#have to say im really loving lining lately started using the pens from a set i bought ages ago actually and they're very good

[junotter]

I wasn't sure which version i liked so have bothhhhh woahh

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

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Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon. 

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you. 

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger. 

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week. 

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept. 

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling. 

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you. 

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!” 

Your head just about exploded when she said that. 

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you. 

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”  

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.” 

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless? 

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.” 

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim. 

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured. 

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?” 

“That his girlfriend died last year.” 

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there. 

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit. 

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…” 

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.” 

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from. 

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not. 

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made. 

“There’s nothing I need from you.” 

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?” 

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea. 

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more. 

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off. 

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.” 

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

*

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch. 

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!” 

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales. 

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets. 

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down. 

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works. 

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so. 

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.” 

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend. 

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?” 

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income. 

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended. 

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill. 

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe. 

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.” 

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped. 

“Did you need something?” 

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!” 

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.” 

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line. 

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?” 

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.” 

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care. 

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him. 

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.” 

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency. 

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that. 

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here. 

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?” 

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.” 

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before. 

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath. 

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly. 

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.” 

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer. 

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you. 

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems. 

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that. 

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that. 

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him. 

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.” 

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

-

-

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

thank you so much for being on my taglist 💕 

if you’d like to join, the link is at the top of my masterlist

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[meruz]

i was gonna draw tonight but i dropped my tablet pen and the barrel of the pen broke off and flew somewhere underneath (??) my bed (?) and now i cant find it so I’m just gonna answer asks before bed instead. just some art asks and more mentions of infinity train LOL

What program and brushes do you use when making your art?

@ravki hi! part of this is in my FAQ but i’ll say it again anyways LOL: I use photoshop CC and have used photoshop for pretty much....my whole art career. I’ve dabbled in clip and paint tool sai in the past but photoshop is my true wife, we eloped away from her awful father adobe many years ago and are very happy together. 

as for brushes... I should prob put this info in my FAQ too lol,... my default brush set is actually free to download here! Tho I will say I also use steve ahn’s storyboarding brush sometimes and lately i’ve been using shiyoon kim’s brushes A TON. Shiyoon’s cost a couple bucks but they’re super worth it imo

How do you choose colors?

This is kind of a difficult one to describe from scratch but hmm.... I’ll put it this way. Generally when I go into coloring or painting something I already have some colors in mind. Like for a certain piece I know I want a bright green, or a magenta, or a dark blue in certain areas. A lot of the time I know a mood I want. So I’ll start with that core color tone and build around it. I’ll use an example from a recent piece

So you can see here that the first color I accessed was that bright cyan. So I start with that bright cyan and then bring in its “friends” in the form of analogous colors (shown below on the far left)

greens greys etc. THEN I know I want the characters to stand out against all the blue so I start laying down warm contrasting colors for them (middle group). the mat under them is orange, skin tones are warm, ryans flannel is red etc. then to get them to work together I work more cool colors into the shadows and slightly warmer (not too warm because its a cool img overall so in this case, greener LOL) colors into highlights. 

hope that makes sense? for me choosing colors is a lot about story and composition. If you know what you want to say, the mood you want to create, where you want to go, the path to get there becomes a lot clearer imo.

Have you ever considered making an art book?

I have! But I don’t think I currently have enough...original illustrations for one LOL? Not that an art book has to be all original work but if I were putting fanart in an art book...at that point I’d just make a fanzine. I’m making more original work lately though so maybe this year....? Who knows. For now, I do have a sketchbook up on gumroad. Hoping to do one of those next year too.

Any tips for keeping background drawings from getting super stiff, especially since things like interiors have a lot of straight lines?

This is a really interesting ask. Really great question that I don’t think gets asked enough - forgive me if I get a bit art school here but I drew up some examples.

First I think we have to investigate the assumption that straight lines make things stiff. That seems true on an instinctual level and certainly proves to be true very often But I don’t think its actually the straight lines themselves but the sort of arrangements and compositions they tend to dictate. Take this for instance.

pretty big difference, right? there’s a couple things that make a composition feel stiff and one of the most significant is lines that are perpendicular and parallel to the frame. it feels locked in and solid, like bricks. but the moment you shift these angles even a little the composition instantly becomes more dynamic because our innate senses of weight, gravity, and directionality can sense movement.

But it’s not just diagonals let’s take this one step further

when lines meet and terminate together those tangents can flatten and lock space so the best way to solve this is with overlap and complete intersection, forms continuing past or behind each other feel more layered and less like a flat mosaic... again, even in the simplest line drawings. So how do we apply this to a background?

ok I drew this really fast so its potentially not the best example but I think the idea is there. This space isn’t even particularly deep, it’s basically a room, a doorway, and a hallway behind it, and we’re not seeing that much of any of those things LOL. but when you draw an environmental object like a doorway in a way that lines up with the perpendicular and parallel lines of the canvas you’re automatically flattening it and making it look rigid.

and when you create tangents with objects and characters you flatten the space around them and make it difficult to tell what is actually in front or behind or if they’re on the same plane.

GOD I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE. Anyways. avoid those things and you’ll instantly have less stiff bgs no matter what kind of bg you’re depicting.

I wanna mention however that this isn’t to say a stiff bg with flat space doesn’t have its purposes.

sometimes you want to create parallels and tangents. it can make characters feel closed in, trapped, regimented, part of a routine, etc. it’s also great for making a composition look ornamental (especially combined with symmetry).

directors like wes anderson can even use these compositional elements to make images feel uncanny or harrowing! its very versatile. I think the important thing is to just be aware of when you are making something rigid and when that’s the last thing you want to do. conscious choices.

Can you speak Tagalog?

@lemuelzero101​ I can! BUT NOT VERY WELL LOL ;;; both my parents are from Visayas! but they met and had me in the states lol so I’m pretty American born and raised. We go back to visit family on occasion but not regularly. My tagalog is mostly absorbed from listening to relatives at parties lol and my parents speak bisaya at home so I’m marginally better at that. Sorry to any filipinos out there hoping I’d be better educated, I’m like a little baby...

I do love meeting and talking to other filipinos online though, I grew up in an area that was relatively diverse but the asian population was small and the filipino population basically non-existent. I was like one of maybe 2 filipino kids in my highschool of 2000.

Apart from infinity train what shows are you watching now? Have you seen jujitsu kaisen?

Man this is gonna sound so boring but I haven’t watched a lot of tv lately.  It’s not really part of my daily routine. Let’s see... I was sort of watching Amphibia, Craig of the Creek, and the new Digimon Adventure 2020 but I keep falling off watching those for one reason or another. Also there’s a lot of episodes, it doesn’t feel like something I can just binge and be done with.

The last thing I binged was Succession. I want that show and Euphoria back so bad, when I’m done forcing all my friends to watch Infinity Train im cancelling my HBO subscription until Succession and Euphoria return so they know exactly what I’m on their list for LOL. 

I have not watched jujitsu kaisen but I’ve kept up with some of the sakuga news (I keep up with anime industry news and production info like x5 the amt i keep up with actual anime) for it and their compositing/editing looks dope. I’ve read the manga actually LOL or at least part of the beginning. I wasn’t super keen on the whole finger eating thing. Also to be honest I kinda feel like its the new Bleach and I never particularly cared about Bleach. Characters look nice enough tho. I wholeheartedly support jjk fans.

Thank you! Thank you @keznodzieja​! <3

And thank you anons who don’t watch infinity train LOL...it’s always nice to hear when people enjoy my fanart despite not knowing the source material because it lifts a little bit of the “oh god am I being annoying???” fear off my chest. But also I think you should watch infinity train because it’s really good I have no reservations recommending it.

[taelme]

Enemies-to-lovers!Changbin

request: Hiiiii I read you bangchan enemies to lovers au and I swear if I could like a post more than once I'd like that one a MILLION TIMES I'm wondering if maybe you could write an enemies to lovers au for changbin pretty please? 🥺🥰 genre: enemies-to-lovers!au (again, not Super extreme, low-key clash bc they’re both stubborn), film club president!Changbin, childhood penpal!au (fluff, very mild angst, they bicker a lot, kind of cheesy bc changbin’s a sap and we know that) pairing/s: Changbin / Reader (ft some skz members)  word count: 17k+ tw: mild coarse language (they say shit a lot LOL)  a/n: THE ANON WHO REQUESTED THIS...IM PRETTY SURE you waited months for this so thank you for being so so so patient!! I decided to try something a little different from my usual style but idk if it’s That Obvious, but its more structure wise I guess, but nonetheless, I'll be getting a little busier soon so I’m not sure If I'll be able to put out Full one shots for the next few months but I'll try my best w those little shorter ones maybe! (I'll have to see how Tired I am) also p.s I love this gif thank u to whoever made it but changbin is blonde in this fic bc of Personal Reasons 

To: my penpal Y/N

How are you?

I had a good day today. Sorry if the paper is crunchy I am writing this on my bed because my mom thinks I am already asleep. Today I went out with my mom and we went to the park and ate some sandwiches at the park. We had a picnic but with no juice because my sister finished everything. And then we went to the toy shop after lunch. I saw a keychain of a camera and bought it for you because you like acting and cameras can take a video of you acting.

This is a picture of me next to the wishing well at the park, you cannot see it but i’m making a peace sign. I threw a coin in the well and made a wish that your audition will be good. I know you will do very well because you practiced a lot for it. That’s all. I’m a bit tired now. Goodnight, or good morning if you are reading this in the morning. Or afternoon.

I hope i’ll be hearing from you soon, Binnie.  

“So, do you wanna keep them? If not I can chuck them together with the rest of your old things,” your mom began, already reaching over to take the letter from you.

Your eyes widened just as quickly, shaking your head quickly as you gripped the envelope and its contents behind your back away from her reach.

“No, no. Don’t throw them away,” you said sternly, softening your gaze when you noticed the way her eyebrows had raised in amusement, embarrassment washing over your features.

“I’ll keep them. Gimme the box.”

Your mom set the beaten looking converse shoebox down onto the table, shaking her head at you as a small chuckle escaped her. Mental note to transfer the letters to a smaller (and more durable) box. 

“Alright, alright,” she waved her hands at you in dismissal, “hurry up or you’ll be late for school.”

She shut the door behind her with a light thud, leaving you to stare at the grainy polaroid your childhood penpal had sent you when you both were only eight and still exchanging letters every week.

Inhaling deeply, you shoved the polaroid picture back into the envelope, slipping it into the box of envelopes before getting up. You figured that was a box you wouldn’t have the time to delve into when you were already keeping Jisung waiting.

Driving as fast as you could (or as fast as you dared to) within the speed limit, you’d reached your campus soon enough. It wasn’t that long of a drive and it would be even shorter (walking distance to be specific), when you move into your apartment nearer to campus in a few days. But that didn’t change the fact that you were running late now, spotting Jisung standing by the fountain with a sour look on his face that had only deepened once he’d spotted you.

Before an utterance of apology could leave you, Jisung had pursed his lips, stretching out his hand that held your cup of drink, a small hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“I’m starting to wonder which one of us has worse time management,” he sighed deeply, shaking his head with feigned disappointment as he glanced at his nonexistent watch on his wrist.

Jisung was one to talk, for sure. His crumpled looking shirt over baggy cargo pants and a hat to cover his head of messy hair told you his journey to school wasn’t exactly ‘leisurely’ either.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink and sighing at the taste, “it’s definitely you. I was only late today ‘cause my mom was showing me my old stuff she found in the storeroom.”

