eyes widen as you caught sight of him. He was wearing the same sweatpants and tee that you’d seen him in the night before, but now they bore wrinkles from being slept in, creases near the hem and sleeves that told of tosses and turns. His hair had dried overnight, but he hadn’t bothered to comb it or even drag his fingers through it. Yesterday it had been corralled beneath his cap but now, given a few hours of freedom, it curled and waved near his ears, and a stray strand dangled down to curve around his eye. Even though the snow was still falling, fluffy, white clouds clogging the sky, muted sunlight came through your windows to catch the honeyed highlights in his otherwise dark locks. You worked to control the rapid beat that your heart had taken without your notice as he opened a cabinet to search for sugar. 

 He’d been humming under his breath since you’d turned the corner, but a few more lyrics suddenly came to him as his socked feet arched and he rose to his toes to view the contents of the top shelf. “Roots growin’...put down roots, growin’ down through the ground…” Again, there was an experimental excitement in his voice as he played with the new piece. You couldn’t keep the smile from your face if you wanted to. “It’s the next one,” you said, finally revealing your presence. “Middle shelf, silver canister.” He turned, flattening his feet to the linoleum, the daylight shining in his eyes like fireflies in summer. Oh, he’s… He smiled before closing the cabinet to follow your instruction, opening the next one and retrieving the sugar. 

 “Thanks.” You nodded and he placed the sugar next to the coffee pot as it finished it’s brew, the tired appliance exhaling a final hiss before giving one last sputter, the light behind the orange cover coming on to confirm that the process was complete. “Mornin’,” he said then, turning to face you and leaning back against the counter. “I hope you don’t mind, I wanted to…” he gestured at the coffee that he’d made and shrugged. 

 Mind? You shook your head. He made me coffee and he thought I’d mind? He’s something else. With a smirk, you opened another cabinet and took down two mismatched mugs- one boasting a beach scene, the handle taking the form of a leaping dolphin, chipped purple lettering reading Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, the other depicting an owl, its feathers painted in reds and browns, it’s wise eyes wide and round. “Good morning, Ryan,” you said, and the second the words had left your lips, you felt something change. Oh, no. Those words tasted too good, like the flesh of a forbidden fruit, making juicy promises of sweet tomorrows. You cleared your throat and tried not to let it show on your face as you turned back to him, handing him the empty mugs. “Sleep well? Were you warm enough out here?” 

 You watched his cheek lift slowly into his left eye as his grin spread upwards at your questions. “Yeah,” there was a hint of that excited surprise that you’d heard in his singing as he answered you. Turning to the tired coffee pot, he poured the steaming hot morning elixir, and you thought you caught the same kind of self- admonishment in the slight shake of his head that you’d given yourself. Huh. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, slept real well, nice’n warm.”

 When was the last time he had a warm place to sleep? You couldn’t help but wonder. Days? Weeks? How long has he been on his own? You watched him set the carafe back on top of the hot plate, his shoulders rising and falling before he turned back around. 

 He locked his warm brown eyes with yours as he passed you the owl mug, saying your name- not Junebug, your real name. “Thank you,” he said with more sincerity than you’d ever heard those two words carry. Of course, Ryan, I couldn’t just... His eyes shifted for a second to the window across the space, at the storm that had swept in to derail his plans. “F’you hadn’t offered me a place to stay I don’t know where I’d…” He shook his head and you tried to shake the idea of him freezing under some overpass downtown from your mind. “Storm came outta nowhere’n I don’t know anyone out here ‘cept Cowboy’s brother’n…” He trailed off, eyes flicking downwards again before coming back up and bringing a small smile with them. “Just, thanks.” 

 You clasped your hands around your mug, palms absorbing the warmth from the porcelain. “Ryan, it’s…” You sighed and smiled, and you were relieved to see that he followed your lead. “You’re welcome.” You are. You tore your focus away from his gaze, attention landing on the sugar you’d helped him locate. You pointed your chin towards the canister and he followed with his eyes. “Need a spoon?” Pulling open the silverware drawer, you grabbed a utensil for him, holding it out between you. 

 “Oh, yeah, thanks,” he reached forward to take it from you, his calloused fingertips brushing yours for the most fleeting of seconds, but igniting a spark the way a match does when it strikes. He licked his lips and blinked at you as he leaned back against the counter. Did...no, you assured yourself that he didn’t feel it too. He sweetened his coffee, giving it a stir. “Myrtle Beach, huh?” He changed the topic to the souvenir that held his caffeine. “‘Been there a few times.” 

 Of course you have. You’d been there every summer from the time you were born until you moved out on your own, the family vacation spot holding a place close to home in your heart. You imagined him there on the smooth white sand, feet and chest bare as the sun tanned his skin. You could see him sitting with his guitar outside the fudge shop you used to visit annually, contributing to the bluesy songs that the employees there would sing as they poured the thick, gooey chocolate and coated pralines in sugar and spice. It was easy, you realized, to imagine him in your favorite places. It doesn’t matter, don’t think about that. “Yeah?” you asked as you brought your mug to your lips to take a sip. 

 “Mhmm,” he tapped his spoon twice against the rim of the mug before tossing it into the sink where it clanged noisily against the stainless steel. Did he do the dishes? A glance at the full dishrack on the counter answered your question for you. “I stop there sometimes when I’m headin’ back to visit family.” So he’s from the East Coast, too. “Played with some friends at the pier and the boardwalk a few summers ago.” He brought the colorful mug to his lips and gave a gentle blow to cool the liquid inside, ripples forming on the dark surface before he took a sip that left the bristly hair over his upper lip damp. His tongue came out to quickly collect the droplets stuck in his beard and mustache. “Thinkin’ ‘bout headin’ back that way soon. Next summer if not this one.”

 Without meaning to you saw yourself laughing and strolling the boards with him as the foamy sea swept along the shore, the bright orange sun dipping behind the horizon and the humming of insect wings filling the warm air. You imagined playing music with him, maybe with his friends- the ones he’d told you about last night- under the wooden gazebo where you’d stood to watch local musicians with Eli and your mom on your way back to the hotel after a long, sunny day on the sand. Too easy. But before you could change the subject, he was asking you how long it had been since you’d been there. How old is that mug? “Um…” you stalled, taking another drink and heading out of the kitchen, suddenly unable to share the small space with Ryan and your wishful thinking. He followed, bringing his coffee with him. Shrugging, you walked over to the living room, where he’d folded the blankets and sheets you’d given him, piling them neatly atop the still inflated mattress. “Maybe eight years or so?” Longer. You moved the mattress with your foot until it bumped up against the wall opposite the fireplace, then sunk down onto it. Big mistake. You were hit instantly with his scent as you sat where he slept; bar soap and tobacco and that indescribable smell that cold, crisp air leaves on your clothes and in your hair after you’ve been outside all day. Though you knew you shouldn’t, you took a slow breath in through your nose and imagined waking up wrapped in that scent morning after morning. 

 It was a losing battle with him right there, long legs bending so he could take a seat next to you, the mattress dipping with his weight to make the whole thing feel even more familiar than it should. “Think you’ll ever go back?” You watched his eyes travel to the flames in the fireplace, making sure that they didn’t need attention before settling back on your face, waiting for your answer. 

 Nodding, you stared straight ahead at the glow of the embers beneath the grate. “I hope so.” You thought about revisiting your home away from home with your brother often, wanted more than anything to revisit those memories and make new ones, the two of you laughing and enjoying the slow, simple happiness that you’d found in that place over the years. I’ve got bridges to mend before that can happen though. One step at a time. 

 Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Ryan smiled over the top of his coffee, the steam swirling in front of his eyes, making them even warmer than the fire that you sat before. “You will.” He said it so matter of factly that even though you couldn’t say when, you believed that you would. “Someday.” Someday. You heard the same hopeful quality that was in his tone the day before, when he talked about seeing his friends as soon as the snow let up. “That’s what’s great about havin’ favorite places.” You turned and his smile inched higher up into his cheeks. “You can always go back to ‘em. Whenever you’re ready.” 

 Am I ready? You blinked at him and felt your own lips twitch upwards, unable to avoid the contagious nature of his smile. “Yeah, whenever I’m ready.” But when will that be? Every time you thought about spreading your wings and jumping, you shriveled back inside of them and crawled away from the ledge. It wasn’t the fall that worried you, but the landing. You’d already crashed and burned once before. You weren’t sure you’d survive it again. Not alone, anyway.

 He cleared his throat and set his mug down by his feet, lacing the fingers of his left hand with those of his right the moment they were free. Binging his elbows up until his tattooed digits pressed against their opposite knuckles letting out a series of little pops, Ryan turned his head towards the rectangular window that took up most of your empty wall. “I’m guessin’ you’re not goin’ to work today,” he wagered, taking in the snowfall. 

 You were glad for the change in subject, glad that he seemed to sense it too. “Nope,” you sighed, leaning back against the wall, tilting your head so you could watch the snow as well. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.” 

 He chuckled, looking down through his long lashes as the laugh rumbled up from his chest, and you tried not to think about what it would feel like to press your hand there, to feel that happiness bubble up to the surface beneath his warm skin. Get up. Get up, get up, get up. You stood as he shook his head, that one unruly piece of hair falling rebelliously back down over his brow. “Stuck,” he blew air through his nose, squinting his eyes. “I’m not stuck, I’m,” You walked over to the window, two fingers moving the blinds aside. “I’m lucky.”  

 You closed your eyes and swallowed as you let go of the curved plastic blinds, letting them clack together, the draft that slipped in around the edges of the window chilling your fingertips. He just means that he’s lucky that he’s not outside, not that- 

 “I’m lucky. Not just ‘cause you gave me a place to stay. I’m...I feel lucky I met you, you know?” 

 Yeah, I know. You felt the same way about meeting him. Even if you never got to find out what waking up to him would be like, or how a laugh feels as it leaves his lungs, you had been lucky enough to find each other in the world on a day that you both needed it; lucky enough to find a friend in the storm. “Ryan,” you turned back to him, aware that there was emotion in your eyes that you couldn’t control. He was already looking at you, ready to receive your eyes as they fell to his. “Yeah, I-” 

 But you were cut short by the tingling ring of his phone from somewhere in his pocket. “Sorry.” He apologized with a sympathetic look as he reached for the phone, leaning to one side to make accessing his pocket easier as he dug the small plastic device out and glanced at the number. “Might be Virgina, maybe she’s callin’ from the motel or somethin’... I gotta…” 

 You shook your head dismissing his concerns. We were headed toward dangerous territory anyway. “No, that’s…” you gestured towards the phone as he smiled gratefully. “Go ahead.” You walked back towards the kitchen to give him privacy, not wanting him to feel the need to go outside to take the call. 