Jisung waved you off, “fine, whatever,” he fished his phone out of his pocket as you started walking towards the auditorium for a class you were both dreading.

“Oh, shit, Hyunjin says the professor’s already in class, we should hurry up.”

Quickening your pace, you were glad to have reached before your professor had started, Jisung directing you towards where Hyunjin was seated at the side of the auditorium, giving him a small nod as you sat down.

Not that Hyunjin noticed anyway, the said boy busy with messaging someone on his phone with a frown on his face.

“What are you doing?”

Jisung peered over Hyunjin’s shoulder, frankly not wanting to focus on the lesson as the professor played a video on boring business things he figured he could just ask you for later.

Hyunjin sighed, setting his phone down onto the table and pushing his laptop open further, going to his email with quick clicks on his trackpad, “gotta send the scene for the auditions later to Changbin.”

“Oh, for that film thing?” Jisung asked, earning a nod from Hyunjin, whose eyebrows furrowed as they remembered your presence.

“Y/N should audition,” Hyunjin nodded his head towards you, his mention of your name distracting you momentarily, but you’d brushed it off quickly as you tried to take down whatever your professor was rambling on about.

At your lack of response, Jisung nudged your shoulder with more force, “hey, did you hear what Hyunjin said?”

You tore your gaze reluctantly from your professor as your fingers finished typing whatever you had left in your memory, the confused look on your face prompting Hyunjin to take over.

“We’re having auditions later for the movie the film club’s gonna be making,” he started, nodding slowly as his eyebrows raised, “I was saying you should join, you’d be good for the role.”

You narrowed your eyes at Hyunjin, “what’s it about?”

Jisung huffed, “some cheesy penpal shit, the last I heard.”

Your quirked an eyebrow at that, Hyunjin rolling his eyes.

“Something like that, but it’s not super romantic. They’re childhood penpals who meet again in the future but they don’t end up together, I don’t know how to explain it to you as well as Changbin can, but will you come anyway?”

You scrunch your nose as you consider his offer.

Was there anything you needed to prepare? You didn’t even know exactly what you were signing up for. Or much less anyone in the film club. Well, other than Hyunjin, of course.  

“Is there any script I'm supposed to prepare with?” you asked, making Hyunjin’s eyebrows raise, his lips parting in realisation.

“I’m pretty sure it depends on what role you want…” he trailed off, making you scoff.

Not being able to help the laugh from escaping you, you narrowed your eyes at him, “you sound like you’re not even in the club.”

Hyunjin flashed you a sweet smile, “you know what? I’ll just send you what I sent Changbin. You can just prepare with that! Penny’s role!”

Jisung snorted, his hand coming up in a poor attempt to stifle his giggles.

“Penny? Is it because...she’s a pen pal?”

You pressed your lips into a firm line, finding it awfully amusing as well.

Hyunjin frowned, scrunching his nose up in distaste, “we couldn’t think of anything better, okay?”

You huffed, lower lip jutting out in a small pensive pout. You didn’t have much going on in terms of school productions as of now, anyway, you guessed there would be no harm in showing some support for Hyunjin.

“What time are the auditions?”

“They start from lunchtime until like five,” Hyunjin tried his best to recall, looking at you with his best pleading gaze.

Sighing again, you nodded, “this is my only class for today.”

Hyunjin was practically beaming now.

“Perfect.”

===

“I don’t like it.”

Hyunjin sputtered over his sip of coffee, an incredulous expression on his face, attracting looks from the other film club members in the dance studio. Excusing himself, he’d made his way outside, oblivious to the squeals and stares the girls waiting to audition were directing towards him, settling himself in the middle of the field outside the dance studio.  

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t like it’?” he asked you again, his eyebrows furrowed as curiosity took over him.

You sighed, rolling your shoulders back as you nodded at one of your teachers you were walking past, your grip relaxing on your phone as your arm had started to get tired.

“I mean, I read through the script, and something about Penny’s character just doesn’t sit right with me,” you told him, “it just… doesn’t make sense for her to come to that conclusion when she’d been having a perfectly good time with the guy before that, you know?”

Pausing, you’d waited for him to respond, his silence prompting you to continue with your elaboration.

“Okay, I’ll put it this way,” you started, adjusting your grip on your laptop in your arm, “If I were a reader, or like, a viewer in this case, I would wanna be able to pick up on these small moments or signs that Penny is actually thinking about her relationship, do you know what I mean? Because now the way it looks is that she’s just a plot device meant to hurt him, and that there’s no exploration of the development of their relationship at all.”

Hyunjin let out a deep sigh, “Okay, I know, I know, but the thing is… this was Changbin’s idea, and I don’t know if you’ve heard—I mean, you probably have, but… nobody really questions him.”

You hummed, following Hyunjin into the school building and tugging your coat tighter around yourself, the cold air in the building shocking you as you entered.

“Yeah, I get that, but you’re forgetting that I don’t have the same relationship with this Changbin guy that you guys do. I don’t mind telling him that I have a problem with it. I don’t wanna be acting out some two-dimensional love interest character if I can help it.”

Hyunjin grimaced, not seeming to be too keen on your insistence, “I really think it might be a little late for him to change the script.”

“It’s never too late.”

“Well to Changbin it could be!” Hyunjin insisted, making you roll your eyes, a small chuckle leaving you.

You huffed, “I still think the audience deserves a better film with better crafted characters.”

Hyunjin let out a sound in between a sigh and a groan, “Okay fine, you just have to make sure you get the role, and then you’re free to argue with Changbin all you want. Deal?”

“Deal,” You turned the corner and spotted Hyunjin standing in the middle of the field, already making his way back to the dance studio.

“Okay,” he spoke before you could end the call, “I gotta go, see you later.”

You didn’t expect there to be so many people at the auditions, mostly girls and just a handful of guys. Though you seemed to piece the uneven ratio together when you saw the not-so-furtive stares the girls would cast in Hyunjin’s direction whenever he’d peek his head out from the crack in the door to call the next person in.

You recognized one of the guys who’d come in later than you, one of Jisung’s upperclassmen friends whose name was Minho.

“Didn’t think i’d see you here,” he gave you a small smile as he took a seat next to you.

Shrugging in response, you let out an awkward huff of laughter, not used to talking to him about anything other than his cats and Jisung’s whereabouts.

“Yeah… well, Hyunjin asked me to come, so I figured I might as well,” you fiddled with the slip of paper with the scene printed on it, “not like I had anything better to do, anyway.”

Minho nodded slowly, leaning closer to you and dropping his voice to a murmur, “I’ve never seen any of these girls before.”

You huffed, “I’m pretty sure most of them are here for Hyunjin.”

“Oh yeah, makes sense,” Minho hummed, a small lilt of amusement to his tone, “where is he, anyway? He told me he would be here—”

Minho’s question was answered when the girls beside the both of you had erupted into harsh whispers and murmurs, tapping each other excitedly as Hyunjin could be seen through the window panel in the door, looking on seriously as one of the girls inside the room was auditioning.

You huffed, gesturing to the window.

“Found him.”

Inside the room, Changbin was distracted.

He knew he had a certain image in his head about what he wanted ‘Penny’ to be. But whatever the girls that had auditioned so far had been showing, that dramatic ‘i never loved you!’ emotion, that wasn’t exactly it. And it didn’t help either that they struggled letting go of the dramatics when Chan would prompt them to try a different angle.

Hyunjin cast a (mildly concerned) look at Changbin, trying to gauge his expression, figuring the pointed look Changbin had sent his way was enough to say he didn’t think this girl would be shortlisted.

“Who’s next?” Chan leaned over in his seat to peek at the clipboard of names of signups, Changbin leaning back in his seat and pushing the clipboard towards him, not finding it in him to be able to be more hopeful about the next person.

“Oh, Y/N,” Chan hummed, nodding with an impressed expression on his face, the name catching Changbin’s attention, “that’s cool, didn’t think they’d audition.”

“Y/N?” Changbin echoed, something about the name awfully familiar to him, yet not being able to make the connection in his memories yet.

So for now, he’d simply gestured to Hyunjin to signal that he could send the next girl in, Chan sweetly thanking the girl that had just auditioned as she left the room.

Making your way into the room, you scanned the ‘panel’ of judges.

You recognized Chan, the said pale-faced boy looking even more tired when he’d yawned as you made your way to the centre of the room. He came to your school productions often since he and Felix were friends, and Felix was always involved in some way or another. The other boy, though, you didn’t think you’d seen before.

The two of them seemed to exude completely different auras, with Chan smiling warmly at you and gesturing for you to come closer while the other boy sat with his arms folded across his chest, frowning at you as though you were a code to decipher.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here,” Chan broke the silence first, giggling.

You shook your head, “honestly didn’t think i’d sign-up either.”

You pressed your lips together in a tight-lipped smile, rocking back on your heels as you glanced at the boy next to him again, “I actually only heard about it from Hyunjin this morning,” you admitted, Hyunjin flashing Chan a grin from behind you as if to say ‘you’re welcome’.

Changbin cleared his throat, making Chan perk up.

“Right, sorry. So, we’ve obviously met but this is our club’s president Changbin,” he gestured to the boy sitting next to him.

Changbin nodded curtly, bringing his hand up to run it through his bleached hair and shoving his cap back on his head with habitual movements.

Now you were starting to understand why Hyunjin was so intimidated by Changbin, always having heard stories about him but only now being able to put a face to the name.

Nodding slowly, you gave him a smile, “nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”

Changbin had to stop himself from faltering, his breath hitching when he realised why your name was so familiar.

After all, it had been the first candidate before they’d decided to go with ‘penny’. He wondered how cruel fate was to have brought you, someone with the same name as the person he’d practically based this story on, to be auditioning for the very role.

You tried not to be offended by the way Changbin had simply nodded at you, straightening up in his seat, “and you’ll be auditioning for the role of…?”

Would it hurt him to smile?

You inhaled deeply, trying to hide your amusement as you answered him, “Penny.”

Changbin nodded, Chan humming as he looked up from his copy of the script to give you another reassuring smile.

“Alright, whenever you’re ready. I’ll be taking the lines of the male lead,” Chan told you.

You understood that the scene was some sort of scene where the two romantic leads have some sort of confrontation, and you did your best to get into what you imagined Penny would be feeling, Chan reading the line asking if ‘penny’ had even loved him at all. Dramatic was the word to describe it, really.  

You softened your gaze, unintentionally letting it rest on Changbin but deciding to let it stay there, executing your lines all the while trying to ignore the way Changbin’s stare was unnerving you, making you want to prove to him that you were a good actor even though he hadn’t questioned your acting skills.

Hyunjin had been watching the exchange closely, Changbin’s grip on his pencil loosening as he’d let the pencil fall softly against the table.

Changbin wondered if it was some sort of coincidence, because whatever ‘it’ was that he’d been looking for in Penny’s character, you’d managed to convey almost perfectly.

And it was clear that Chan had felt the same way as well, since once your audition was over, the smile on Chan’s face was nothing but beaming.

Once you’d left the room, Hyunjin telling you that they would contact you by the next morning, Chan had turned to Changbin, the same stupid smile on his face.

“That was great!” he nudged Changbin, the younger boy still recovering from the shock of the coincidence of it all, managing to muster a small huff in response.

“Yeah,” Changbin reached over to grab his water bottle, prolonging his silence as he took a long sip, “I don’t think we’d even need to see the rest.”

Chris scrunched his nose up, grinning, “but you know we still will, of course. Just in case.”

Changbin sighed, glancing at the clock, agreeing with Chan even though he knew he’d already had his mind made up.

“Yeah, just in case,” Changbin mumbled, looking out the window and seeing you talk to Minho, tearing his gaze away and rolling his shoulders back.

“Okay, send the next one in.”

===

To: Binnie

How are you?

I’m okay. I like the picture you sent me of you using your scooter. My mom says you look nice. I think so too.

Today I went to the museum and I ate an ice cream for lunch. I don’t have a picture of it but it was a Strawberry ice cream.

I just finished reading your letter. Sorry to say it using a bad word, but i think what your sister did was stupid. I think you should still tell her to ask for permission to use your scooter. But if she still does not listen, maybe you should tell her again. Because my mom always tells me that if I want something, I have to ask for it. So you should do that. Maybe she does not know you don’t like it when she plays with your scooter. Or, you could buy a new scooter. Here is some money so you can buy a scooter. I drew you $50 because that is a lot of money. I hope you have a good day when you read this.

Till next time, Your penpal Y/N.

You weren’t the world’s kindest human alive, you had your petty moments. I mean, there were so many songs and literature and movies that highlighted that idea that no human was perfect, right? But you tried your best, surely.

So, you’d gladly complied when Hyunjin asked you to grab extra cups of coffee for Chan and Changbin (as reluctant as you were. You were strapped for cash as it was).

You figured that was the least you could do before the trouble you were about to cause the both of them. But hopefully, if office etiquette was anything to go by, the simple gesture would show that you were kind, and someone who appreciated the offer given to you, as much as you hated the superficiality of your character.

However, when you showed up at the room, you were reminded that Changbin wasn’t just anyone. And while Chan made his appreciation known, Changbin… was the same as ever. Intimidating, and very hard to read. The sight of it almost made you want to take back his coffee.

He wasn’t wearing a hat today. Instead, he’d let his blonde hair (which looked darker since the last time you saw him, or maybe it was just his dyed-black undercut) fall messily over his forehead in a slight side part.

His black shirt did nothing to hide his physique, every movement of his coming across as a subtle flex, making you have to remind yourself time and time again that you weren’t exactly here to fawn over him.

He would lean back in his seat, scrolling through whatever he was looking at in his phone with one hand, his other hand draped over his stomach and propped underneath his elbow to support it. The way he would look made it seem as if he was almost oblivious to the world around him, only paying attention to what was on his phone until he would laugh at something Chan said, Chan being the only person you’ve seen that managed to elicit seemingly uncharacteristic giggles from him.

Though it wasn’t as if you were given much time to get used to it. The moment Chan had murmured something in his ear, his expression had switched back to ‘strictly business’.

Chan straightened up, looking around the room with his eyebrows slightly raised in question, one hand adjusting the braided leather bracelet around his wrist

“So, shall we get started then?” Chan asked, gesturing to Changbin before typing away at his laptop.

Changbin took his cue, getting up from his seat and making his way around the table to the front of the room, pulling the overhanging screen up to reveal the whiteboard.

“So, first of all, we’ve finalised the actors playing the characters,” he gestured towards you and Minho, “Minho as Soobin and Y/N as Penny. So, we can start shooting about next week. I would say we’re working with a pretty loose deadline because we don’t have to submit it until a few months from now.”

Changbin rolled his shoulders back, his body language seeming fairly relaxed although his expression remained serious nonetheless, “but that doesn’t mean we should slack, obviously.”

His statement elicited a small groan from Hyunjin, who muttered a ‘figures’ under his breath, making you stifle your giggles for Changbin’s sake.

“But we will start with maybe going over the script once through, go over the technical stuff after we get any issues with the flow out of the way.”

He looked as though he were going through a mental list of things to cover, his gaze flickering momentarily to Hyunjin, as if his face would give him answers to the invisible question in his head.

“The people in charge of the props, have you started preparing the letters?” Chan stepped in, earning a shake of the head from the two girls sitting next to Hyunjin, making Changbin wave a hand dismissively in their direction.

“They could start on that after we confirm the script,” Changbin leaned over the table to grab his cup of coffee, proceeding to take a long sip from it.

“Alright, let’s start then.”

Changbin took the empty seat he was standing next to, pulling his laptop closer to him to pull up the script.

Throughout the reading, you tried to keep your comments to yourself, you really did. It just fascinated you how fearful the team was of Changbin (well, aside from Chan), the way everyone seemed to bite their tongues or withhold their comments caused a permanent frown to be etched on your face.

It didn’t make it any better that Minho seemed to have no problems with the script, not even when you’d occasionally leant over to whisper to him and ask if he found that part a little weird or a little abrupt. But you held your tongue for now, (and also because of the side glance Hyunjin would cast your way whenever you would let out a small sigh),  you wanted to give Changbin the benefit of the doubt, figuring maybe if he read through his script again he’d realise how one-sided it was.

But thankfully, when you were reading out the lines where the two main characters had ended their date, and on a particularly high note for that matter, it seemed the opportunity to voice your concerns about the script was presented to you when Changbin had spoken up.

“Okay, since the next scene onwards will be where their relationship breaks down, any questions so far?” He asked, though his tone didn’t sound like he was really asking for feedback. But, hey, an opportunity as an opportunity, wasn’t it?

You cleared your throat a little too harshly, raising up your hand as you leaned against the table to be seen better, “uh, actually, me? I mean, I have some feedback actually.”

Changbin looked at you curiously, his gaze landing on you with slight surprise, as if he hadn’t expected it to be you of all people. There was a slight hesitancy evident in the way he paused before giving you a short nod, prompting you to go ahead.

You smiled, ignoring the way Hyunjin had sighed deeply a few seats away from you, dreading the chaos that could have come with people like you and Changbin bumping heads.

“Well, it’s not really specific to this scene. It’s kind of about the whole flow of the plot in general…” you fiddled with the corner of the page you were on, “but I was thinking it would be better to show more of Penny’s point of view? You know, because when I was reading it it just felt a little… weird for them to suddenly break up if everything seemed to be going fine.”

Changbin narrowed his eyes at you, looking back down at his computer with a simple dismissive shake of the head, “That’s not necessary, they’re going to break up anyway.”

The room had fallen silent, everybody seeming to have taken that as a ‘end of the conversation’ kind of line, already beginning to bring their attention to the next scene.

You frowned, unable to control your expression as you made your dismay obvious, casting a desperate look to Hyunjin who honestly looked as though he would pay you not to pursue this.

“But that’s not the point,” you spoke, getting Chan’s attention as he looked at you, silently urging you to continue, “you wanted to show their relationship, right? So, shouldn’t you show… both their parts in the relationship? Since it’s not like this is told in Soobin’s point of view.”

Changbin pursed his lips, “the point is,” he brought his cup of coffee to his lips, taking a small sip before continuing, “their relationship was superficial so it doesn’t matter.”

You mirrored his expression. The way it sounded was that he was just trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter.

Your frown deepened, quick to respond to him.

“That’s the thing, if you’re so insistent on them breaking up, why don’t you just make their relationship lead up to that? The way they’re interacting up to this scene makes viewers think they’re just going to end up together,” you tried to reason, hoping Changbin would understand where you were coming from.

Minho took that opportunity to excuse himself to the bathroom, and as you gave the rest of the film club members a once-over, you hated the way they were all looking at you as if you were cussing Changbin out instead of just giving him constructive feedback, or just voicing your thoughts for that matter.

“Well, not everyone gets a happy ending, I guess.”

He was practically avoiding your message at this point, making you grow more frustrated.

“Okay, look, what’s your intention behind making this film?” you asked, watching carefully as Changbin huffed, looking fairly amused at your insistence, which only served to irk you more.

“Simple,” he shrugged, “to show people like you that not everything that seems so perfect ends up perfect in the end.”

Your lips parted, scoffing, resisting the urge to get up from your seat as you heard Minho re-enter the room.

“People like me?” you echoed spitefully, “okay, fine, whatever. But as you said, if that’s the point of your discourse, shouldn’t your message be to tell people that they can work through things like this instead of just giving up and leaving like Penny did?”

Changbin was annoyed now. To him, you seemed too idealistic to understand his reasoning behind the story. He wondered why it had to be you that was telling him this, you were the only one that was trying to find problems with his story, that he’d based on his own life for that matter.

“Well what if she did, huh? What if Penny did just up and leave with no warning?”

You rolled your eyes, hearing Chan struggle to stifle his laugh, your exchange with Changbin being just about the most excitement he had in the whole school year.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, “which is why I'm saying that your job as a storyteller is to shed some light on the reason behind that. Then your story wouldn’t be about showing how things don’t turn out the way they seem, it would just be telling you, but not showing you. You could just ask literally anybody to hurt Minho—”

“Soobin,” you heard Minho correct from beside you, making you huff, scrunching your eyes shut tightly before opening them harshly.

“—Yes, Soobin’s character, and it would be the same? The story wouldn’t show me anything other than the fact that it was Soobin’s fault he ended up that way. He didn’t question anything that happened, he just let it happen to him,” you sighed again, clenching your jaw, “Penny isn’t anything other than some 2-dimensional plot device designed as an excuse for Soobin to sulk about how cruel love is.”

Changbin scrunched his nose up, his brows knitting in annoyance as he stared at you, a silence falling again in the room. Changbin was about to interject when Chan had decided that would be a good time to step in.

“C’mon guys, let’s… calm down a little. We’re talking about penpals here, not the king’s lover betraying him.”

You cast Chan a questioning look at his example, making him shrug, continuing, “we’re running a little overtime anyway, we can just continue discussing this another time.”

Just like that, the rest of the film club members seemed eager to leave, either rushing for their next class or just not wanting to be in the same environment as an irritable Changbin.

Chan directed his gaze towards you as you were getting up from your seat, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“I’m sure Changbin will keep your points in mind, don’t worry,” he reassured you just as Changbin chimed in with a ‘no, I won’t’ behind him, leaving the room promptly afterwards, leaving you free to let out the frustrated groan you had been withholding.

“Thanks, Chan. Sorry I kind of made you guys overrun your time,” you sighed, watching Hyunjin making his way to you with wide eyes.

Chan shook his head, holding his laptop securely in one arm as he let out a burst of giggles.

“No, don’t apologize! I should be thanking you, I didn’t think about your point until you mentioned it just now,” he murmured, “but again, sorry about Changbin. He’s just a little… protective of his work.”

Hyunjin let out a low whistle from next to you, “Extremely.”

You nodded, shrugging, “It’s alright, I get it.”

Chan flashed you a smile, his hand reaching out to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “Thanks, again. See you around.”

Leaving the room with Hyunjin, you ignored the way he’d begun to chuckle to himself, “honestly, in this whole time i’ve been in the film club, i’ve never seen Changbin actually… argue with someone.”

You rolled your eyes, kicking at the stray pebble “well if he continues like this, you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of it.”

“You sure seemed like you were having fun, though, weren’t you?” Hyunjin was being sarcastic, knowing he was just doing this to dissuade you, his tone eliciting a scoff from you.  

You shook your head.

“You know for a fact I wasn’t. But it wouldn’t sit right with me if I just kept my mouth shut like you and the rest of your film club goons,” you shot him a pointed glare.

Hyunjin pressed his lips into a firm line, holding his hands up beside his head in surrender, prompting you to continue.

“If I want something done, I’m gonna ask for it. It’s as simple as that.”

===

To: my penpal Y/N

How are you?