 “Hey, Virginia?” He answered, hopeful excitement in his question. “That you?” I hope he gets to see them today. You smiled as you crossed the vacant dining room, feet finding the tiled floor of the tiny kitchen. I should see about breakfast, maybe I have some…

 You didn’t mean to listen, but you couldn’t help but hear. His tone took a hardened edgen as he stood abruptly from the mattress, one hand raking through the ruffled nest of his hair. “Jackie?” You busied yourself with opening the refrigerator and counting your eggs. Who’s that? He’d told you about Cowboy and Virginia, Georgie and Robin and Oz and Louie, but no one named Jackie had come up in the stories that he shared last night. Before you could wonder if there was a woman in Ryan’s life that he’d forgotten to tell you about- no, that doesn’t seem like something he would do, stay in my home without telling me he’s in a relationship- He was speaking again. “Wait. Woah, woah, Jackie, wait.” Oh, that’s not… You realized quickly that it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having. He paced the living room but showed no signs of stepping out to finish the call, so you did your best to focus on putting food together. “Jackie,” you heard him say finally as you cracked eggs in a bowl. “Jackie, why are you callin’ me? It’s not…” He sighed and there was another long pause as he moved towards the window where you’d been just a few moments before. “Thank you,” he said, “but that’s…” Another pause that you tried to fill by taking a frying pan out of your cabinet and perching it atop one of the burners. “Jackie, listen to me please? There’s nothin’ to…No, we aren’t… Jackie? There’s nothin’ left to say, Jackie. I’m not comin’ back. I know that’s why you-” You’d poured the eggs into the hot pan and they hissed as he pulled the phone away from his ear and swore under his breath. “Jackie? I’m hangin’ up now. Please don’t call me again, okay?” He flipped the phone closed with more force than was necessary and tossed it to the mattress, letting out a sigh. Yikes. You heard him rifle through his pack, mumbling to himself as he pulled out a small tobacco tin and a sleeve of rolling papers.  

 You opened the utensil drawer and pulled out a spatula before pushing it back in with your hip. The sound of the rollers caught Ryan’s attention and he turned towards the kitchen as you started moving the quickly cooking eggs in the pan. 

 “I’m sorry, that was” he crossed over to lean on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space. 

 You shook your head and looked over your shoulder at him. “It’s fine, Ryan, don’t…” You waved one hand nonchalantly, the other still working to scramble breakfast. 

 “That was…” He blew out a breath and took a sip of his coffee, draining his mug and setting it down next to the tin. Guess he’s gonna tell me anyway. You switched off the pan, letting the eggs finish cooking in the residual heat, and balanced the spatula against the handle. He waited until you turned to face him to continue. “Her name is Jackie, and I used to… we were…” he squinted his eyes as he searched for the word. 

 “Together?” You supplied, raising one eyebrow. 

 “No,” he said firmly. “No we weren’t really together she… we met when I was stoppin’ in Utah last year, and she just…” He sighed and pushed his hand over his hair again, seemingly frustrated at his inability to explain what this woman meant to him. “It wasn’t right,” he said finally with a small movement of his head back and forth. “It never was, she just… we met and then she kept… she was tryin’ to make me stay, right from the beginnin’, I see that now. She knew I was just in town a couple’a days, but she was tryin’ to fit me into her life there in Ogden. I was stayin’ with her when I got the news about Cowboy and it just…” He picked up the tin and held it up. “You mind if I roll this, I’ll smoke it outside a’course.” 

 You nodded and gestured that he should go ahead and he thanked you. You didn’t know this woman, but what he’d told you and the way he sounded when he was on the phone with her was enough for you to form an opinion, and it wasn’t a favorable one. She took advantage of him when he was grieving. That’s… 

 “After I left Odgen, I came back, few weeks later, and we… I tried but I just… I couldn’t be what she wanted me to be, you know? It was never gonna work.” You watched him start to work on crafting a cigarette. “She didn’t,” he shook his head, eyes focused on the tobacco leaf and the thin paper he was rolling it in, shifting his fingers to craft a perfect cylinder. “She wasn’t a cheater, she didn’ lie or anythin’ she just,” he pinched the empty bit of paper at the tip and gave it a small shake. “She wanted me to change too much.”

 You frowned, though he didn’t see it. You’d only known him for a day and a half, but you couldn’t imagine him any other way; you couldn’t imagine wanting him to change. But I never thought Kevin would expect me to change, either. They  were a slightly different set of circumstances- you’d been with Kevin for years and had already made enormous lifestyle changes for him when he’d decided that they weren’t enormous enough. From what Ryan had told you of Jackie, she seemed to like the package that he came in but didn’t care for the things that made him Ryan and not somebody else. She wanted to change him from the start. That’s so...selfish. Your frown deepened as you turned back to the stove and removed the pan from the burner, sliding it to another so it could cool. “I’m glad you didn’t,” you faced him again, expecting him to still be busy with the cigarette, but he’d finished with it by the time you turned around. 

 That same look crossed his face that you thought you saw earlier, the look that you felt on your own face as you told yourself not to get too close to something that was only going to be gone soon. “Yeah,” he said, tapping the cigarette twice against the countertop. “Yeah, me too.” He blinked and tilted his chin towards what you’d been cooking. “Did you make breakfast?” You nodded and he grinned, shaking his head and erasing the leftover stale feeling that talking about Jackie had brought about. “I was gonna offer to do that, to thank you for-” Again the ringing of his phone cut the conversation short and he took a breath before going to retrieve it. This time a relieved expression crossed his face as he read the caller ID. “This time it is Ginny,” he said, motioning to the door. “I’m gonna step out an talk to her and then we can,” he pointed to the eggs as he picked up his jacket, sticking the cigarette between his lips. “An I got somethin’ I want you to hear, Junebug, song I woke up with in my head. Want you to give it a listen. That okay?” The phone rang again in his hand as he waited for your response. 

 Your heart beat like the steel drum in Max’s store as he shoved his feet into his boots. “Yeah, Ryan, that’s okay.” 

 He smiled, cigarette still between his lips as he opened the phone and stepped toward the back door. “Ginny?” He pulled the door shut behind him and you stared at it, rooted in place. 

He wants me to listen to the song he’s working on? You cast your eyes around the room, from the dishes he’d done to the coffee he’d made, the fire he’d kept lit and the blankets he’d left his warmth on. It was easier last night to pretend that this wouldn’t be a problem, that you wouldn’t want all of this as much as you did. But his pack, guitar and hat looked good in the corner of the room. Oh, no.  

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @lexxierave​ @thesumofmychoices​ @songtoyou​ @traeumerinwitzhelden​ @gollyderek​  @breanime​ @obscurilicious​ @malionnes​ 

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed! (and if i added or removed you in error, I apologize!) 

[artificialqueens]

Coming Home (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt

Home at last after five months on the road. Roy finds himself with a small truckload of Amazon purchases and a mermaid asleep on his bed.

Fluff, sweetness, and a little bit of serious conversation.

Based on Instagram, it looks like Roy might be seeing someone, although given how private he is with his personal life it’s not 100% sure. If so, I’m with Danny on this one in terms of just wanting to be sure he doesn’t get hurt.

So happy that folks are enjoying what Miss Alyssa and I are up to as well!  I can’t believe she talked me into collaborating on smut.  Actually, I can, but still… Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

See you soon!

Home, where r u?

The texts showed delivered but unread, out of the ordinary for someone who at times seemed to be physically connected to his phone.  The first was sent at LAX as soon as he had his luggage, the second moments ago as the Uber pulled up to the curb.  Staring at it didn’t make the message change though, and he sighed before pocketing the phone and pulling out his keys.

Roy dragged himself over the threshold, heaving one and then two suitcases in before shutting the door.  He paused for a few seconds, leaning on them heavily, before straightening and turning to move further into the house.

“Well fuck.”

True to his word, Jamie had gone ahead and picked up all of his held mail.  His progress was blocked by the assortment of boxes, bags, and padded envelopes piled over the couch and coffee table, not to mention the small drift of legal sized envelopes and magazines spilling across them all.  When he’d been ordering things from Amazon over the last five months away from home, it hadn’t seemed like this much…

Laughing quietly, he picked his way over a stack of boxes and continued down the hall, stopping to flick the light on in his sewing room.  From the doorway, everything was just as he left it, dust covers on the sewing machine and serger and bolts of fabric in the corner.  Being on the road and spreading Bianca’s hate was something he wouldn’t trade for the world, but he sorely missed creating.

Roy headed back into the kitchen in search of water and maybe a glass of wine.  A couple of minutes later, he settled down with both, tossing his hat onto the table and resting his elbows on it.  He frowned as the hat made an odd scraping noise - the snapback was plastic, and that sounded like metal moving on wood.  Curiosity piqued, he set down the wine and lifted the hat to peer underneath.

The culprit turned out to be a long safety pin, one he couldn’t remember leaving on the table.  His were gold-tipped and shorter, and he picked it up to study further.  A silver crescent moon dangled off one end, a sense of familiarity tickling Roy’s exhausted brain.  Where had he seen that before?

He stared at the object for another thirty seconds before realization hit.  When it did, he felt his cheeks ache from the force of the smile stretching his lips.  Folding the earring into his palm, he pushed up from the table and headed down the hall again, wine forgotten.

Roy paused outside his bedroom door, listening intently for signs of movement.  Under the hum of the air conditioning, he could just make out an intermittent buzz.  Grinning even wider, he opened the door and stepped inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the low light.

The flickering light from the candles he left around the tub bathed the room in shadows.  Next to the chair, a pair of worn leather boat shoes laid at right angles as if their owner had kicked them off and simply let them fall.  His extra charger cable draped across from the nightstand to the bed, connected to a phone clutched in a tattooed hand.

Curled up on top of the duvet with fingers tucked under his cheek, Danny snored quietly.

“There you are.”

No response.  He tried again a little louder.

“Pussyface?”

The snoring continued, and he shook his head in fond exasperation.  Moving to the dresser, he pulled out a pair of boxers and a clean T-shirt, tossing them on the bathroom counter.  He brushed his teeth and dropped his dirty clothes into the hamper without any attempt at being quiet, but still no movement from Danny.  Shrugging, he stepped into the shower, humming Loco’s song from Jamie.  The hot water relaxed muscles tense from travel, and he found himself blinking heavily as he dried off and dressed.

He blew out the candles, turning the nightstand light on low.  Danny’s phone screen came to life as he prised it from his unconscious grip, his own texts popping up in notifications.  He wasn’t intending to be nosy (he had Danny’s unlock code anyway), but couldn’t help noticing the calendar appointment simply titled “Willow home”.  Warmth bloomed in his chest, and he set the phone on the nightstand quietly.

Years of experience told him that dead weight mermaid wasn’t easy to move, which meant Danny would have to be woken up.  Roy sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his shoulder gently.

“Pussyface, you’re on my side.”

Danny scrunched up his nose and buried his face further in the pillow.

“Wake up and move over.”

An annoyed grumble.

Roy nudged him in the ribs, picking up the keys and wallet that had spilled out of Danny’s pockets and setting them next to his phone.

“C’mon queen, I wanna go to bed.”

Danny’s eyelids fluttered, and he swatted clumsily at the fingers brushing his hair back but still didn’t move otherwise.

Time for the big guns.  Calling up Bianca’s voice, Roy leaned over and spoke right into his ear.

“Adore, I want my corset back.”

That got a response.  Danny’s eyes flew open and he sat up so fast that Roy barely avoided being head butted.

“Not funny-”

He had just enough time to register sleepy outrage turning into delight before Danny’s arms wound around his neck, pulling him flat in a tight hug.

“Willow!  You’re home!”

Roy laughed at the strength of his stranglehold, giving back as good as he got even from the awkward twisted sprawl.

“Lemme up pussyface,” he eventually spoke with his nose squished into Danny’s shoulder, “I can’t breathe.”

As soon as he released him, Danny scooted over to the other side of the bed, unzipping his sweatshirt and tossing it carelessly onto the floor.  His jeans followed in short order, and he wriggled under the covers.

“Cuddle?”

The indulgent smile felt permanently etched onto his face, but Roy didn’t care.  Chuckling, he climbed into bed and held out his arms, waiting for Danny to make himself comfortable.