Was your audition good? Thank you for the money. But $50 is a lot of money so I don’t think I should spend everything, my mom says I need to save money. Thank you for telling me what I should do, but in the end I didn’t buy another scooter. I did this because we were learning about needs vs wants in school and I think the scooter is a want. My teacher says this means I don’t really need it. But needs are things like colour pencils and pens and paper so I can write letters to send you. Maybe your mom tells you you cannot buy so many stickers because the stickers are a want and not a need.

Anyway, I think I can just let my sister take my scooter. Maybe I will just get another scooter for myself when I am older and I have more money.

I hope I will be hearing from you soon, Binnie.

As you said before, you weren’t perfect, but you surely did your best. But days like this you wondered if people like Changbin even tried.

After your interaction with said stubborn being during your meeting with the film club had put you in a bad mood, you were currently seated with Jisung in a booth at a popular burger outlet outside school, thankfully having managed to get a place in the midst of the anxious afternoon crowd. And even more thankful that you could eat your lunch in peace where you were very much away from Changbin.

“What did you say to him, again?” Jisung hadn’t bothered trying to hold in his laughter as he was almost shouting over the noise of the crowd, making you huff as you bit into your burger.

“I said it’s funny that he was talking so much shit about the main couple when he’s dedicating his entire movie to them,” you drawled, your annoyance returning as you recounted the spat you had with him during the small meeting you had with the film club just before lunch.

Jisung’s shoulders shook as he laughed, fumbling with his drink as his eyes shut tightly, giggles leaving him and seeming as though they would never end, “and that’s what you said word for word?”

You nodded, reaching over to press the lid of Jisung’s drink down firmer before he could spill it all over himself.

“I know you’re friends with him but I really don’t know how you work with this guy, he’s as stubborn as stubborn goes,” you huffed, taking another bite into your burger as Jisung’s laughter had died down, though his smile had only lingered.

“You’re worse,” he snickered, earning a glare from you.

Jisung remained unaffected, “Look, he’s honestly fine once you get to know him,” he tried to reason, sounding as though he were trying to convince a child to make friends, “I mean, we’re all still kind of wary around him when he’s in a mood but honestly, if not for the way you guys met, I’m pretty sure you two would get along well. He seems like he’s your type.”

Your eyes widened, scandalised at Jisung’s implication.  

“The only thing he has in common with my exes is being annoying, okay?” you rushed to push away the curiosity of what Changbin would be like as a boyfriend. Curse Jisung and his stupid implication.

“And plus,” you continued, hearing the doorbell chime for what sounded like the thousandth time to signal yet another entry into the diner that was now overflowing with people asking for take-out, “it’s not like he’s been very nice to me since I got involved with his stupid short film.”

Jisung sighed, his gaze momentarily distracted by something behind you, making you wave your hand in front of his face to keep his attention. He’d glanced back at you, an almost dazed look in his eyes before he’d given you a small smile, taking a bite out of his burger and not waiting to finish chewing before he answered you.

“I honestly think that he just needs a little more persuasion. Like, take this for example, something similar happened with him and Chan when they were composing something in the past, and trust me, if you don’t give up now, i’m pretty sure he’d agree to come to a compromise or something,” he gave you a shrug, his gaze returning to whatever was behind you (probably someone cute, you figured). You couldn’t say you blamed him; almost all your conversations revolved around you and Changbin’s squabbles these days.

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at him, “you really think he’d be willing to rewrite his script?”

Your tone was skeptical, already imagining how Changbin would simply tell you to keep dreaming if you’d brought up the proposal to him.

At Jisung’s lack of response, you’d frowned slightly, seeing him turn back to you calmly as his smile widened, giving you yet another shrug.

“Maybe you can ask him yourself.”

If there was any feeling one would get just before something bad was about to happen, that was definitely what you were feeling now.

You didn’t dare to tear your gaze away from Jisung as you watched him turn his body, his hand coming up in a wave that had only turned into a hi-five, his behaviour only adequately described as boisterous as he welcomed the people you were hoping you wouldn’t have to see for another week until the next film club meeting.

Well, Chan was fine, you were simply referring to Changbin.

“Oh, hey, Y/N! Didn’t know you and Jisung were friends,” Chan gave you a sweet smile, gesturing between you and Jisung as he spoke.

Jisung chimed in with a nonchalant “Best friends, actually,” which had only made you shoot him a glare.

“Might have to re-evaluate that,” you muttered, turning back to Chan and Changbin to give them as warm a smile as you could muster.

“Are you guys eating here too?” you asked.

You were oblivious to the way Changbin’s gaze flickered from your face to the food in your hand, and then back to Jisung, looking perfectly unaffected as he joked with Jisung about something you didn’t quite catch.

“Well, we wanted to, but, you know, with the crowd and all we probably won’t be able to get a seat,” Chan’s gaze was pitiful, to say the least, making Jisung raise his eyebrows, and that sinking feeling within you had only intensified as his next sentence left his lips.

Jisung had barely glanced at you as he held onto Changbin’s hand.

“Well, our booth’s actually meant to seat four people, so you guys could squeeze in if you want,” he offered.

Changbin quirked his eyebrow, skepticism written all over his features, though mostly directed towards you, “you guys really won’t mind?”

You glared at your burger, scrunching your nose up as you avoided Changbin’s pointed gaze.

Jisung scoffed, giving Changbin a loud smack on the arm, “of course we won’t, right Y/N?”

He turned to you, giving you a smile you could only describe to be devious (and fairly amused).

“Yeah,” your voice took a pitch higher unintentionally, “go ahead,” you murmured, scooting into the booth to make space for them.

You took another bite from your burger, watching out of the corner of your eye as Changbin took a seat next to Jisung, Chan excusing himself to retrieve both their orders.

“Funny that you showed up, actually. Y/N and I were just talking about your short film,” Jisung spoke, earning a pointed glare for you, as if daring him to continue (and you should’ve known that wasn’t going to faze him at all).

“Oh, were you?” Changbin drawled, his eyebrows raised and a slight smile playing at his lips, “I’m sure Y/N had a lot to say about that.”

As you were about to speak, Jisung had interjected with a little giggle, “she did.”

Changbin didn’t seem to take Jisung’s comment as an answer, simply keeping his gaze fixed on you, prompting you to produce an answer of your own. You ignored the knowing look Jisung gave you.

You sighed, “maybe I wouldn’t, if someone just took my suggestions.”

Changbin had let out a small huff at that, leaning back in his seat with his arms folded over his chest as Chan returned to the table with his and Changbin’s food, casting curious glances between the three of you seated at the table.

“Hope you guys didn’t fight while I was gone,” he joked, making you sigh, and you missed the pointed look he cast Changbin’s way when the boy had scoffed, “what were you guys talking about before I came?”

You shrugged.

“We were talking about the short film,” you told him, “kind of.”

Chan had perked up at that, turning to you as he handed Changbin his food, “oh yeah, I wanted to ask if you had more feedback about the scenes.”

You nodded, “I do, actually.”

Changbin’s gaze lifted from his burger to look at you as he sighed, “what is it now?”

You huffed, “It’s not that bad. I was just wondering if the content of the letters were gonna be read out during the scene? ‘Cause if it is, then maybe we could kind of make it a little more relevant to their personalities or something.”

“Will that be hard? What do kids even talk about in their letters?” Jisung laughed.

Changbin’s lips parted slightly before pressing them into a firm line.

“Well, they’ll be like 9 when they’re exchanging letters, I suppose, so I guess they’d at least know how to have a conversation… ” He sounded almost hesitant, making you wonder why he made talking about childhood penpals seem like such a complex thing.

You thought about your own penpal, Binnie. You were about that age when you were exchanging letters with him too, figuring you could give some insight on that until Jisung had intercepted.

“At that age all I did was talk about hot wheels, to be honest. Much less talk to girls,” he snorted, making you scoff, using your shoe to nudge his leg under the table.

Chan, who had been silently thinking, had straightened up abruptly.

“Wait,” Chan’s eyebrows lowered, frowning slightly as his lower lip jut out in a slight pout. He directed his attention to Changbin, pointing his index finger towards him, “didn’t you used to have a penpal?”

You had to stop yourself from making your shock too obvious, your eyes widening as your gaze became nothing but accusatory. How badly did his penpal experience go for him to be so cynical about it now?

Whatever it was, the newfound information made you curious as to exactly how much of the story he’d changed, more importantly, how much he’d retained.

“You?” you couldn’t help yourself from blurting, though Changbin remained unamused.

“Yeah, I did,” he bypassed your incredulous stare, answering Chan simply.

Jisung hummed, bringing one hand up to fiddle with his ear piercing, not having expected Changbin’s response.

“Oh, well, what was it like, then?”

Changbin shrugged, resting one of his forearms on the table to support himself, his other hand reaching down to pick up a fry, “was nice. We would exchange letters every week. Talked about a lot of things, sent each other pictures, you know, all that stuff.”

“Do you still keep in contact with them?” Chan asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, not having heard much from Changbin about this penpal in the entire duration of their friendship.

Changbin shook his head, “nope,” he popped the p, picking up his cup to swirl it around noisily, the ice rumbling as it got tossed around in the paper cup, proceeding to take a sip from it as the rest of you looked on curiously at him.

“Well, why not?” you dared to ask, a million different possible reasons running through your mind.

Maybe they did something to piss Changbin off, or maybe they got into a big fight (which also made you wonder how heated fights could get over snail mail), or maybe one of their parents disapproved of the other. The possibilities were endless as you anticipated just why 8 year old Changbin would’ve cut ties with his penpal. And maybe, you were enjoying the dramatic aspect of it a little more than you should’ve been.

But something about the way he replied felt restrained. Maybe you were reading into it too much, but he almost sounded evasive. But, of course, you chose to ignore (suppress) it for now, watching intently as Changbin had once again shrugged, an air of nonchalance to his gestures as he met your gaze.

“Just… grew out of it, I guess.”

You huffed, memories of your own penpal making his response sting.

You don’t think you ever ‘grew out’ of talking to binnie. You remembered how frustrated you were when you’d stopped hearing from him after he moved, and every letter you’d sent to his new address had only been returned back to you. Maybe he grew out of it, but you wouldn’t have left it like that if you had a choice.

You rolled your eyes at his response, something in your response seeming to have irked Changbin.

“What?” he snapped, making you hesitate just the slightest bit, deciding to bite your tongue and shake your head.

“Nothing.”  

Chan let out a huff of laughter through his nose next to you, shaking his head at you goodnaturedly.

“Forgive us, you always seem like you have something more to say,” Chan spoke, apparent ‘damage control’ for Changbin’s abrasiveness.

“Wait, so, you’re really not gonna have a happy ending?” Jisung frowned.

“Well, Changbin and I were talking about it after the meeting that day, we figured since we have time we could afford to change the script a little,” he hummed, turning to you, “you know, since it could be a chance to kind of send a more hopeful message like you were talking about.”

Your eyes widened, your hand almost reaching out to touch Chan’s arm but realising you were still holding your burger, “really? You’re open to changing it?”

Changbin’s gaze flickered momentarily to you, observing your posture, noticing how open and comfortable you seemed with Chan, the sight alone enough to make him scoff. Call him a cynic, but he couldn’t tell if this was you acting or not just to get your way.

“There could be another meeting for you to discuss and work on the script together, but yeah, we’re alright with changing it.”

You turned to Changbin, a hint of distrust in your stare, making him huff again, putting down his drink on the table with a little too much force.

“He said it, not me,” he told you, pressing his lips firmly into a tight line, “you wanna change my script so badly? Fine. But your ideas better be worth changing it for.”

Jisung scrunched up his nose as you turned back to Chan, not wishing to look at Changbin’s face any longer, leaning over to whisper to Changbin, “you two don’t like each other very much, do you?”

If he was caught off guard by Jisung’s statement, he didn’t show it.

Changbin shrugged, picking his drink back up, “they started it.”

At the sound of his accusation, your eyes narrowed, turning to glare at Changbin, thankful for Jisung nudging you under the table before you could retaliate with a comment of your own. Chan simply casting you an amused look, his eyebrows raised in a silent question of what you were about to do.

You shook your head.

Whatever, you pushed your annoyance away in your head, as long as Chan was there during the rewrite meeting, you’d hopefully still be able to maintain your sanity.

Or at least, that was the hope that you were holding on to until that night when you’d gotten a text from Chan.

Chan 11:17pm - hey, i gave changbin your number if you don't mind... you know, since you guys have to discuss to rewrite the script and all -

You’d almost sat up from your bed in shock, frowning against the harsh light coming from your phone and the contents of the text, the latter obviously making you more disgruntled.

11:17pm - won’t you be discussing with us?? Why not just make a group chat??? -

Your heart was pumping with anxiousness as you awaited his reply, something about the sound of the clock ticking putting you in an even more anxious state, your heart almost sinking as texts from him and Changbin had come in at the same time.

You looked at Chan’s first.

Chan 11:18pm - oh i didn’t tell you? All script writing is done by Changbin. I’m just in charge of the other elements like props and directing and whatnot -

You shut your eyes, suddenly wishing you could travel back a few seconds back in time and not have checked your phone when Chan had texted you. Bringing your fingers across your screen reluctantly as you typed a reply to him.

11:18pm - ohhh hahaha right i forgot, thanks chan -

Now for the bigger menace at hand. You swiped over to Changbin’s message, your finger lingering on his chat as you decided to stop being petty and just open it.

seo changbin 11:18pm - just so you know, i’m doing this only because Chan asked me to. we can go over the changes at my house. is saturday okay with you? -

You pulled your notifications bar down. Tomorrow was Friday, and from what you knew you were pretty much free on Saturday. Fortunately or unfortunately for you.

You took another deep breath as you typed out your reply to him. For your own sanity, you tried to ignore the way he felt the need to clarify that he wasn’t doing it for your sake.

11:18pm - saturday’s fine. What time?-

Resisting the urge to go offline when you saw him come online, you felt as though you were in some sort of staring contest through your phone as you watched him type, his message coming in quickly.

seo changbin 11:18pm -1? We could order in and discuss -

You sighed, it wasn’t enough that he had to take away one peaceful lunch from you today, but yet another one on Saturday.

11:19pm -okay text me your address-

Another sigh left you when you read that the address he’d sent you was just a few blocks away from your apartment. Maybe he lived alone too; most of the apartments here were occupied by college students looking for affordable rent and shorter travel time.

seo changbin 11:19pm - don't be late -

You scoffed, shoving your phone back onto your bedside table as you slumped back against your pillow, burying your head into your pillow and kicking at your blanket that covered your feet uncomfortably.

Fine, if he wanted to be that way, that was fine by you. You would just do this for the sake of the short film. Yeah. That’s all it would be.

===

“Let’s make this quick and painless for the both of us,” you blurted the moment Changbin had opened his door to let you in, glad to see he was donning an outfit similar to yours (sweatpants and a t-shirt), your previous worries of being underdressed dissipating instantly.

He let out a sigh, his hand coming up to run it through his hair, his hair messy and sticking up at one place awkwardly, looking as though he’d slept on that side for too long.

“Hello to you too,” he grumbled, shutting the door behind you as he gestured to the living room.

You glanced around his rather plain apartment as he led you to the living room, his laptop resting on one of the cushions of the sofa, soft music verberating from the device.

“What food do you want?” he asked, earning a thoughtful frown from you as you set your things down on the floor next to the sofa, taking a seat on the other side of it.

“Fastest delivery would be if we order from that Chinese food place nearby, right?”

Changbin’s eyebrows quirked up in intrigue, “I was thinking of that place too,” he handed you his phone, letting you order what you wanted before handing it back to him.

It was otherwise silent between the both of you as you waited for the food to arrive, neither of you quite knowing how to break the silence. The tension slowly made you grow increasingly fidgety as time passed.

Changbin had sat down on the floor next to the coffee table, resting one hand on his soft rug as he pushed a stack of papers towards you, drawing your attention away from your soft copy of the script on your phone as you realised it was a hard copy of the script.

“Just use this, i’ve got a copy on my laptop,” he mumbled, making you nod, accepting it from him as you flipped to where you left off.

Changbin glanced at the clock, in disbelief that only 10 minutes had passed and yet he found himself feeling jittery at your silence. Turning his gaze towards you, he let out a small sigh.

He had expected you to say something by now, or let out some snarky comment about something he wrote. Your silence was unnerving him, it was almost as if he wanted you to say something, especially with the way you were scribbling notes beside the pages with a mechanical pencil he didn’t even recall seeing you take out.

“Which scene are you at?” he blurted, his anxiousness getting the better of him, making your head shoot up abruptly, surprised at his sudden outburst.

“Uh,” you glanced back down at the page, “I’m at the part where they find out they used to be penpals,” you told him.

“Okay,” Changbin murmured, thinking about where to go from there, momentarily distracted when he’d heard the doorbell ring. Pausing, he’d stepped out momentarily to retrieve your food, the rustling of bags getting louder as he neared the table.

Setting the food down on the table, surprising you when he’d pushed the food towards you, your surprise hadn’t gone unnoticed by Changbin.

“What?” he scoffed.

You shrugged, “nothing, just didn’t know you were capable of doing nice things,” you told him, a sarcastic lilt to your tone.

Changbin inhaled deeply, shooting you a patronizing smile as he broke his chopsticks, “anyway, I think we could start from there, since that’s kind of the turning point of their relationship.”

You nodded, pulling your food towards you as you began to eat.

“I was thinking,” you spoke, pausing to chew on your food, “this part has a lot of unanswered questions, like… I wouldn’t just let it go so easily if I found out someone was my penpal that I grew apart from. I felt like they should’ve had a bit more of a confrontation there.”

Changbin hummed, shocking you when he’d leant closer to you to look at the script, making you push it towards him, a small huff leaving him at your action.

“What questions do you think Penny would ask, then?” he asked you.

“I don’t know, maybe why they stopped talking in the first place?” there was a hint of sarcasm in your tone, making Changbin look at you over his mouthful of noodles.

“I told you already, Soobin grew out of it—”

You grimaced at his answer, your chopsticks halting before your mouth momentarily before you shovelled your noodles in with annoyance, “I don’t believe that.”

“I used to have a penpal, and I can guarantee you, the reason why we stopped talking wasn’t because we ‘grew out of it’,” you told him pointedly, having to stop yourself from growing too riled up about it, Changbin tensing up at your revelation.

Bringing his glass of water to his lips, he let his gaze wander around everything but you as he thought, curious as to what your penpal experience was like. Finally meeting your gaze, he almost sputtered over his water with how much he wasn’t paying attention to his actions, the only thing on his mind being to get his words out.

“You did?” It was pathetic, really, that that was all he’d come up with after such a long pause.

You nodded.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter, the story isn’t based on my penpal, it’s based on yours,” you attempted to draw the attention away from you, unsettling feelings of sourness building within you at the thought of how you left things.

“So, think. What would you be curious about?” you prompted him, seeing him purse his lips, a certain dazed look tinting his gaze.

Swallowing his mouthful of food, he looked at you as he thought. He would want to know if they were still passionate about acting, he would want to know how their family was doing, he would want to know if their personality had changed, if they were still the assertive ‘go after what you want’ character that had encouraged him so much. Or maybe, just how they are.

Changbin’s lips parted, shaking his head slowly, “... so many things,” he murmured.

An unexpected tension fell between the both of you, Changbin’s eyes meeting yours with a sort of unspeakable thoughtfulness, as if he was still thinking about your question.

You broke eye contact first, “write that, then. Who knows? Maybe they’re both as curious as the other.”

“You’re one of those glass half full people, aren’t you?” he huffed, making you click your tongue in annoyance.

“And what? You have no glass at all?” you retorted.

“Would you still be… curious too? Even If it didn’t end well?” he asked suddenly, a stupid question, Changbin thought, but still something he felt compelled to ask in the moment, as if he wanted the confirmation that you, someone with a penpal experience as well had shared the same sentiments as him.

You nodded, “of course I’d be. I could hate you and still be curious about you,” you shrugged.

“Me?” Changbin asked, making your eyes widen, the tension dissipating slightly as you shook your head vigorously, your hands coming up to wave at him dismissively.

“No no, not you. I meant-” you stopped yourself, glaring at him, “I just meant it as an example.”

And for what you were sure was the first time, Changbin had laughed, beginning to feel a bit more comfortable around you, his eyes forming narrow slits and the apples of his cheeks rounding slightly as he grinned, soft breathy giggles leaving him.

“Alright, I get it. It’s not a secret that you don’t like me.”

You huffed, not being able to help but feel the need to reassure him, “you’re not… that bad I guess. Jisung talks you up all the time.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to reassure him that you didn’t have a burning hatred for him, “you’re just stubborn as hell.”

He scoffed, “I could say the same about you.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, reaching over to flip the page, “glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”

“Now that you said it,” Changbin began, moving on quickly from your bickering as he shoved his empty food packaging aside, “I do think Soobin would be curious about the things they talked about in their letters.”

You perked up at that, eyebrows raising, “That reminded me, I actually still have some of the letters from my penpal when we were younger, if you want I can loan them to you for some inspiration or something.”

Changbin nodded, flipping over to another page before pausing to type something on his computer, “yeah, actually that would be useful.”

You continued to look at the script for what had become hours, the both of you deciding it would be easier if you each assumed one of the character’s voices, speaking on behalf of the characters as you discussed. Coming up with a ‘what would soobin/penny do?’ process.

All the while during this discussion, Changbin had been scribbling down in his beaten up journal, the sides of the spine of the book peeling off when he’d set it down on the table, making you grimace.

“Do you think Pe—”

“Why don’t you just get a new journal? This one’s making such a mess,” you blurted out, frowning at the way the little brittle pieces of God knows what material covered his notebook had fallen onto the coffee table, making him tear his gaze away from what he was writing, looking at the mess on the coffee table you were gesturing at and letting out an amused huff.

“Oh, didn’t notice,” he smiled, “but that won’t be necessary, this journal’s been serving me fine.”

“It’s literally falling apart,” you pointed out.

“And you’re literally exaggerating.”

You scoffed.

“I mean, look at it, it’s such a hassle to use, since you have to keep cleaning up whenever you do so much as touch it,” you reasoned, seeing him shake his head.

“I don’t need a new journal, I’m perfectly fine using this one,” he told you, making you scrunch your nose up in distaste, Changbin looking at you with amusement heavily laden in his smile.

It seemed that there was something about the hours of bouncing off ideas and bickering that warmed the both of you up more, not feeling as wound up or hostile towards each other as you did a few hours ago, bonding over a shared want for the short film to be good.

“What?” he asked, leaning back against the sofa and resting his arm on one of the cushions, his other hand grasping his fingers as he awaited your response.

“You sound exactly like my mom,” you had a sour look on your face, continuing, “I bet you’re one of those needs versus wants people.” You huffed in amusement, shifting in your seat as you flipped through the scene you were about to discuss.