“I wanted to stay awake till you were back,” Danny yawned, “but your rich lady mattress is too comfortable.”

“Gotta spend the money I’m making somewhere.”

“What about that guy?” Danny’s voice sounded smug and a little suspicious.

“Ummm.”

Roy felt his cheeks heat.

“Uhh huh.  You barely told us anything in chat, what’s the tea?  Court tried Insta stalking, but she couldn’t find out anything.”

“Well…I.  Yeah.”

Danny pushed himself up with a hand on Roy’s chest, expression falling into something serious for once.

“Willow.  You don’t have to, if you don’t wanna.  Just, like be careful okay?  I’ll stab a bitch if you get hurt.”

Roy swallowed and tried to put his thoughts in order, appreciating the sincerity but too tired to go into any depth.

“Isn’t that my line?”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

They fell into silence, faces inches apart.  Danny’s eyes gleamed gold, mouth soft with worry.  He studied Roy’s face, nodding to himself in some sort of satisfaction before laying his head back on Roy’s shoulder.

“Can tell me more over brunch?”

“Yeah.  I’m not trying to not tell you guys-“

“We know,” Danny poked him in the side, “and I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too.”

“Goodnight Willow.”

Roy reached over to turn off the light, kissing Danny’s temple.

“Night pussyface.”

[spiderman-homecomeme]

Day Two - Remember Me

AN: Y’all we made it!! I’m so excited to share this one with you guys and to see what our talented fandom has done! Here is my contribution to day two! It’s all kinds of sappy, soft, sweet, sad (peep the title) and just emotional in general, and I hope you guys enjoy it. <3

Again, thank you @spideychelleweek for making this all possible!

Prompt: Meet the Family

Here is some 2.9k odd of fluff and hurt/comfort! 

.

.

“Listen, I know you’re a huge nerd and everything, but..." Michelle’s voice holds a teasing, slightly judgmental edge as she struggles to hold three DVDs in one hand, hastily catching one as it falls out of her grasp. “Do you really need more than one copy of The Force Awakens?”

“Okay, first of all,” Peter starts, defensively holding one finger up, “One of those is Ned’s.”

MJ blinks slowly.

“Second of all, May bought me one as a random gift after I’d already pre-ordered it, and I couldn’t just… you know, give it back,” He reasons. “So, yeah. To answer your question: I do need three different copies.” Peter turns his attention back to organizing the box of various electronics hastily thrown together by past-Peter.

MJ still seems less than impressed with that explanation. “Okay. Why?”

“Well,” Peter shrugs, mouth pulling into a slight frown. “What if I lose one?”

When she doesn’t respond, Peter glances up, not surprised to find her staring blankly at him, her expression as impassive as it’s ever been.

He relents, letting her toss one of the three into the “give away” bin before promising to give the second back to Ned.

MJ, out of the kindness of her own heart— or out of boredom, either one— has been helping Peter, in her own words, “get his shit together,” for most of the afternoon. Too many times has she tripped over a stray book, his backpack, a hoodie or even a lone pair of boxers on the floor of his bedroom; times where she’s been unable to find the spare iPhone charger through all the spare papers, pens, and God knows what else in that mess he calls a “stuff drawer.”

Now, none of this is to say that Peter is the messiest person in the world, per se. He can be a relatively tidy person when he needs to be; his room is never littered with trash or the general grossness that comes with some teenage bedrooms.

But...

The cluttered state of Peter’s room is often a reflection of his own mind.

Which is why Michelle is there.

Plus, she’d seen one episode of Tidying Up with Marie Kondo one day when she was home sick from school, and with her room already pretty damn organized-- if she could say so herself-- she has to have some kind of outlet.

So, in a way, they’re really helping each other.

“Oh, hey,” Peter’s voice cuts through her internal monologue, his attention drawn to an ancient— by today’s standards, at least— video camera at the bottom of his second ‘random tech’ box. “Uncle Ben’s camera!”

For a moment, MJ’s ready to go into full-on Comfort Peter in the Best Way She Can Mode at the mere mention of his late Uncle, and she’s trying to decide whether she should do a full or half-hug when his fond, distant smile stops her.

“Wow, really?” She inquires cautiously, craning her neck slightly to get a better look at the artifact. “What’s on it?”

Again, Peter shrugs, flipping the screen open as he examines the device. “I dunno. Old home movies. Probably embarrassing videos of me.”

And he immediately regrets that last part, not having to see the cheshire grin that stretches across her features and the playful quirk of her brow to know that they’re there.

His shoulders sag as he rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You don’t wanna watch any, do you?”

“Um, of course I do.” Her brows furrow as she glances side-to-side. “Are you kidding?”

“It’s not even charged, though.”

“So charge it.”

A beat of silence passes between them.

“Okay, fine,” Peter gives in, though he seems to be far from annoyed, searching for the charging cable near the bottom of the tangle of wires.

MJ cracks another smile at him before continuing to sort through his DVD collection.

--

The old camera feels strange in Peter’s hand, heavier than today’s technology, screen casting a faint blue light as it turns on for what may be the first time in a decade. He’s surprised they’ve even been able to charge it, judging by how old this thing is.

MJ sits on the bed beside him, head resting against his, watching as he navigates the almost laughably ancient menu, an audible, very dated beep-click sounding at every push of a button.

Neither of them know what to expect as Peter clicks “play” on the first video.

The screen flickers slightly, the lens focusing on what they assume to be the old dining room. A man and a woman are setting the table, chuckling quietly to themselves as they joke with one another. They continue to chat idly as they place the plates and cups down, the context of the conversation lost.

They’re at first only vaguely recognizable to MJ, but the feeling is fleeting, the realization almost instantly dawning on her when she sees the mop of curly brown hair and dark eyes on the man, the cheery smile on the woman’s face.

Richard and Mary Parker.

The date at the bottom of the screen reads: August 4th, 2005, 6:07 PM

Her eyes pass a quick glance to the boy next to her, gauging his reaction. There’s a faint, barely-there grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he watches his parents interact, neither of them paying any attention to the person filming.

“I wanna help!” A tiny voice sounds from behind the camera, and the view shifts quickly, showing a much younger Peter bounding into the room, napkins in his tiny hands.

Mary turns, beaming as she talks to her son, crouching down to show him how to fold the napkins.

MJ feels herself mirroring the expression on his mother’s face.

Peter is still silent beside her, and she can only wonder how he’s truly feeling as they both watch. While she has certainly experienced loss in her near seventeen years of being on this earth, she’s never gone through the pain of losing a parent, much less two biological and one emotional.

“My mom and dad,” Peter finally speaks, as if introducing them to her, his voice quiet.

Under normal circumstances, she might tease him for pulling a Captain Obvious, but she refrains.

She hums in acknowledgement.

“It’s crazy…” He starts, eyes never straying from the screen. “I— I don’t really remember much of them, you know? They… Well, they died when I was really little, so I didn’t really get a chance to make very many memories with them, and everything I did remember I kinda forgot. But—” He pauses, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Hearing their voices… Even though it’s not really something I actually remember… It’s almost like… like it all comes back. Like, it’s so clear, you know?”

It’s said that the the voice is usually the first to go, the first thing one forgets about someone else after they’ve gone. And the more she thinks about it, the more MJ realizes just how true it is. She remembers, very specifically, the last time she heard her grandfather’s voice, but it had been so long since then. In that moment, right then and there, she can just barely recall it in her memory.

She knows, however, that if she were to hear it in a recording— or in this case, a home video— she’d remember once again.

Memories are funny like that, she guesses.

“Yeah,” she nods, gently knocking his shoulder with hers. “I get it.”

The video goes on, with the cameraman— who Michelle can only assume at this point to be Uncle Ben— having moved to the kitchen.

A younger Aunt May stands in the room, poring over a recipe on the counter. “Damn, May,” MJ jokes appreciatively, laughing as Peter gives her a playful shove.

“Don’t even!”

The lens zooms in on May’s face, and she turns, an exasperated grin breaking across her features as she rolls her eyes. She swats at the man behind the camera with a dish towel.

“Hey, how ‘bout you put that dang thing away and make yourself useful around here!” May teases, her eyes sparkling as an immature-for-his-age giggle is heard from the cameraman.

The video ends as the screen pans down, the next playing with only a second in between.

The date reads: August 7th, 2005, 3:36 PM

“Whatcha got there, Pete?”

This time, Aunt May’s voice can be heard from behind the camera, the smile in her tone infectious as the little boy beams up at her through a mop of curly brown hair. A slightly-too-big cowboy hat sits on top of his head. He proudly holds up the pinto hobby horse, jumping with excitement.

“It’s a horsey!”

Aunt May oo’s and aw’s. “What’s the horsey’s name?”

Little Peter pats the neck of the toy with semi-gentle, reverent hands. “Shunshine!”

“Shunshine?” MJ asks incredulously, doing absolutely nothing to hide the snort that had escaped.

MJ can hardly blame the kid though; she’s pushing seventeen and she still has trouble with consonant digraphs every once in a while.

“Hey!” Peter laughs along with her, though there was no stopping the red tint that settled over his features. “It’s a great name!”

“Very creative.”

“Shut up.”

Their joined laughter fades as the next few videos play, falling into a comfortable silence as the old Parker living room shows up on the screen. Red and blue streamers adorn the walls, dozens of balloons in the same shades touch the ceiling, a comically large Happy Birthday! is strewn across the banister.

The date reads: August 10th, 2005, 4:14 PM

The camera circles the room, showing off the decorations, before finally landing on the birthday boy himself.

“What’s your name, sir?”

A new voice full of mirth and humor asks from behind the lens; his father.

Young Peter looks up, a toothy grin stretched across his chubby face. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” he answers, emphasizing each word with a firm nod.

“And how old are you today?” His mother asks, tone laced with hushed excitement.

The boy smiles again, eyes wide, holding up four fingers.

“Four years old!” Both of his parents gasp-cheer.

August 10th, 2005, 5:23 PM

The birthday cake is simple; funfetti with chocolate frosting and red and blue sprinkles, a giant “four” candle placed in the center. Peter wiggles in his chair, eyes wide with wonder as he watches his mother light the wick.

“Are you ready, Peter?” She asks him, and he nods happily.

Happy Birthday is sung as it should be; full of enthusiasm, each singer being in a different key by the end of the song, cheers filling the room as the candle is blown out.

His mother plants a loving kiss on top of his head before smoothing down his unruly curls.

August 10th, 2005, 6:16 PM

The lens briefly goes in and out of focus, showing young Peter as he sits among torn wrapping paper and discarded boxes, his mouth stretched into a toothy smile as he looks at his presents. He jumps up, running around the room to give everyone an enthusiastic hug, thanking them over and over again for the toys.

August 10th, 2005, 7:02 PM

“Happy Birthday, Pete!” His family cheers in a happy chorus.

Peter responds with an excited, “Thank you!”

Aunt May briefly glances up, flashing a smile at her husband behind the camera, before looking back at the young boy in her lap. Her arms surround him in a loose, but loving embrace.

“Did you have a good day?” May asks.

Peter’s answer is an excited nod, followed by an appreciative hum.

Though the snippets of this past life are brief, they’re still able to elicit a familiar warmth from within present day Peter, and he huffs out a quiet chuckle at the way his younger self babbles on and on about how cool his brand new cowboy boots are.

And it’s infectious, as MJ feels the stirrings of the same, incandescent feeling.

The next clip starts from a whole new perspective, it seems.