Changbin’s lips parted in shock, a breathy huff leaving him, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, “You know, those people that decide on buying things through the concept of needing it or not.”

Changbin rolled his eyes, “yeah, like any other normal person.”

“It’s so boring! Ever heard of the concept of treating yourself?” you huffed, gesturing wildly. You were clearly very passionate about this.

Changbin shook his head, the smile lingering on his face, “I’m starting to understand why you’re Jisung’s friend. Sure, a treat once in a while is understandable, but i’d rather not waste my money on things I could do without.”

You huffed, a deep sigh leaving you, recalling a conversation you had with Binnie about his scooter.

“What’s up with boys and this need versus want thing? My penpal said the same thing even though he was only eight,” you mumbled, a small breath of laughter leaving your lips, leaving Changbin frowning at your statement.

Maybe other kids just talked about the same things he did with Y/N? He brushed the thought aside.

“He did?”

Changbin’s voice came out more hoarse than he’d intended, the intent in his stare making you falter momentarily, forgetting what you were doing just for a second.

Thankfully, you’d snapped out of whatever trance you were in, shaking your head dismissively, “nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

Changbin tilted his head at you, narrowing his eyes as he contemplated whether to pursue it or not, watching closely as you busied yourself with flipping pages just to look busy, even though the inside of your mind was spinning with an indescribable feeling that came with convincing yourself that the drift between you and your penpal was merely circumstantial.

You chewed on your lip, hating the way it felt as though your stomach was churning as you remembered the disappointment you felt when your letters had stopped getting sent through.

You were young, surely you shouldn’t blame yourself, you believed that. Your finger fiddled with the corner of the page, staring at Soobin’s dialogue.

‘Did our conversations even mean anything to you?’ the dialogue read, and you inhaled deeply as your head lifted to look at Changbin, your abrupt movement almost making him flinch in surprise.

“Why did you really stop talking to your penpal?” you sighed, curiosity getting the better of you. Though at this point you weren’t sure if it was curiosity or simply reassurance. Maybe even closure. All of which you needed to satisfy.

Changbin knew you weren’t going to accept his ‘grew out of it’ statement for an answer, deciding to be honest with you, you know, for the sake of the short film.

“I just… stopped hearing from them,” he began, heaving a sigh of his own as he shifted in his seat, picking at the imaginary dust on his sweatpants, “guess they had nothing to say.”

You couldn’t lie about it, you felt relieved. A part of you began to understand why he’d painted Penny’s character out to be like that, or furthermore why Soobin had seemed so affected by the revelation.

“Nothing to say…” you echoed, as if trying to wrap your head around his reasoning as well.

A small huff of amusement left him, though there was a hint of bitterness in his smile.

“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.”

He took his lower lip between his teeth, letting it go and you watched as the blood rushed back into his lips, looking redder than before.

Your eyebrows knit into a frown, “Wouldn’t have minded what?”

Changbin met your gaze, giving you a resigned shrug, “hearing it,” he continued, “nothing, everything.”

You could almost feel your heartbeat slowing down, the tense silence returning in the room and making you feel like you couldn’t breathe. Now that was some dialogue.

“Oh,” you broke the silence, your blank expression reading pure shock, your reaction catching Changbin off guard, “write that down, that’s such a Soobin thing to say.”

Changbin couldn’t do anything but laugh, shaking his head at you, “how opportunistic of you,” he teased, though he wrote it down nonetheless.

Maybe you being here was good, Changbin thought, it reminded him not to take himself too seriously sometimes.

===

To: Binnie

How are you?

I hope you are not still sad about your friends. I would tell you not to listen to them but i know that’s difficult sometimes because you can hear everything they say. But they were being very mean so they are not nice people. I don’t agree with what they said, because i think you are very nice and you have a nice smile. I don’t think you are scary. Sometimes my mom tells me i should smile more so people think i’m happy but I think you should just smile if you are happy. If you are sad then you can be sad. It is not a bad thing. I’m your friend because you’re nice to me and I like talking to you. If they’re going to be mean to you then they’re not your friends. If they do that to you again you can tell me their address and I will go and tell them myself!

Till next time, Your penpal Y/N

You’d shown up on the filming set on the first day absolutely buzzing from head to toe and ready to go (though, when you told Jisung about how you felt he’d insisted it was because of the lack of substantial sleep and the cans of energy drink you’d both drank the night before while he was helping you prepare your lines), but it seemed that everyone on the set was more tense than ever.

You found Hyunjin huddled with a few of them next to the sound cart, deciding to approach them to ask where Changbin was, having bought a coffee for him along the way.

“Hey,” you called, Hyunjin jumping in shock as he turned, his hand over his heart as he winced at you.

“Why do you move so quietly!” he groaned, making you dismiss him with a wave. 

“Did something happen? You guys look stressed,” you took a step towards them, possible reasons fluttering around in your mind but none seeming quite appropriate for the context you were in. Maybe the semester’s GPA results were out?

“Whatever, do you guys know where I can find Changbin?” The boy next to Hyunjin, a freshman by the name of Jeongin had sucked in a sharp breath at your question, making you grow even more confused.

“He’s… a little tense these days, so I’d suggest being a more careful around him,” Chan explained, earning nods of agreement from the film club members.

Your eyebrows raised, confusion showing in a slight pout on your lips. You didn’t remember him behaving out of the ordinary when you’d seen him the day before.

“Where’d he go?”

“He’s over there,” Chan pointed towards where the camera was set up and true enough, you saw Changbin seated at a bench there busying himself with his phone.

Nodding, you’d made your way over to Changbin, discomfort growing within you at the stares you were getting from the club members (some of which you didn’t even know the names of) as you made your way towards the blonde haired boy. It was a wonder why they all avoided him like the plague.

Changbin seemed to have sensed your presence, looking up from his phone and giving you a small wave as you reached the bench, sitting down next to him and holding out his cup of coffee.

Accepting it gratefully, he’d given you a nod.

“Thanks,” he glanced at your hands, “you didn’t get one for yourself?”

You let out a small burst of chuckles, “nope, figured it wasn’t the most logical thing to do since i’m already pretty alert from last night’s energy drinks.”

Changbin sucked in a sharp breath, clicking his tongue in teasing disapproval, “I figured as much, Jisung was way too hyper when I met him at the studio.”

Your expression was sheepish, “I’d say I was sorry but it was... important.”

Changbin huffed, “It’s alright, as long as you’re taking care of yourself.”

Before you could react to his statement, Changbin had acted as though he hadn’t said anything, an amused smile playing at his lips as he tore his gaze away from you, looking forward as he took a sip from his cup, “ready to film today?”

You nodded, regaining your bearings, trying not to think too much of his words.

“Pretty much, you?”

Changbin nodded, “yeah, even though we still have a little bit of the script left, I would say i’m pretty confident.”

You glanced behind Changbin, spotting Hyunjin looking at the both of you with sheer disbelief, making you roll your eyes, turning back to Changbin, angling your body on the bench so you could hug your knees to your chest, looking at him curiously.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He nodded, looking at you with confusion written in his features, clasping his hands around his coffee cup as he rested his hands on his lap, “yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”  

Maybe it was just his resting bitch face.

“Smile,” you commanded, nodding your head when he’d looked even more confused.

You watched in amusement as Changbin had laughed, shaking his head before looking at you with an all too sarcastic smile, his hand coming up in a peace sign next to his cheek, a smile unknowingly making its way onto your face at the sight.

“Okay now, don’t smile,” you continued.

Changbin had let his smile fall, looking just the same as he did when you’d shown up, making you press your lips into a firm line, a slight knit in your brows as your eyes narrowed.

Turning his head, he straightened up.

“Cool, Minho’s here,” he said, getting up and holding a hand out to help you up.

“Thanks,” you muttered, not expecting him to turn around and give you a smile.

“Let’s go, Penny.”

It was strange to you that there was something that felt so familiar about his smile, it reminded you of something that made you feel nostalgic. You liked seeing him smile. Changbin had a nice smile.

You brushed the thought away, nodding as you took his hand, letting him help you out.

“What, so you guys don’t hate each other anymore?” Jisung groaned later on that same week when you’d told him about the exchange you had.

He lifted his head from where he lay on your bed, “God, with you guys it’s like everyday’s something different.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him in amusement, “well… that’s because it is, isn’t it?”

You spotted the box of letters from your childhood penpal hidden beneath a stack of novels you had yet to unpack, your eyes glistening with triumph as you reached into your storage closet, fishing it out with a grunt.

“Come to think of it, Changbin hasn’t said anything about you since that day you met him to rewrite the script,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Heaving a sigh as you got up from your squat, you closed your closet, “which day? We met up a few times for the script.”

Jisung perked up at that, sitting up slightly and supporting his weight with his elbows.

“You did? Why am I only finding out about this now?” he scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to your desk to set the box onto it, “I told you about it, you just forgot.”

Making your way over to the bed, you flopped down onto your belly next to Jisung, looking at him curiously as he frowned at you. His mention of Changbin had made you curious.

“He… really hasn’t said anything about me?” you dared to ask, regretting it almost immediately when Jisung had taken the opportunity to twist your words.

Jisung’s expression had changed to one that you were all too used to, how his eyes would give away that he was thinking of saying something to tease you, his lips curving into a slight smirk.

“Why? Do you want him to be talking about you?”

You wrinkled your nose, a small panicked scoff leaving you, “yeah, right. Don’t get too carried away there.”

Jisung prodded further, leaning closer to you as he drawled, “well, why not? I mean, you said it yourself, you guys are on pretty good terms now, aren’t you?”

You purse your lips. The film club had been nice enough to give you a month longer to work on the script, you and Changbin ending up getting carried away and doing the whole thing over. And of course, within that month, you interacted with Changbin in some way or another almost everyday.

It could be meetings at his or your apartment, or spontaneous phone calls when one of you thought of an idea and you’d felt inspired to discuss it (even if you were on your bed tucked into your sheets when it happened most of the time), sometimes it was even just simple texts checking up on each other and asking what the other thought about the updates.

Nonetheless, you’d grown used to Changbin’s presence, finding that after that meeting at his house, it was like it had softened the both of you up to each other, especially when you realised your perception of Changbin was all wrong and that really, he was as soft as softies go.

You gave Jisung a shrug, tugging the neckline of your shirt down, feeling as though the room had gotten hotter, “I mean, yeah, I guess. He doesn’t annoy me as much as he used to.”

Jisung let out a chuckle, the laugh bubbling out louder as he continued.

“You know if you tell me you like him now,  I won’t make fun of you.”

“You’re lying.”

“So, you do like him?” His grin widened, making you sputter for a better response, figuring you’d dug your own grave with that one.

“Don’t stir shit,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

Your reaction had only tickled him even more, clutching his belly as he sighed, “I knew it. Remember? I told you he was your type!” his tone was triumphant, making you regret fuelling his suspicions.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re very happy about that,” you huffed, turning away from him and burying your face in your soft sheets, your hand coming up next to your head to smooth over the fabric.

You felt Jisung’s hand on your arm, his expression grim.

“Wait, so am I really right? You like him?”

You shrugged his hand away, though he hadn’t budged, giving up soon after.

“I mean,” you enjoyed your last moment of peace before you decided to reply to him, “he’s cute, I won’t deny that. And he’s become a lot nicer to me… he’s fun to talk to? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little attracted to him.”

Jisung snickered, “that’s cute, but gross. I can’t believe you like Changbin.”

Trust him to only get that out of whatever you’d just told him.

You turned to give him a wide-eyed look of disbelief, “oh, please, you were the one that kept fluffing him up to me!”