Seeing as now they’re much closer to the ground, and the excited giggling coming from behind the lens, it seems as if young Peter, at some point, had gotten a hold of Ben’s camera.

August 12th, 2005, 5:50 PM

The view is shaky as the little boy darts throughout the apartment, pausing every few feet to film one of his relatives— though he only gets their legs in the shot; he’s only just pushing 3’1”, after all.

“Whatcha doin’, Pete?”

A new voice can be heard as a pair of work boots come to a stop in front of the boy, one they hadn’t heard yet.

Michelle can feel Peter freeze at the sound, and she glances at him through the corner of her eye; his gaze is still trained on the small screen, his smile tightening.

Uncle Ben himself crouches down, his tall body barely fitting into the frame, the top of his head partially cut off. A broad smile is stretched across his kind face, green eyes looking over the lens and at the boy holding the recorder.

“Filming,” young Peter says simply.

“I can see that! Got anything good yet?”

The camera moves as the boy nods proudly. “Uh-huh. Just like you!”

“Just like me?”

“Yeah! Are you proud?” Though the word comes out more, “poud.”

“Of course,” Ben chuckles gently, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair, eyes crinkling as his smile widens. “I’ll always be proud of you, bud.”

The video pauses, the screen frozen on the happy scene.

Present-day Peter hasn’t relaxed, his lips pressing together into a thin line, releasing a weighted breath as his thumb hovers over the play button.

MJ’s stomach churns with a new sense of guilt. “We don’t have to watch anymore… if you don’t want to.”

He nods quietly, slowly closing the screen, gripping the camera in his hands, knuckles nearly turning white at the pressure. Michelle sits, arms folding across her chest as she faces the internal struggle of what to say next, still unable to shake the unease festering in her gut.

“It’s just—” Peter starts, his voice cutting off. He sniffs again, glancing away as he preemptively wipes at the corner of his eye. “Hearing him again… his voice… seeing him actually talk...” He shakes his head. “It just— It got to me, I guess…” He trails off, his gaze still trained on the wall in front of them.

MJ places a hand on top of his, watching his face as he continues to speak.

“And I thought I was… good now? I don’t know. I mean,” he swallows, trying his best to keep his voice even. “I know that you never really forget them, that you never really move on… And everyone always tells you that it’ll get easier but it doesn’t... But, I guess I just thought that I was actually doing better. That it really had gotten easier. Maybe I was the exception... I stopped thinking about him every second… I had some voicemails— that he’d left me, before he… you know… but I’d never listened to them, I guess… because I was too afraid. Of what? I don’t know...”

She gives his hand a comforting squeeze, her own heart pounding in her ears.

“Like, I know that it makes sense that I don’t really remember what my parents sound like, their voices. ‘Cause, you know, I didn’t get the chance to. But I never—” His voice is caught in his throat, the shakiness making it harder and harder to speak. He finally turns to look at her, bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes clouded with tears.

“I never thought I’d forget his.”

At that, without a second thought, she opens her arms, and he falls into them easily. She wraps him in a warm embrace, his face burrowing under her chin. He doesn’t weep, tears falling silently instead as she rubs soothing circles on his back.

And she doesn’t know how long she holds him like that, how long they sit there. No words are exchanged between them, though none are really needed.

“Sorry… For making you watch that,” MJ’s voice is nearly inaudible as she mumbles into his hair. “I shouldn’t have pressured you.”

“No, uh—” This time, he shakes his head, the quiet sniffle between words not going unnoticed. “No. No, it’s okay,” he reassures her, finally pulling back, though he still stays in her arms. “It’s actually really nice… seeing my parents. Seeing Ben. I’m not gonna say that it’s like they never left... But it’s like they’re still with me, he’s still with me, in a way.” His lips quirk into a sad smile, his hand reaching up to wipe at his eyes again. “And… I’m glad you got to see them.”

Michelle finds herself easily returning his bittersweet expression.

While she’d never had the chance to meet his parents, from the short clips she saw, she could tell that they loved each other and that they truly loved their son. She’d also never properly met Uncle Ben, only seeing him in passing as he’d pick up Peter from middle school, or come to decathlon meets in their Freshman year. It wasn’t much, only snippets of their actual lives, but even the smallest glimpse made her feel closer to Peter, to his family.

It was a feeling she’d treasure for years to come.

Perhaps in a more emotionally stable state, she’d make fun of herself for being so cliche, so dramatic. But at this point, right in this moment, she didn’t care.

Her lips press together into a small, faint smile as she takes his hand in hers again.

“I’m glad I got to see them, too.”

[star-nova]

The Lives of the RiffRaff:  Sophia Bolshevik-Elsie’s Boyfriend

Previous: 

We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister Kali Muburu-Hair Tracy Kwan-Vergil Franz Fawke-Hecklers James Weaver-The Preacher Mamoru Hayagawa-Three Weddings Charmain Dekker-Frankfort Talia Santiago-Queen of the City

(WARNING: Depictions of rape/sexual assault) 

In a town like Tanager, your business is everyone else's business. It's because there aren't enough people, and therefore not enough businesses, to mind only your own. The only way to keep your neighbors' watchful eyes away from you was to do everything by their specific codes; follow the pack, never take the road less traveled, and never do anything that may be considered “against the grain.” Small-towners are so starved for difference because it's so rare, yet at the same time, they're afraid of it. If you stood out at all, you were the subject of both fascination and horror, and therefore you were labeled a troublemaker.

In Tanager, I stood out because I tried too hard not to stand out. I've always been quiet, preferring not to speak or have others speak to me, and if somebody did speak to me, I tended to lock up because I had no idea what to say. To not know what to say was considered a crime in Tanager, where everyone always had something to say. Not only that, but they thought I was childish. At twenty-three, I still played with dolls and chased butterflies and jumped rope in the park with my sister and Ellia. I didn't understand why you were expected to stop having fun for fun's sake once you reached the age of adulthood. If anything, your sense of wonder should increase as you're more and more able to see the world for what it is.

In Frankfort, we could jump rope in the park and watch the people pass by without so much as a glance in our direction. We could start up games of tag and hop along the stepping stones in the brook, and no one asked why we were darting around “like we ain't got nowhere to go,” as our neighbors would put it. I could catch all of the butterflies I wanted and no one paid me any mind. In such a big city with so many businesses blended together, you don't have the time or energy to mind anybody's but your own.

Frankfort was a magical place, where the unwritten rules and regulations of Tanager did not apply. In Tanager, I was often side-eyed and whispered about because of my quiet nature and my childishness. I once overheard a neighbor say, “Sophia's like a six-year-old. She just goes along with whatever you say and doesn't have anything to say for herself.” My appearance didn't help matters; though I'm three years older than Elsie, I'm also several inches shorter. A cherub-like face with apple cheeks isn't cute anymore when you're twenty-three. Elsie and I were both born with the typical blonde heads of Appalachia, but mine had darkened to brown by the time I was fifteen. Elsie's would have stayed blonde if she hadn't dyed it dark red. The Hecklers went around calling her Ronald McDonald. I think she looks more like Angela Chase.

Our appearances don't matter in Frankfort either, except when they do. The guys at the bar at Clarke's Tavern make eyes at us, and on our second night in the city, we went to a club where men wanted to dance with us and told us we were “a couple of real beauties.” Elsie and I had never in our lives been called beauties. Charmain Dekker's nose and harelip, the subjects of real contention in Tanager, were entirely ignored in Frankfort in favor of her curly dark hair and her soft hazel eyes—uncommon in Tanager. Nobody called Ellia “lanky,” and her hair was compared to sunshine rather than straw. And in the magical city of Frankfort, my sister, largely ignored by the male population of our hometown, had managed to attract a boyfriend.

Elsie and I slept in the same room in the rental house in Frankfort; we didn't mind, as we had shared a bedroom until I entered high school. As we were on our way to sleep one night, Elsie told me that she'd met somebody when we went out to the arcade the other day, and she was planning to see him again.

“Met somebody?” I asked, just for clarification. “As in...somebody somebody?”

“He's pretty cute,” Elsie said. “His name's Kyle.”

“How'd you meet?” I asked her. I was tired from a day spent shopping and streetcar-touring, but this new development was far too interesting to sleep on.

“I was waiting for the NeoGeo machine,” Elsie told me, “and he was on it. I was watching him play for a while. We started talking about the games, then we started talking about other games, then we started talking about other stuff. Then he said I was pretty cute, and he asked me for my number. I gave it to him, and, well, the rest is history.”

“Well,” I said through a yawn, “good for you.” I was too tired to say much else. Elsie gave me a mischevious little smile and turned out her light. Truly, we were in a different world if my sister, ignored by guys for most of her life, was able to find somebody. A part of me envied her, which wasn't anything new. It was just another thing she had an advantage over me in: she was taller, she was prettier, she was much more confident, and even her name—Elissandra--was longer than mine. Now she had a date before I did. There were guys in the city who talked  to me and asked me for my number, but they never followed up. Oh well, I looked forward to meeting him either way.

Kyle was tall and thin as a rail. He was clean shaven, with blonde hair that went everywhere, and he wore glasses that made him look sort of like a young Bill Gates. My first thought was that he looked like a noodle, or like Napoleon Dynamite. I shouldn't have been judging him on his appearance, since I had my own appearance judged more times than I could count. But the truth was that there wasn't much else about this guy besides the fact that he did look like Napoleon Dynamite. He didn't say anything when Elsie told him, “This is my big sister, Sophia.” When I said hi to him, he said “Hey” back, but his voice was dry and uninterested. When Charmain offered him some of the tea she'd bought in a shop down the street, he just shook his head and sat himself down on the couch, his legs spread wide apart. “He's a shy boy,” Elsie said, patting his shoulder. “He was probably in the middle of a game when I called him up.”

“I wasn't,” Kyle told her.

“Ray lets us use his PS4,” Elsie said. “We'll play a few games. Sounds good?”

“Sure it does,” Kyle said. He was looking at the wall, not at her.

Elsie left to go and fetch the games. Charmain, who always preferred outdoors games to videogames, left us alone. Talia was out in the city, surely causing trouble, and I figured Ellia was in her room watching Netflix. I went to work setting up the PS4. I had nothing to say to Kyle, and he had nothing to say to me. I felt bad that he seemed so uneasy around us. I fumbled in my head for a conversation-starter, but I knew how hopeless it would be. It would come out as nothing but stutter and babble, and he would feel even more uncomfortable than he already was.

It was only after I had connected the last of the cables that I noticed Kyle was staring at me.

“H...hi,” I managed to stammer. I tried to smile. I wasn't sure if I'd succeeded, until I saw him smile back at me. When he smiled, I finally knew what Elsie saw in him.

“Hey, Sophia,” he said, his voice still flat and dry, “c'mere, will ya?”

“You...you need something?” His eyes followed me as I made my way across the room and sat down on the arm of the couch. He started to scoot in closer to me, and I stood up. “I...what do you...what do you n-n-need?” I asked. Suddenly, I longed for Elsie or Charmain. I would have even felt okay with Talia walking in right at that moment.

“Nevermind,” he told me suddenly. “It's nothing.” Elsie had returned with a stack of games and a bag of Fritos, and I realized I'd been holding my breath.

Kyle was just as boring the next time he came around, and I was starting to wonder just what was the appeal of dating a human two-by-four, even if he had a pretty smile. But Elsie seemed happy with him, so it wasn't my place to judge. She brought him around to watch Guardians of the Galaxy with us, and he continued to be the most uninteresting person I had ever met in my life.