Jisung had simply shrugged, unfazed by your outburst, a small sound of hesitation leaving him.

“I would say I did a minimal amount of fluffing. I just called it before the both of you realised.”

You grit your teeth, “fine, enjoy your moment. But one word about it to Changbin and you’re dead. Got it?”

Jisung’s eyes widened, his hand coming up to mimic zipping up his lips.

“Got it.”

===

“Cut!”

You turned to cast a desperate look to Chan, the said boy looking apologetic as he called for a stop again. You watched as he leant down for Changbin to murmur something in his ear, Chan nodding before making his way over to you and Minho.

“We’re thinking maybe you could try that scene again but maybe with just a little more… in the moment? Maybe try not to rush through it,” Chan suggested to Minho, making the said boy groan.

“Sorry, it’s my fault. It’s just- we’ve been filming for hours, if I wasn’t so scared of Changbin I would’ve—”

“I know,” Chan reassured Minho, giving the both of you a small smile, “hopefully we can get this scene done quickly and then we’ll all be free to go, hmm?”

You nodded, letting Chan make his way back to where the monitor was as you got back into position with Minho.

Changbin watched intently as you and Minho acted out the scene again, something about the way Minho was delivering his lines seeming so unaligned with the picture Changbin had in his head. Was it the lines that weren't doing it for him? Was it because Changbin couldn’t quite tap into the emotions of the character in this scene?

He wasn’t sure what exactly it would look or sound like to be in love, but whatever ‘Soobin’ was showing, sure wasn’t what Changbin wanted it to be.

After you’d finished the scene, the film club members had waited anxiously for Changbin’s greenlight on whether they were free to go, all of them anxiously looking on as Chan went to talk to a few of them at props.

You taken the liberty of making your way over to where Changbin was, seeing him intently monitoring the scene that you’d just shot, the reason behind why he’d made you and Minho run through the same scene 15 times starting to become clear to you.

“That’s not gonna help you make it better, you know?” you spoke, shoving your hands into your pocket and scrunching your eyes shut as you braced against the cool wind that was blowing your way, the trees rustling loudly as Changbin’s head shot up, the frown remaining on his face.

“What?” Changbin figured he came off as a little too annoyed, but he stayed unwavering nonetheless, wanting to know just what you thought you knew about him.

“You know, I watched an interview once, and this actor said something that was so true,” you began, taking a seat next to him, feeling his gaze on you before you continued, your gaze falling on the image of you and Minho on the monitor, “he said that playback makes scenes seem a lot more dissatisfactory.”

Changbin’s frown deepened, “I don’t get it, just spit it out.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile, “I’m trying to give you advice here, okay? As I was saying, be in the moment. Not everything’s gonna turn out like how it is in your head.”

You inhaled deeply, a slight shiver running down your spine at how cold you felt, taking a hand out of your pocket to tap him on the arm.

“Now can you wrap it up and call it a day? The rest of them have been dying to go home but they’re too scared to tell you.”

Changbin hummed, “They are? Why?”

You nodded, seeing Changbin already making to stand up and call for the rest’s attention, with you taking the opportunity to lean over to him and mutter, “Dunno, maybe they just haven’t figured out what a softie you are yet.”

Changbin attempted to press his lips together firmly to contain his smile, though eventually giving up and letting the soft smile be shown on his face as he dismissed the club members, the rest of them already having started shifting their equipment back.

You’d decided to help them shift the equipment while Changbin talked to Chan about something, trying your best to ignore the way the weather seemed to be getting chillier as all the equipment had started feeling cold to the touch. Mental note to start wearing warmer clothes out after today.

“Thanks for convincing Changbin to free us,” Hyunjin sighed when you were coming down the stairs after locking the club room, making you huff.

“He’s not some dictator, you know. You guys could just ask him next time,” you reasoned.

Hyunjin scoffed, “I’d much rather keep my life, thank you very much.”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone as you thought whether to text Jisung if he’d wanted to meet for dinner.

“You’re so dramatic,” you told Hyunjin, “I told him and I got to keep my life.”

Hyunjin scoffed, “that’s cause he—”

He stopped himself abruptly, eyes widening for a split second before he shrugged, “that’s cause you fight with him all the time, it’s different.”

You saw a text come in.

Changbin 8:14pm - do u wanna go get dinner? I’m done talking to Chan -

“Speak of the devil,” you murmured, erasing your drafted text to Jisung and replying to Changbin to say that you would wait at the quad.

Changbin 8:14pm - i was thinking of eating some cold noodles -

You grimaced at the thought, Hyunjin pulling you out of your thoughts, “are you waiting for Changbin?”

You nodded, sensing his hesitancy to let you wait there alone, “you go ahead, I’ll be fine, he’s already on his way.”

Hyunjin frowned, turning to see Changbin from afar already making his way over, Changbin having spotted the both of you and given Hyunjin a wave.

Waving back, Hyunjin nodded, “alright, I’ll see you.”

Tugging your jacket tighter around yourself, you folded your arms, hoping Changbin would hurry up so you could finally go somewhere with heating.

Though once he’d met up with you, you were a little confused when he’d gone a completely different direction than you’d expected, leading you to a traditional restaurant that served mainly soups and broths instead.

Don’t get me wrong, you were thankful for the warmth of the restaurant, of course, but just a little confused about why he changed his mind.

You let him order for the both of you, looking curiously from where you were seated facing him, leaning back in the wooden chairs as Changbin ordered from the older lady running the shop.

“I thought you wanted to eat cold noodles?” you scanned the menu in search of the item, confusion increasing when you found nothing of the sort.

Changbin shook his head, “figured you might wanna eat something warmer,” he admitted, making your lips part in surprise.

“How’d you know?”

Changbin didn’t know how to explain that it was because he’d kept looking at you during shooting and he didn’t miss the way your hands would clench and unclench the fabric of your clothes, or how you’d fold your arms more and shake them out in between takes when you thought no one was looking.

“…  just a wild guess.”

You brushed his comment aside, the both of you talking about your upcoming classes or complaining about readings that had yet to be read, the sheer boiling temperature of the stone pot making heat rush to your cheeks and spread through your body, thankful for Changbin’s wild guess.

Leaning back in your seat with your hands over your stomach, you sighed at how full you were feeling, already anticipating your food coma as you let yourself zone out staring at the label of Changbin’s bottle of soju.

“Are they really scared of me?”

You’d dragged yourself out of your daze (reluctantly), your lips pursing, “sorry, what did you say?”

Changbin averted his gaze, fiddling with his fingers under the table. Smoothing his thumb over the soft skin at his palm, his tongue poking at his canines before he looked back at you, meeting your gaze with a certain determination.

“The film club people,” he repeated, “are they really scared of me?”

You shrugged, “yeah, I guess. Like, they talked about it before… I guess it’s because you have that serious expression on a lot so they might take it the wrong way.”

Observing his expression, his lips had parted, a blank expression on his face, “I have a serious expression?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, tilting your head at him, “I think It’s just your resting face. They’re kind of wary of how they act around you during meetings, you know, which is why they had that kind of reaction when I first spoke up about the script.”

Changbin let his grip around his spoon relax, whatever rice he’d scooped into it dispersing into the soup.

“Then why aren’t you scared?”  

You almost snorted with how immediate your laughter had bubbled out of you, a bout of chuckles leaving you as your shoulders shook lightly.

“Because,” you waved your spoon slightly, “there’s nothing to be scared of.”

Changbin’s blank expression had prompted you to continue.

“I have no problem with you being assertive about what you want,” you explained, “I mean, if it were my script, i’d probably be equally, if not more, assertive about how I want it. But that’s a good thing about you. You don’t just… shut up if something doesn’t sit right with you. That’s something I’ve always thought was really important.”

Call him crazy, but Changbin couldn’t adequately describe how your words had done more in spreading a giddy warmth in his chest than the food ever could.

He wasn’t always like this. If anything, he’d wanted to say that he’d pushed himself to be more assertive after countless conversations with his penpal about not being afraid to speak up for what you want.

Though he’d always been scared of whether he’d be doing a disservice to the people he worked with if he chose not to speak up, he was glad that you reminded him just why he started doing it in the first place.

Penny’s character in his head had started to look more and more like you. And he was glad.

“You wanna hear something crazy?” You blurted.

You didn’t know where you were going with this. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, really. You just knew that saying what you said to him had triggered a sense of what you could only describe as love within you. If you knew anything about it.

“What?” he asked, the smile on his face making you stop in your tracks. How could he remind you so much of someone, yet seem so much like a mature, upgraded version of them at the same time?

You couldn’t possibly tell him that you were starting to be kind of glad that you didn’t meet Binnie, because you felt like you were looking at him right now. And childhood penpal or not, you were so much more smitten with the one sitting before you.

“Nothing,” you breathed, “nothing, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Your revelation reminded you that you’d brought your old letters from Binnie for Changbin to tap on for inspiration to write the last scene, shutting your mouth and turning to fish the box out of your bag.

“I just remembered, you asked for these right?” you pushed the box towards him, seeing him pick up the box gingerly (as though it were that brittle old notebook he uses), placing it into his bag.

“I’m assuming they’re the letters from your old penpal?”

You nodded, “but don’t laugh when you read them, okay? He was really nice to me.”

Changbin huffed, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips, “yeah, yeah, no promises.”

After you were done with your dinner (Changbin paying for it as a supposed ‘thank you’ for being patient during filming), you’d prepared yourself to fight against the cold night breeze as you stepped out of the restaurant before Changbin, not having expected to feel a warm weight being draped over your shoulders.

“I don’t know why you decided to come out without a coat when you know now’s usually when the weather gets colder,” he tutted his tongue, feigning disapproval, not giving you any time to be shocked at his gesture.

He stood in front of you, tugging the coat tighter around you as he met your gaze, giving you a tired smile.

“I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”

You bit down on your lip, your racing heart and panic making the best reply you could come up with to be a mere, “didn’t peg you to be so gentlemanly.”

To which Changbin shrugged, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“I can be pretty romantic if I want.”

You were gonna get whiplash at this rate.

That same night (or day, 3am was a fine line), you’d received an email from Changbin of the last scene for the film, reading through it and having to stop in between for breaths and water breaks because you had no idea Changbin was capable of encompassing such romantic sentiments in a scene.

Looking at what he wrote, you would never have thought he was the same person that kept arguing with you about happy endings going to shit.

Changbin had written the scene in a burst of inspiration, having felt an almost uncomfortably foreign giddiness within him after returning home from your dinner, feeling even more motivated when he’d watched the film footage they’d shot earlier that day (unconsciously rewinding more than once to watch you act) deciding to just go with whatever he was feeling and write down the scene he had in mind.

And if anyone was asking, no, he totally didn’t picture you as Penny and himself as Soobin the entire time while doing so.

By the time you were done, it was almost an hour later, the aftermath of reading his scene making you pick your phone up and send him a text.

4:02am - did something happen? What’s with the lovey dovey script? Did someone finally change their mind about Penny? -

Not long after, Changbin’s reply came in, feeling thankful that he’d only decided to open your box of letters, or more accurately his letters, after he was done with the scene, something about what he found putting him in an all too thoughtful mood.

Changbin 4:04am -let’s just say... i took your advice-

===

“What do you think, Changbin?” Chan’s voice had snapped Changbin out of his daze, the latter looking at Jisung with a shrug.

“I would say you’re just short changing yourself if you didn’t talk to her. I mean, you said you liked her, right? So what are you waiting for?” Changbin sounded almost impatient, his tone eliciting a grunt from Jisung.