Charmain and Talia had gone out to see Talia's aunt, “Baroness” Maven, and Elsie and Ellia were going to go pick up the pizza. I wasn't too thrilled to be left alone with Kyle, but if I had objected, I would've had to tell Elsie what happened the other day. I couldn't think of any positives that would result from that. Besides, it was probably nothing at all and I was just overthinking; I had a tendency to see things that weren't really there. When the girls walked out the door, I got up from the couch and told Kyle that I had to get something out of my room.

“Whatcha gotta get?” he asked me in monotone.

“My phone,” I told him. It was charging in the socket next to Elsie's bed.

“I'll go get it for you,” Kyle said. “Where's your room at?”

I didn't like him asking that question. “N-no,” I stuttered. “I'll...I'll get it, it's fine.” I fled to  my room before he could say anything else. I unhooked my phone from the charger and sat down on my bed to browse the web for a while. I figured Kyle wouldn't care if I stayed here until the girls came back.

I heard the room door open and close. I looked up to find Kyle standing there. He was smiling again, and I hated how much I liked it.

I got up from the bed, slipping the phone into my pocket. “What...what do you w-w-want?” I asked.

“Just checkin' up on you,” Kyle said. He sat down on Elsie's bed and pretended to be very interested in the generic lavender-colored sheets.

“I'm fine,” I told him, “just checking Facebook.” I headed for the door, but then he grabbed my arm and pulled me down onto the bed beside him. I found myself looking right into his big Bill Gates glasses. He smelled like Old Spice.

I tried to move off of the bed, but he put his hand between my legs and made his way up my shorts. I jumped up and hit him as hard as I could. He recoiled, placing his hand—the one he'd just touched me with—on the spot where I'd hit. I ran for the door, and he sprung off the bed and grabbed me by my hair. “Don't be so difficult, Sophia,” he said. “You don't seem like a difficult girl. And if you get difficult with me then I might have to get difficult with you, and neither one of us wants that, do we, Sophia?”

I went to hit him again. He dodged it. I turned to flee, and he grabbed me again. His hand was right at my waistline. I never wanted to smell Old Spice again.

“Sophia,” he said, “ you care about Elsie, right?”

I knew that if I spoke, it would come out as nothing but blather. I might even cry, and there was no way I was letting him see that.

“I care a lot abut Elsie,” Kyle assured me. “She's a real great girl. You think your sister's a great girl, Sophia?” I was going to throw up. When I did, I'd make sure it was in his mouth.

“I wouldn't want anything to happen to her,” Kyle went on. “But if you tell anyone what went down today, I just might have to do something to Elsie. I wouldn't want that. I know you wouldn't want that either.”

He wasn't a man. He was a beast, a creature, the most vile thing that had ever crawled up out of the ninth level of hell to curse us with his evil presence. I finally managed to break free of the spell he had me under and I elbowed him in the gut. I ran, without really knowing where I was going or what I was doing. Elsie and Ellia are back now, I told myself. It was only wishful thinking; I was alone in the house with this demon. He slithered his way into the den and pinned me against the door with his gaze. He was a basilisk. Don't look into his eyes or you'll die in seven days...

It was like a nightmare where I couldn't move. He was coming closer to me. “Sophiaaa,” he sang, like he was playing a game with a child. “Think of your sister now, Sophia.” I backed away. I wondered where Talia kept all her knives. “I don't wanna see Elsie get hurt.” He was two inches away from me now and his hand was going down my shorts. Now I kicked and got him right in his erect dick. Now he was angry.

“If you do that to me again,” he said with his hot breath that smelled like A&W, “we'll both see what happens to Elsie.” He pinned me to the floor with his knee. His basilisk eyes bored into me and I was done...

I have no idea what happened. I must have fainted from the pain. My god, it hurt like hell, and even now it was hardly any better.

I was lying on my bed. I tried to move, and I felt something burn. I screamed. Someone put their hand on the back of my head and I slapped them.

“It's me, honey,” Charmain said. I felt her pull my blanket up to my chin. I tried to roll over, but I was burning. Rolling over meant rolling into an open flame. Charmain sat down on Elsie's bed, and Talia came round and stood beside her. I had never in my life been comforted by the sight of Talia Santiago until now.

Charmain reached out to touch my shoulder, hesitating for a moment as if she had to be careful not to break me. “Are you all right?”

I wasn't all right and I'd never be all right again. If you tell anyone what went down today, I just might have to do something to Elsie. If I opened my mouth at all, I would sign my sister's death warrant. I remained silent, and my whole body started to shudder.

“Should we go to the hospital?” Charmain asked. Did she know? How had she found out? I screamed at the top of my lungs for Elsie. Some horrible thing told me she was dead, that between now and the moment I had passed out, they had found her body tossed in some back alley somewhere. “Elsieeeeeeee! Elsieeeeeeee!” Talia raised a hand to slap me, but Charmain said, “Don't you dare!” and grabbed her wrist. She held me as I fell apart.

But then there was Elsie in the doorway, and it was all right, everything could be all right again. I made a move to fling myself out of the bed and go running for her, but the fire in my body quickly called me back to reality. I screamed, and in a moment Elsie was at my side. I held on to her. I'd never let her go, not ever.

“Oh, Sophia...” Elsie patted my head, which she did quite a lot even though she was the little sister. I could see Ellia standing in the hallway, listening.

“Where's Kyle?” I asked. Just the mention of his name made me feel cold.

“He left when you got sick,” Elsie said.

“Sick?”

“Yeah, sick,” Elsie said, patting me again. “Do you remember anything, Soph?”

Did I remember anything? I remembered that my mouth now had the power to end my sister's life, and it was all that monster's fault. He'd laid a curse on me. I started to cry.

Elsie kissed my head and turned me on the pillow. The pain was still there, but it wasn't quite so bad in the face of her gentle attentions. “Kyle said you threw up and pissed all over yourself. You couldn't even move to go to the bathroom.” She shook her head and regarded me with genuine sympathy. “What in the world did you catch, Sophia? You poor kid.” Usually I  hated when she called me “kid,” but in the face of everything else, it wasn't a problem. The sticky wet feeling in my shorts was nothing at all like piss.

“How...how did I...how did I get in h-here?” I asked Elsie, but I felt like I already knew the answer. My body tensed up.

“Kyle took you to bed,” Elsie said. “Ellia and I came in with the pizza maybe five minutes after, and he told us you'd gotten really sick and he had to go. He told us everything.”

Kyle took you to bed. He told us everything. An electric jolt went through my body. My head spun around like it had the day Ellia and I went on the swing ride at the county fair. I willed myself not to think about it, but my will wasn't strong enough. I threw up.

“Ew!” Talia moved a full two feet away from my bed. Charmain said, “Poor thing” and shook her head. Elsie went to pull the blankets away. Without a thought, I slapped her.

“Yikes!” Elsie took a few steps back. “Sophia, what was that for?” Her eyes were wide with disbelief, as if perhaps I was an impostor in place of the real Sophia. Maybe I was. Maybe that creature had the real Sophia with him. Still, if she pulled the blankets back she would see everything and know everything. That vomit-covered blanket was my only shield. I held it close to me with a Herculean grip.

Ellia said, “We gotta get her to the hospital.” Charmain knelt down on the edge of the bed, reached for my blanket—my shield—and said, “Come on, let's get this nasty thing cleaned up.”

I screamed. I screamed so loud that I was sure I could be heard all over the world. Charmain jumped up off the bed. Ellia cried, “Sophia! Sophia!” She said something else, but I couldn't hear it. All I could hear were my own screams, which must have rested dormant inside of me for my whole life, waiting to escape. I couldn't turn them off. I couldn't make them stop. Elsie had her arms around me and my head was pressed into her shoulder. Talia ripped the blanket away and tossed it to the floor. I couldn't stop her.

My bloody, stained shorts were right there in front of everybody.

[doux-ciel]

Victim Chapter Eight

|WARNINGS|: Graphic Violence, Death, Angst, Emotionally Heavy, Talk of Suicide.

⚠️YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!⚠️

Tagged: @erinisawriter @sugarmommamusings @theouterdark @pazwrites @godxblooded @farore5 @ghost-possum @delphwrites @sauwrites @seraphilth @felwrites @xanderswriteblr @writing-in-the-margins @wallpatterns @riftversus @remorse--less @cvlms @velvet-moss @niva-writes

*Let me know if you want to be added/removed*

Masterlist:  🔪🔪🔪

Message

I Never Lose. Either I win or I Learn. - Anonymous

Leyla

I turn to the left on the intersection of Figueroa street and Soto street; when I reach down to grab my phone that fell on the floor earlier today. I feel something on my finger, when I bring my hand up I'm holding a piece of hair. I scrunch my eyebrows confused, placing both my hands back on the wheel as I am keeping straight. The radio playing softly in the background. I quickly glance at Melanie, “Next time don't try and get all your hair in my car when you brush it Melanie"

Melanie chuckles and places her bare feet on the dashboard. "You don't own me"

I've told this girl a thousand times to not put her feet on my dashboard but does she listen?

No.

I shake my head as I approach a stoplight, gently pressing the brake pedal, I start to smack Melanie's feet off of the dashboard. We did this for about  2 minutes, me attempting to smack her legs and Melanie moving her feet before I hit her. She finally places her feet on the carpet, both of us laughing. I see the light turn green, then I see Melanie's body language shift it was like she was in a trance, her eyes glued to the radio. Nothing but the sound of Labrinth singing Jealous. Bringing her hand up to the radio volume knob, turning up the music.

Cause I wished you the best of, All this world could give

And I told you when you left me

There's nothing to forgive

But I always thought you'd come back, tell me all you found was heartbreak and misery

It's hard for me to say, I'm jealous of the way

You're happy without me.

                            ¤ ¤ ¤

When we finally get to the bar it was 10:00 p.m. We see some people just hanging around outside, when we walk in it's moderately packed. Some people at the bar and some people sitting down just a casual crowd.

They just added in the new Karaoke lounge it was sitting smack dab in the front, I look up and see that there are two seats open right on the edge of the bar. I quickly grab Melanie's hand speed walking over to the two seats.

"Can I get a Vodka Tonic" I say to the bartender.

He turns his attention to Melanie, she takes a seat next to me smoothing out her dress. "I'll have the same"

While waiting we turn around and see that they turned on the karaoke machine, we both decide to listen in. A man goes up looks to be mid 50's caucasian and the way he's dressed you can definitely tell he's a tourist, we can hear his wife screaming his name while clapping.

As he starts to sing Livin' On a Prayer. Melanie and I can't control our laughter. Melanie turns to me, we give each other a look and start laughing again, in between laughing I hear Melanie. "Oh my gosh that guy sounds like my mom when she's singing in the shower"

I'm trying to control myself to not be too loud, that's when I look behind Melanie and see Piper.

Just when we were having a good night.

"Melanie" Piper says as she sits beside my best friend.

Melanie's smile turns into a frown when she turns her chair over to see Piper staring at her. "Piper"

Piper leans her body back, waving over to me. "Hey Leyla"

I nod smiling muttering a quiet hello

I could see Melanie's leg shaking minutes go by, finally our drinks arrive. As I'm about to bring the drink up to my lips, I hear Melanie. "Where's the security footage?"

I almost spit out my drink when I hear her say that, Piper looks just as shocked as me but more so she looks thrown off by the question.

"What are you-"

Melanie waves her off, smacking her lips. "Don't give me that bullshit excuse, Leyla and Grey talked to that security officer....he told them about you Piper and your services"

I see Piper clamping down on her clutch, gripping it so tight that her already pale knuckles are turning white. She takes a breath in and lets it out quickly. "So what do you want to know?"

"Why did erase the security footage...the night that Joslyn died?"

"I had my reasons" Piper answers simple. She grins. "You really think that security officer would tell the cops that it was me? He's not going to risk losing his job. You can't prove anything and It's not illegal"

"It is if it has to do with your best friend's death!" Melanie shouts, causing the whole bar to look over at us. I hear a bunch of whispering.

They need to stop arguing now. I already felt bad about Grey almost killing that security officer yesterday and now this.

I can sense a lot of hostility in the room with Melanie and Piper, I decided to interject myself into the conversation.

"You wanna do karaoke?" I ask.

"What?" they both say in unison.

I stand up from my seat and put my drink on the coaster, before I repeat."Do. You. Want. To. Do. Karaoke"

Piper pauses, looking back and forth at me and Melanie, she glances at Melanie once again. "Is she serious?"

I see Melanie jump down from the bar stool and sigh. "Sadly...she is".

I turn around and walk over to Piper, I grab her hand and pull her up from the stool. I walk back over to Melanie and take a hold of her hand as well, leading us over to the crowd of people waiting for their turn to get up on the tiny stage.

"C'mon lets just forget about the arguing, the fighting, and the secrets and lets just have a good time...take our minds off of everything for just one night."

                               ¤ ¤ ¤

After at least 2 hours of Leyla, Piper and even Melanie singing they shut the bar down, as the bar owner closes up shop all three girls stand outside. Piper is waiting for her driver at the sidewalk. Leyla went to go bring the car around when she was at the turn to make a left towards Melanie and Piper.

Leyla sees Melanie leaning closer to Piper, whispering something in her ear. Pipers nods her head as If agreeing to something Melanie says. Piper lifts her head up towards Leyla as she pulls up and starts smiling. Leyla brings the window down and shouts at Melanie "C’mon girl get your butt in this car before I leave you"

"I'm coming". Melanie starts to walk toward the passenger side door but before she opens the door she looks at Piper.

"Goodnight"

                      ¤ ¤ ¤

After an evening of laughter and singing it's time for Leyla to head to bed. Already gotten her shower and brushed her teeth she climbs into bed, getting under her covers. She grabs her tablet that is sitting on the nightstand charging, unplugging it from the charger cable and presses in her passcode.

Leyla usually listens to ASMR to help her go to sleep, she clicks on YouTube but something stops her...she remembers the song Melanie was listening to in the car. She looks up the song lyrics, finding the song she clicks on it scrolling down and reading the comments she sees someone wrote in the comments below the video: Jaelynn's favorite song #Neverforget

Leyla's fingers click out of youtube and go on safari she goes to the search engine and types in the name Jaelynn Davis. Leyla is Shook, she sees posts, online articles, a bunch of stuff dealing with Jaelynn. clicking the third link down from the page she gasps when reading it.

 JAELYNN DAVIS FOUND DEAD IN HER OWN HOME.

  Published: February 2nd 2014

Jaelynn Davis a 15 year old teenage girl was found dead in her home by  her mother. It was after a school dance and her mother kissed her cheek goodnight, not knowing it would be the last time she would see her daughter. The family is heartbroken at the loss of their youngest member, her sister Melanie said a few words at the memorial they had out for Jaelynn at the school. "She was clever and bright, she loved reading and doing her work. These bullies....teased her relentlessly, just because she was a bit different. These disgusting people killed me sister."

Describing her as an intelligent young girl. The schools counselor Diana Russ explains. "The whole school is deeply saddened by Jaelynn's death. Her death is a terrible waste of a life. At 15 years old, she should have been living a carefree life, she should've enjoyed the school's dance, but instead she was ashamed and felt that she had to end her life. The people that are responsible for her death and or anyone who stood by and watched it happen passively should be punished."

Leyla couldn't keep reading the article, she felt the tears fall down her face, now she knew why Melaine never told her about her sister, it was probably too hard for her to talk about.

Now she knows about Jaelynn, the secret sister.

Leyla knows about the suicide.

[gretagerwigarchive]

Here's How 'Lady Bird' Created an Iconic Teenage Bedroom From Scratch

by Laura Schocker, Mar 4, 2018. source: https://www.apartmenttherapy.com/lady-bird-set-design-bedroom-meaning-256361

The coming of age movie is a Hollywood staple, which often depicts a young woman whose story is defined by a romantic relationship. Part of what made this past year's Lady Bird so special is that its subtle telling of a teenage female experience—from tenuous mother/daughter relationships to shifting friendship dynamics—relied on Lady Bird's personal growth as the main storytelling device. Its actors have received plenty of accolades ahead of Sunday night's Oscars. But one supporting role we think deserves mentioning is Lady Bird's wonderfully-nostalgic, turn of the millennium bedroom.

The teenage bedroom is also often integral to the coming of age story (think: Frenchy's bedroom in Grease or Dawson's movie-poster plastered room in Dawson's Creek). And Lady Bird is no different — the room is both the site of and the refuge from parental fights, as well as an expression of her personality. "We really wanted to show that she was somebody who cared about things as much as she's going through these pains, and trying to fit in," production designer Chris Jones told Apartment Therapy. We spoke to Jones about how he, along with writer and director Greta Gerwig, set decorator Traci Spadorcia, and the rest of the team built those feelings from scratch in a real home in Van Nuys, California.

I read that Greta Gerwig said she wanted Lady Bird to "look like a memory." I think a lot of us have these very real memories about our teenage bedrooms—whether it's the posters that hung on the walls, or the books on the shelves, what we stashed in the desk drawers. How did you go about creating those memories from scratch for Lady Bird? What feelings were you trying to convey with the objects?

 We wanted the bedroom, most importantly, to show the layers of history that Lady Bird already had. The movie is about what happens to her throughout the film, but also what happened to her and what could happen to her in the future, that whole transitional period. We wanted the bedroom to feel like it was also in that transition and growing from something younger to something older.

We went looking for furniture that could be little girl furniture, but that she had kept. The desk in the corner was really an old white desk from, say the 80s and the 90s. Then the bed, it's missing a spindle here and missing a piece there, because it's been around for a long time. We wanted that to be the basic structure of the room. Then we built on top of that with the items that would be more teenage and more adult.

Why did you choose pink for the walls?

Greta and I had spoken about colors, and we wanted the entire film to have a pastel color palette, based on paintings by Wayne Thiebaud, a painter in Sacramento. When it came to her room, we talked about pink or purple. But purple is kind of a royal color, and pink is a bit more playful, and we felt that the character was more playful and strong.

The paint was something that we also thought might harken back to being a little girl, but it's a hip cool color. And it blended with her hair color that we had in the film. It was also very different, shockingly different, from the rest of the house. We did a lot of camera tests with the pink to make sure it was going to work, and to make sure it wasn't going to be too different from the rest of the house so it felt separate.

And how did you build on top of that?

When you work on a film with the budget that Lady Bird had, you can't always get everything you want. And one of the things that's hard to do in a room that's covered with all kinds of imagery like that, for a film or any kind of media, is getting the clearance on items you're showing. One of the things that was relatively inexpensive was album covers. We decided to pick music from the time to show bands she'd be interested in. There was a Bikini Kill cover, a Pixies cover—albums we thought would be cool in that time period and that Greta listened too as well.

We loved making it look like she was always working on something. Besides the art we found and made ourselves, one of the things that really added to the room and that she was proud of were those "Lady Bird for President" posters, and we ended up putting those on the walls too, and it just added to the mix. What was really cool was that we were designing those posters and doing samples for Greta early on, and we used construction papers and feathers and bird heads, until we decided to get kind of weird with it, which were the ones we ended up using in the film. But some of those early prototypes ended up being on the wall, and it was really a beautiful little addition because we tried to use birds throughout the film without being too heavy handed.

The messiness of the room felt very real. It reminded me of actually walking into a teenage bedroom. How did you create those layers?

We were working with April Napier, the costume designer, so we had the actual costumes she was wearing in the film in her closet. As we were doing that, we would find ourselves bringing the clothes in that wardrobe had on their racks, and we would lay them on the bed and start hanging them on the closet or getting them ready for the shot. We realized it was great that she hadn't put her clothes away. There's that whole scene where her mom comes in and is unhappy with the fact she's not taking care of her things.

Because the room has a very busy, jewel-like quality, we wanted to keep it messy. The clothing was a big part of it and the rest of it really came from the way the way the room is dressed. We wanted to get it chock full. We started sticking stickers and little plastic spiders, and hanging Mardi Gras beads from a lamp or whatever. Once that layering started to happen, it really began to give a cluttered, yet not-difficult-to-look-at feel.

Where did you source everything from?

All of the furniture actually came from two big prop houses at the studios. They have furniture that is not in the best shape, which we wanted and the nice thing is that you can rent it. But all the ephemera, all the little pieces, the stuff that filled the room—the day before we were supposed to shoot the first scene in that room, we all agreed that we didn't really have enough stuff. So I went to a store in Downtown LA called Moskatels. Moskatels had all the stickers, all the hearts, all the spiders, all the snakes, all the bird feathers, all the green, all the dead roses. Everything you see in that whole room, a lot of those little pieces came from Moskatels in one big shopping trip I took the morning of the shoot. Then all of us worked together to get it up on the walls.

 Any computers, phones, lights, clocks—any technology needed to feel just right. It's amazing to think that even in 2003, we barely had the phone technology we have now. Only 15 years ago, we were really lacking all the cords, cables, USBs, and chargers we have now.

What about the rest of her house? How did you design her room to be different in mood?

 There's this line about the house being from the other side of the tracks, which can be a negative reference. But for us, wherever they lived, we knew that Marion and the husband loved this house, and it had been their house for a long time. We wanted the house to feel well loved, not sad or disgusting. It was always neat, it was always clean, but it was a muted tone. It showed there was a bit of sadness in the house.

So Lady Bird grows up with that, and starts her life with that as a kid. I felt with all of the items on the walls in her room, and everything that filled the space, it really felt loved. The house also had that, but it wasn't so blatant. It was more about the care and the placement of items.

It seems like bedrooms always play such an important role in classic movies and TV shows. Why do you think they're such a storytelling staple?

It's a person's private zone. It's important to show the character's personality in the bedroom, because that is where they will spend a good portion of their young life. It is almost like your psyche; your bedroom becomes a place where you lie and look at the ceiling—it's the place where you look at your world and experience your world.

It's also the place you go to escape. When you want to go someplace to get away from it all, you tend to go to your bedroom and lock the door.

Do you have a favorite pop culture teenage bedroom?

Maybe Ferris Bueller's bedroom. I was really into music so the fact that John Hughes used music so effectively in his films and that Ferris Bueller had posters for Morrissey and all the bands that I was into, struck a chord with me.

What's funny is that as old as it is, The Brady Bunch boys' bedroom is very similar to the way I grew up with a brother. We had bunk beds and you spend a lot of time connecting and communicating with your siblings on those bunk beds. Even though it's a bit generic and less naturalistic, I still feel that—I can picture The Brady Bunch bedroom in my head to this day, which is odd, but good.

We talked a bit about Greta's influence on Lady Bird's bedroom. Were there any of your own childhood bedroom influences, or anyone else involved in making the film?

Traci Spadorcia, the set decorator—she did little things that were personal touches, like tying up a ribbon that didn't make sense why it was there, putting a picture at a certain angle, or layering one picture over another because that's what she had in her bedroom.

At the end of the movie, when she's moving out, Lady Bird paints over the walls. Can you talk a bit about what that literal fresh start symbolized for you?

That wasn't in the script. But when we talked about how we had to put the room back for the homeowner, Greta and I talked about how long it was going to take to get all of these little items off of the wall. And she said, "Why don't we all help?" And I said, "Yeah," laughingly, and I included Saoirse [Ronan, who played the title character]. And then we all started thinking about it, and we thought, well what if Saoirse and the mom were taking the items off the wall?

We decided the art department would take down quite a bit of it, but we would have them take over. It happened organically. Yes it's symbolizing the end of something, but also the beginning of something else, which Greta has talked a lot about in interviews. They did it together for a while, but then Saoirse just kept going, she just kept wanting to do it. It was really nice to get a lot of footage of her really making the room fresh and clean. It's almost like she cares now. Before it didn't seem like she cared, but she's leaving something for her mom, who she hasn't spoken to much for the summer.

It's not just change, it's a clean slate. It means she's going to go on to something new. And in the next few scenes, you see she starts using her real name. She starts using Christine instead of Lady Bird after she does that change for herself.

[ladye11e]

Deception pt 2

Tagging @geekgoddess813 because without her I'd never get this done 💕 and @sweet-flash because she need some Shay 😉 If anyone else would like tagging, please ask, I won't bite.... Maybe 😁

Turning your alarm clock on your bedside table to check the time, you smacked it away and dropped down onto your pillow with a groan when you saw it was just after six.

Fucking jetlag you cursed under your breath as you sat bolt upright in your bed, completely giving up on sleep for the night. Dragging yourself up and pulling on your dressing gown, you made your way over to your kitchette area and flicked the kettle on, knowing that coffee would make your situation worse but you didn't care. Grabbing your phone off the counter top and pulling out the charger cable, you saw that there were nine text messages from various members of the Brotherhood asking if you were okay after your trip, and one voicemail. Punching in your password to you could listen to it on loudspeaker, you placed your phone back on the counter while you rifled through your cupboards for your favourite mug, immediately freezing and your heart jumped into your throat as a familiar voice rang through the air.

(Name) it's me. Please come to the manor as soon as you can, there is something we need to discuss.

Achilles. In your entire decade working for the Assassins, not once had he ever called you personally, you were surprised that he even knew your name. Snapping your phone up and listening to the message twice more, you took several deep breaths to calm yourself down enough to analyze the tone of his voice, and deemed that he didn't know anything as you couldn't hear any kind of accusational tone or disappointment lacing his words. Shaun probably called him about the new servers you figured, and wants a face to face update. Not that you could give him much information, you were okay with computers but it wasn't your forté. Satisfied with your own explanation, you carried on making your coffee; sipping it slowly so the the molten liquid didn't scorch your throat, until you spied a white, rectangular piece of card next to your keys and charger cable. Gingerly plucking it up and remembering the tremor than ran through you because of the person named on the card, you bit your lip nervously and brought up your messaging app, keying in the number slowly. No one knew he was alive, right? So a quick message to a 'friend' wouldn't be suspicious? Typing in 'Are we still okay for later?' and hitting send before you talked yourself out of it, you nearly had a heart attack when your phone beeped back a few seconds later with a reply, not at all expecting one so soon.

Of course, I'm in the penthouse suite. Is ten alright? Up so early, I'm guessing you couldn't sleep?

Tens fine. No, never been one to sleep much anyway.

Quite suprised at his texting grammar as you were used to trying to deciphering whatever code was being used recently, you slid your phone in your dressing gown when you thought the conversation had finished, picking up your coffee and heading back to your bedroom to attempt to get another hour as you didn't have to be up early for a change. Just as your head hit the pillow, your phone beeped again with a message, making you squint as you fumbled in your pocket and unlocked your phone to read whatever was there.

Maybe you need someone to wear you out better?

Your mouth ran dry as your eyes fixated on the typing in front of you, wondering if he actually meant how you took that message. You tensed up as the image of him in Haythams office flickered through your mind, stirring every primal instinct up deep within you. Could every man sense how pent up you were recently? Prime for the taking? Internally debating whether you should reply or not, you squeezed your legs together to stifle some of the desire within you as you typed, hoping to god that you hadn't misunderstood his reply.

Hmmm, are you offering?

Clutching your phone so firmly that your knuckles started to go white with the pressure, you didn't move your eyes once from the dim glow of the screen as you waited for a reply. What were you thinking?! This was so unlike you to chase after a man like this. You had enough going on with your life without adding someone else into the mix, let alone a coworker, even as good looking as he was. Your last relationship tanked horribly because of your double life and the secrets you kept, and you had no desire to go through that again which is why you had brushed off Hathams numerous advances over the years. Becoming slightly annoyed with yourself as it appeared that you had taken it the wrong way when you didn't get an answer, you were also a little relieved really. Shuffling back down under the covers, you figured you would come up with some suitable excuse in a few hours time as you finally drifted off to sleep.

Shit Shit Shit!!

You launched up out of bed when you looked at the clock to see it was 9:32am, bounding over to your closet and pulling out the first thing you came to when you knew you didn't have time to shower. Grabbing your bag and stuffing your phone and keys in it, you literally sprinted down to the parking garage and jumped in your car, ignoring the stares of the several onlookers when you pulled off in a deafening wheelspin. Checking your watch and patting yourself on the back when you saw that you had just over ten minutes to spare thanks to running nearly every red light in Boston; how you didn't get caught was a miracle in itself, you passed your keys to the valet and hastily made your way into the lobby, waving your hand dismissively at the concierge who was about to ask if you were okay, and called the elevator. Holding yourself back from ripping the speakers off the wall when the annoying music that was blaring out was doing nothing for your mood, you almost forced the doors open as soon as they pinged to let you know that you had arrived at the top floor, walking briskly down the corridor to the lone room at the end. Rapping your knuckles loudy on the door, you frowned as after a minute or two, there was no answer. A few more moments after trying again, you decided to test the handle, quite surprised that it was unlocked. Well, he was expecting you, so maybe it was best that you went straight in? 

Closing the door silently behind you, you couldn't help but gasp in awe at the size of the room. It was double the size of your apartment easily, just the living dining area was big enough to hold some kind of function. Dropping your bag on the table near you, you suddenly turned to your left when you heard a shuffling, words completely lost to you as your gaze drifted over a dripping wet Shay with nothing but a small towel covering his modesty. 

 "Ah sorry lass, didn't hear ya come in. Running a bit late as ya can see, I fell back sleep." 

 Nodding softly when his words only just registered over the thumping of your heart drumming in your ears, you averted your gaze to the carpet when he moved towards you, close enough so you could smell remnants of soap on him.

"No need to be shy lass, ain't got nothing you probably haven't seen before. Why don't ya make us some coffee while I get dried off?"

Wanna bet? You thought, biting your lip so the words didn't actually come tumbling out of your mouth as your eyes drifted over the outline of something rather impressive under the white cotton around his waist. 

 "I'm not shy, just a crappy night. Um, where's your kitchen?" You mumbled, noticing he believed what you had said even less than you did as he chuckled and ushered you towards the other side of the room and into the kitchen by laying his hand on the small of your back. 

 "Everything you need should be in that top cupboard, I'll be back in a minute." 

Opening the cupboard and pulling out the ground coffee and filters, you set about to making the drinks in a slight daze, thinking about his message again from this morning. So far he hadn't even acknowledged it, so you figured maybe you had made a fool out of yourself and cursed under your breath as you flicked the machine on. Panicking when you realised that you hadn't checked in with headquarters yet today; something both Achilles and Shaun had set up that all assassins must do by ten thirty or your phone will be pinged for your location, you dropped everything and ran back into the living room to your bag, keying in your activation code as fast as humanly possible before anyone could find out where you were. 

 Chucking your phone back down when you saw the usual 'Code Accepted' message, you choked back a whimper and stood there gawking when you realised Shay hasn't closed the bedroom door. There he was, back towards you, in his birthday suit and patting himself down with his towel. You licked your lips as your eyes drifted over the toned muscles of his legs, the sensual curves of his ass and muscular back, stopping at what looked like a bullet wound just below his left shoulder blade. Taking large silent steps back towards the kitchen before he spotted you looking at him, you grabbed hold of the counter top to stop your hands from trembling, taking a deep breath in hopes the heat in your face would die down quickly. God woman, get a grip! You mentally chided yourself for becoming so flustered about a man like this. So what if you've not felt like this since..him.

You've known this man for all of twelve hours, had literally three whole sentences of conversation with him, AND you were about to go on a mission together. Shaking yourself off vigorously when you heard him call your name from the other room, you quickly poured two mugs of coffee and carried them back in, adorning your best fake smile. 

 "Er, you didn't say how you like your coffee, hope black is okay?" 

 "Perfect love. Thanks." 

 Handing him one of the mugs and thinking about what was underneath his tight t-shirt and jogging bottoms, you dropped down on the sofa next to him, your wandering mind only just registering the laptop and file on the coffee table in front of you. Snatching the file up and flicking it open, you sat there wide eyed when you saw several photographs of Davenport Manor and its grounds, plus two of yourself. 

 "You've...been spying on me?!"

 Shay nearly spat out the mouthful of liquid he just drank when he saw you looking at the photo's, dropping his mug down and snatching up the file off your lap quickly and placing it back on the table looking slightly flustered. 

 "No lass.. That was for... well Master Kenway said, oh bloody hell. I knew you were workin for us, just wanted to know a bit about who was gonna be joining me, that's all." 

 Your usual cheeky confidence came flooding back as you sat there watching him fidgit in his seat, pretending to look at something interesting that was flickering on the computer. You decided to let him off for now as you didn't want him going into this without one hundred percent of his focus on the mission, and by the looks of things he couldn't control his emotions nearly as well as you could, even given your recent slip ups. 

 "Oh it's not a problem, just wondered. So what do you need me to do then? I can't stay long, I'm expected back asap." 

 "Right, yes. Sorry lass. Well we need to find how to get into the vault in Achilles office. If ya could wear this and get in there somehow, you can leave the rest to me." 

 Panic consumed you as he handed you a small pin in the shape of the Assassins insignia, concealing what you assumed was some kind of camera. You were scanned every time you entered the manor, and there was no way you could think of getting this through without being detected. Shay, noticing your expression grabbed your hand and squeezed your fingers gently, in attempts to give you some encouragement. 

 "The assassins aren't the only ones with a first rate tech team (name), it's completely undetectable. I promise. You won't get caught." 

 Still slightly dubious at his assurance, you figured that he must know that if you did ever get caught, you would blurt out whatever secrets you had about the Templar order just to save your own skin, so you thought best to go along with the plan, for now. 

 "Fine. So what does this thing do then?" 

 "It is a camera, but also seeks out anything transmitting a signal. Once we have it, we can duplicate it an I can get in the vault." 

 Attatching the pin to your hoodie and satisfied it didn't look out of place when you pulled yourself straight, you glanced up at the clock on the wall and grumbled to yourself as you slid off the sofa and downed the rest of your drink. "

Okay. Well I best be off then, the sooner we get this over with the better. Mmmm, good coffee." 

 Leaning round the corner to drop your mug back into the kitchen, you flashed Shay a dazzling smile when he gave you a wave as you grabbed your bag off the table, and you began to wonder if the backflips your stomach was doing was because of the assignment you were about to do, or the man in the hotel room you had just left.

 Driving through the estate and breathing a sigh of relief when you saw the driveway renovations had been finished and you didn't have to walk a mile uphill to the manor, you pulled up in a space close outside, shielding your eyes from the sun to see what work had been done. The house had always been impressive, but since Achilles had now been working from home instead of the main offices in Portsmouth due to health reasons, Connor had insisted that various upgrades be made, and boy did he deliver. It was more comparable to a mansion now with the extra rooms added on either side, and as there was to be a gala here in just under two weeks, you assumed that it had been extended at the back too. 

Bounding up the steps as normally as you could to where there were two security guards standing, you handed your bag over and you raised your arms, doing a little twirl as they began scanning you for any devices. Breathing through your nose steadily when you saw one of them eye up the pin, you cocked your head and feined ignorance when he pointed at it. 

 "What's this?"

 "Hmm? Oh nothing, just a gift. Cool huh?" 

 Years of training under pressure and keeping a calm demeanor even aginst the most dire of circumstances had paid off, as he simply nodded and wafted his scanner over it, satisfied that it was only a piece of jewellery. Taking your bag back off the other one and walking through the door, you froze in your tracks and didn't dare to turn around when the one with the scanner called you back.

 "Hey (name)! Find out where that pin came from, my Mrs would love one, it's her kind of thing."

 Letting out a shuddering breath and giving a thumbs up over your head, you walked as fast as you could into the manor before he could ask you anymore questions. Navigating your way through the hallway and trying to locate where Achillies new office was, you suddenly spotted someone who could help you and waited for a moment for him to finish his conversation with what looked like a contractor.

 "Connor! Gotta say, fantastic job. The place looks amazing. Only one problem though, now I'm lost!" 

 The mountain of a man bounded over and gave you a hug that would embarrass a bear and chuckled at you, quickly letting go when he realised you were wheezing slightly. Connor was Achillies adopted son and right hand man, and also one of the few remaining people of the Mohawk tribe. He stood at six foot something tall and was very intimidating, but you knew better when he was around his friends.

 "Shé:kon (name)! It is good to see you back, it has been too quiet here with you gone."

 "Doubt anyone else has the same opinion Connor, especially Achilles! Speaking of, where's his office now? He left a message saying he wants to see me." 

Connor gave you a soft smile and gestured for you to follow him, leading you up the stairs to the end of the new balcony and stopping at a door on the right.

 "It would be wise not to speak out of place (name), it has not been a good morning. Stocks have dropped and he has been outbid on the warehouse at the port, so please be cautious." 

 Taking a deep breath and wishing you could have come earlier now you knew you were about to be on the recieving end of one of Achilles legendary bad moods, you rolled your eyes as Connor hastily retreated back downstairs when you rapped your knuckles on the door.

  "Come in!" 

 Heeding Connors warning you entered the room quickly, closing the door behind you and standing in front of the desk, waiting for him to give you permission to sit. Taking a moment to eye up the room whilst Achilles finished his conversation on the phone, you bit the inside of your lip as you glanced over the large bookcases on the back wall, trying to concopt a reason to get closer to them. You dropped into the chair when Achilles motioned for you to sit, your eyes not leaving his as he slammed the reciever back on its cradle and sighed heavily.

 "Thank you for coming (name), I'm sure you are wondering why I asked you here, so let's not dally. Altaïr is currently waylayed out of the country on a mission, so I would like you to fulfill his role here temporarily in his absence. You will work with Connor in setting up the new security system and cameras, in preparation for the ball."

 "M...Me?" You stammered, not quite believing your ears. "Surely there's someone better...." 

 You were cut off by him raising his hand in slight annoyance before turning to his computer and typing something in, the printer in the corner whirring to life when he had finished.

 "Altaïr is my Chief of Security, and I trust him implicitly. He was the one who recommended you, do not let him down. No one sees those schematics apart from you and Connor. Is that understood?" 

 Regaining your composure quickly as you got up to retrieve the sheath of papers from the printer, you saw your opportunity to stand closer to the bookcase when you saw that there was something in your hand that didn't belong. Standing beside Achillies and handing him the printed email, a wave of guilt washed over you as he snapped it from your hand and turned it face down on the desk then picked up the phone again; signalling that you were dismissed. Leaving the room quickly, you stood on the balcony staring at the wall for a moment, trying to process what you had just seen. Reading quickly and remembering details was one of your specialties, both a blessing and a curse sometimes. The email was from a well known doctor in New York, an Oncologist to be precise. Achillies had cancer?! The words Inoperable and one year replayed over and over in your mind, making you hope that you had read wrong, but you knew that you hadn't. You were pulled from your trance by the sound of your phone going off; nearly making you drop the swath of papers as you dug around in your bag to find it.

Coffee? I'd love to see you again.

Suddenly remembering one of the reasons you were here, you typed back quickly, thankful that Shay had the mind to keep his messages vague and non descript.

Busy with work, lots to do. I'll message when I can.

I understand if you don't want to see me, but please just say so.

Sighing at his reply, you made a mental note to buy a burner phone once you got out of here and slyly held the papers you had in front of the pin, lingering them there just long enough so he would understand why you couldn't just rush off at his beck and call.

I'm not brushing you off, REALLY busy.

God, this was sounding more like a needy relationship with each passing message you thought.

Ok, hope to see you soon. X

Raising your eyebrow at the kiss at the end of the message, you stuffed your phone back into your bag and headed back downstairs in search of Connor, grimacing when you spied him with several rolls of what you assumed were floor plans in his arms.

[arabellaflynn]

I finally caved and bought myself a pair of magic earplugs. I murder earbuds. I spent the years 1999-2016 inclusive destroying pair after pair of earbuds by getting the cord wrapped around something, or the bud caught under a heavy thing in the bottom of my bag, and yanking. I'm moderately fussy about earbuds in the same way I'm moderately fussy about shampoo -- which is to say, not very, but I do need something at least one step above cheap. My very favorite ones were Sony MDR-E9s, which were $10 a pair for a good ten years, and were absolutely everywhere until Sony broke my heart by discontinuing them. I ruined about a pair a month, on average. RIP, all my pretty blue earbuds. I graduated to Bluetooth earbuds when I got tired of knocking headphones off my noggin when practicing with my hoops. I tried braiding the wires (and at one point the actual Sansa Clip MP3 player) into my hair, but there's no way to do that and also keep the pads on or the earbuds in while I'm moving. You have no idea how much time you spend untangling yourself from your goddamn headphone cords until you don't have to do it anymore. Not having a tether always running from my head to my bag got me down from $10 a month to $35-40 once or twice a year, which was nice. They survive me long enough for the battery or USB port to flake out, which as cheap as I am, is about six months. Generally I got the ones with a wire linking the two buds. Acesori is nice for the (very low) price, as is Phaizer. (The magnetic backs are a nice touch -- they're meant to stick to each other when you wear them around your neck, but the buds are light enough that they'll also stick to, like, the fridge, or the side of my clothing rack, even with the USB charge cable hanging off of them.) I wanted the magical musical earplugs, but when I started looking around for them, AirPods were $160 when you tried to buy them without an iPhone attached. That's about $120 more than any sane person ought to be paying for a set of tiny speakers, no matter how snazzy they are. No. Just, no. I finally drove another set of Phaizers into the ground, so I went looking around on Amazon, and lo and behold, true wireless earbuds are down in the $35-40 range now. I have trouble convincing myself to spend money on just about anything, but I really do use these things every single day, and I go mad without a music player, so I gritted my teeth and clicked the order button. My main thought is, "I'm gonna lose these damn things someday." MicroSD cards have already gotten down to the point where you could accidentally insufflate the equivalent of the Library of Congress, and I have several times had to play hot-and-cold with my earbuds to find where I put the fucking phone down. ("My podcast is still running, it has to be in the house somewhere.") Now I have little plastic things smaller than my thumb joint that are streaming music into my ears from my tablet, that is... somewhere on the bed? And running Google Play Music, so it's actually spooling data from servers in, I have no idea, California? Iowa? The Marianas Trench? Who knows. It just finished playing something Samira Saïd recorded in Arabic like twenty years ago. I'm training myself to put them back into the case every single time I take them out of my ears. I've made it like three days and I still know where both of them are. So far, so good. I bought these, if anyone cares. I have no idea why they all insist they are for iPhone/Samsung; Bluetooth is Bluetooth, and they play fine with a really rather nice Lenovo IdeaPad Touch, a perfectly acceptable Kindle Fire 7, and an Alcatel OneTouch "smartphone" that rides the short bus to phone school. The case is also the charger; each bud is supposed to get 3-4 hours of play on a 45 mAh battery, with an additional 650 mAh reservoir in the case, which should be enough to cope even with me. They're about 98% as awesome as I thought they would be. The sound quality is solidly "$35 earbuds". They're not hyperintelligent Bose noise-canceling studio headphones. You are not going to master an album on these. On the other hand, they're pretty good earplugs -- that's how they stay in place. Any drivers with halfway decent bass response are going to sound pretty good when you jam them directly into your ear canals. The tannoy on the T sounds like the grown-ups in the Charlie Brown cartoons when I have them in, but the tannoy on the T sounds mostly like that when I have them out, too. The important part is that I can hear my music, and I cannot hear the conversation you're having on your speakerphone in the middle of the train car about that embarrassing medical condition, and that's all I care about. The downside is that they are not especially robust, and they're too small to have any controls on the earbud itself. The ones with the linking wire have the charge port/battery/buttons on one bud and I'm pretty sure the Bluetooth module is in the other; these have to have a Bluetooth chip and battery in each earplug, which doesn't leave a lot of room for anything else, so the only control on the earbuds themselves is a single click button. One click on either bud for play/pause, and press-hold to turn them on or off individually. You have to do everything else on the actual widget that is streaming the audio. I know most people are already staring at their phones all the time, but mine doth not internet, so it's usually in my bag, and I have to dig it out to skip a song. The earbuds have a very anxious-preoccupied attachment style with respect to the phone, and hate intervening walls, but I suspect I probably could have solved that issue by spending another $10 on them. In theory, they're Class III devices, which should have a range of about 10 meters, but in practice they're twitchy and have no real shielding, so if there's anything weird like power lines or catenary wires around, they get more like 5-10 feet. I shouldn't ever be farther from my bag than that, but still. The most interesting glitch is one I didn't expect. Instead of both pairing with the device, one bud pairs with the device, then the second bud pairs with the first. If there's any lag at all -- because, I don't know, the impedance of my head has suddenly changed? -- the audio gets ever so slightly out of sync. Like, milliseconds. It's not noticeable at all with music, where the stereo field tends to be wide and the background very busy, but it makes audiobooks or podcasts sound odd. If it's not specifically done as a radio drama, voice-only things tend to be recorded as if they're mono, from a single mic with no spatial orientation, but mixed down as two identical stereo channels, because everything expects stereo nowadays and it's easier than trying to dig through the menus for that one weird setting. The result is a voice track that seems to originate from a source that's "nowhere"/somewhere the middle of your head. When the buds slip out of sync, the slight temporal shift effectively becomes a slight shift in stereo phase, which suddenly either makes the voice seem to have a physical location, or be coming simultaneously from a source on either side, depending on how long the delay is. It's interesting on a technical level, but mildly annoying, so I've taken to just sticking one of the buds back into its case if I want to listen to podcasts. Which is what I do most of the time with the ones that hang around my neck anyway, so I can hear the stop announcements on the bus. Ain't technology grand? from Blogger https://ift.tt/2MYCro4 via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!