“Yeah, you say it like you’re not the one hiding your hopeless crush on Y/N.”

Chan’s eyes widened, not having expected Jisung to say it so blatantly.

Changbin sputtered, looking at Chan for help only to be met with giggles.

“I’m sorry, dude, it was really quite easy to tell.”

Changbin wanted the cushioned booth to swallow him whole, scrunching his eyes tightly shut in a wince.

“Whatever, that’s not the point,” he waved Jisung off dismissively, “we’re talking about your love life here.”

Jisung pursed his lips, shaking his head, “it’s not fun anymore, I wanna talk about yours.”

Changbin glared at Jisung, “i’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Good, ‘cause you should be having it with Y/N.”

Chan raised an eyebrow at the younger boy, humming in suspicion.

“Why do you sound like you know things...”

Jisung shrugged, raising his hands to give a dramatic shrug, “Do I? I guess we’ll never find out since Changbin ‘isn’t gonna have this conversation with me’.”

Chan turned to Changbin, who currently looked as though he would rather die than be here right now, “actually, what are you waiting for?”

Changbin brought a hand up to massage his fingers on his temples, a resigned sigh leaving him.

“I don’t know, I’ll probably not do anything until the showcase. I still don’t know how exactly I wanna go about it.”

Jisung snickered, “you’ll be fine, seriously.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll just enjoy whatever time I have left to think about it till the showcase. Now back to your issue… ”

But obviously, Changbin didn’t use his 3 days of buffer time very well.

He was lucky the atmosphere of the showcase and the unexpected crowd of people had prolonged the time until he’d be in a situation where he’d feel compelled to talk to you about it. Whatever it was.

You hadn’t noticed, obviously, the way Changbin had been keeping himself busy talking to guests and teachers that had shown up, people from the media and publications club. You were too busy being whisked away by your own friends and a already slightly tipsy Minho who thought it was a good idea to pregame drinks before the afterparty later on.

It’d only been when things started calming down and people were actually watching the film that you’d been put in a position where you had no choice other than to think about the boy seated in front of you tapping his foot incessantly on the carpeted floor of the auditorium.

Once the show was over, you’d leant forward, about to congratulate him when you’d both been whisked up by one of the teachers-in-charge, pulling you together with Minho onto the stage to answer questions from the audience.

The questions were fairly simple, most of them from the media and publications club trying to get technical details for their article, allowing you to zone out from where you stood on the stage, letting Changbin smoothly answer all the questions they could possibly throw at him. It wasn’t like Minho was in any position to answer them, tipsy and zoned out of his mind.

It was only when you’d heard him fumbling around with his words that you looked up from the spot on the wall you were staring at, turning to look at Changbin with an embarrassing amount of concern on your features.

“I’m sorry can you repeat the question?” you’d spoken into the microphone, hearing someone that sounded almost identical to Jisung asking how he got inspiration from the story.

You looked at Changbin curiously, as if silently asking if he needed you to step in, only to have him look at you with a blank expression, his mouth opening and closing as he fumbled for an answer.

“Oh, well, I’m sure I can answer this on behalf of Changbin,” you began, “we’d worked on the script together, and it was inspired by a lot of things, like our experiences with pen pals as well as movies like ‘you’ve got mail’.”

Changbin’s shoulders slumped with relief, nodding towards you as a silent thanks, the moment cut short when you were once again whisked away into different crowds to take pictures or to carpool to the afterparty.

Though you were bored 10 minutes into the party, Minho having gotten drunk before you could even get past your second drink, you’d let Changbin have his fun. You figured it was a good thing that he was being recognized for his efforts, even if he didn’t look like he was enjoying the attention very much. He needed it, you supposed, to be forced to see how much people enjoyed the work he made.

But you didn’t stay to see it too long, adjourning to the porch of whoever’s house you were in to enjoy an environment away from the loud music and too many people you didn’t know.

“Already bored?”

You’d jumped at the sound of Changbin’s voice, his footsteps loud against the wooden porch as he took a seat next to you on the swing, holding out his bottle of soda to you, “do you want some?”

You shook your head, seeing him shrug, “suit yourself, then.” He took a long sip of his soda, sighing afterwards.  

A tired smile on your face, you let out a deep sigh, “didn’t expect you to find me here so quickly.”

“How could I not?” he laughed, shaking his head, “In case you didn’t notice, I was suffocating in there, figured I deserve a break.”

“Good job, though, I’d say you handled everything well…” you started, your smile growing, “... though there is one thing…  I didn’t think you were the type to struggle with public speaking.”

Changbin’s lips parted in shock, scoffing, “shut up, I don’t usually.”

“Sure, you don’t,” you teased, bringing your hands to your sides to support your weight, letting your legs lift off the ground as Changbin used his feet to move the swing gently.

You leant back in your seat, enjoying the silence you were able to get out here as compared to the chaos going on within the house, noticing how tense Changbin seemed, his posture anything but relaxed as he’d let out sigh after sigh, tapping his rings against the seat of the bench absently.

“Relax,” you chuckled, “it’s already over.”

Doing the opposite of relaxing, Changbin simply stopped moving the swing, angling his body to face you more as he fished in his blazer pocket for something, pulling out an envelope from his jacket, “I have uh… something for you.”

Holding it out for you to take, your gaze fell on the colourful envelope, the little strawberry stickers you remembered using your savings to buy as you frowned at the address written on the envelope in your old messy ‘princess handwriting’.

Your gaze darted from the envelope back to him, “how did you… how do you have this?”

“I have it,” he began, letting out yet another sigh, “because you sent it to me.”

If it could, your heart would’ve stopped in that exact moment.

“Read it,” he prompted when you’d stayed silent, your hands moving urgently to open the envelope, your heart feeling warm when you pulled the paper out, already being able to see the ‘To: Binnie’ written with your favourite scented marker.

To: Binnie

How are you? I’m fine. I am writing this very late in the night because I finished my rehearsal for my school play in the evening and I just finished taking a bath. I have to be quick or my mom is gonna scold me for not sleeping yet. I wanted to tell you that you should sign up for the competition. Which is why I have to mail this to you A.S.A.P as possible because you said the sign up closes in a few days. I think that you should just try it out, even if you don’t do well. Because then at least you can say that you gave it a try and you had fun. I saw this on a tv show, and they said if you don’t try, you will never know if it will turn out well, because you didn’t try.

So I’m telling you to try!!!!! Just try your best and have fun. I think you will do well.

Till next time, Your penpal Y/N.

“So this is me… trying… it. Whatever it is,” he sounded out of breath, almost, and your heart had begun to pick up speed at how it seemed as though this would be the time where he would confess his feelings to you (if Soobin and Penny were any guide to go by).

You should’ve known Changbin better by now, though.

“Thank you… for helping me with the film. You know, for giving me crap about it because I know that that wasn’t really what I felt. I was just… bitter, but for some reason, you giving me shit about it kind of reminded me why I liked being friends with my penpal- or, I guess, liked being friends with you, so much in the first place.” he was looking at you more confidently now, straightening up as he continued.

“It wasn’t because you gave me fake money to buy a scooter, or anything,” he laughed, “it was more because you were someone that was friends with me for who I was? You were kind, and you were honest.”

Changbin fiddled with the envelope in his hands as you tried your best to contain your smile.

“And you were especially supportive, you know, in your own argumentative way.”

You let out a huff of breathy laughter at that, your hand coming up to touch your necklace, finding something else to fiddle with to contain your anxiousness.

“I’m glad, though, that I didn’t know you were that Y/N,” he told you, “because I already grew to like this Y/N so much, that… finding out was just… a pleasant surprise.”

For the first time since you saw the letter, you’d spoken, a breathy, “me too,” leaving you, embarrassing you to no end.

“I’m glad it was you,” you murmured, averting your gaze, not having expected Changbin to have reached out a hand towards yours, hovering just momentarily before making the decisive action of grasping it gently.

“Me too.”

“So are you gonna explain why my letters—”

“Shh,” he shut his eyes, the smile on his face making you give in almost instantly, “don’t ruin it.”

===

“I didn’t know people even still sent letters these days,” Jisung snorted, sipping on his coffee that he’d just gone downstairs to buy, “here, you have one, but there's no name.”

You frowned, picking it up and finding the handwriting of your address awfully familiar, feeling as though you’d definitely seen it scribbled on a specific brittle old notebook before.

You flopped onto your bed, opening the letter as Jisung resumed playing whatever game he was busy with on your desktop computer.

Thankful for the distraction, you’d quickly unfolded it, scrunching your nose at his choice of pen name.

To: my penpal Y/N

This letter may just be over a decade overdue, but I wanted to firstly say I’m sorry for making you wait so long. That letter about my film competition, that was the last one I received from you, and one of my favourites. I figured it out, by the way, I gave you the wrong address. Phonics was a very tricky thing for my eight year old stubborn self that refused to cross check with my mom.

I figured sending you a letter was best, you know, since you know I'm not the very best at public speaking, or just speaking in general sometimes, I doubt I'd be able to say as eloquently what I wanted to say to you in this letter.

I wanted to give you a few updates. Firstly, I met someone in my film club. Well, technically I auditioned them for my short film so there’s no one to blame for the trouble they caused other than me. I didn’t like them that much at the beginning. I thought they were just trying to impose their stupid happily ever after beliefs on me, someone who thought I was a big bad cynical bitter man that didn’t believe in love stories.

As you probably guessed, they challenged me (a lot), and waiting to see them started to feel like the days where I would wait to hear my mom tell me that a letter came in for me, even better actually. They reminded me of the qualities in myself that I was always afraid of showing, and they reminded me what was so good about being unapologetic for who I was sometimes, because they accepted all of that, (but not without giving me an shit about it first, of course).

But i’m thankful, I’m thankful because I really grew to like them a lot. I liked how I could be comfortable being myself around her, and I liked how they would support me when I needed it, but also to correct me when I need to be corrected.

They were real, and I liked that, a lot.

So, the point of this was that if they ever happen to receive this, you know, (because I totally didn’t know your current address, obviously), I hope they know that I’ve grown to like them very much, to like the personality that i’ve come to know, and that i’m very excited to grow to know (and like) even more.

I’ll be seeing you, Binnie.

[satoruvt]

the color of you - gold (2)

i lost the template for the banner i used in part one so i had to make a new one and it looks different and im sad but at least this chapter is fuckin AWESOME

pairing → keigo takami x bakery owner!reader

word count → 1736

summary → you’re not really dating, so you can’t really be in love with him… right?

song inspo → portland by armors

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

“Does everything look correct?”

The packet in front of you is intimidating, thick and detailing every aspect of the relationship you and Hawks are supposed to have. You flip through the pages, looking over the big points - no one but you, Hawks, his publicist and your lawyer are to know about the terms of your “relationship,” you need to be okay with having your picture taken, and the whole thing will only last a few months to cover a few press conferences and an awards ceremony. The line for your signature on the last page is blank - you expected Hawks to have signed it already, but the line above his name is blank as well. The ball’s in your court, it’s saying.

“Yes,” you say, nodding up at his publicist. “Everything looks fine, thank you.”

“Any boundaries?” Hawks speaks up, and you meet his eyes from across the table. You shake your head no, offering a curt, gentle smile. Your lawyer hands you a pen to sign the contract, and after a deep breath, you drag the pen across the paper in your name. Hawks does the same after you.

“There we go,” he says when he’s done, clicking the pen. His smile is laid-back, easy. “We’re officially in an unofficial relationship.”

You can’t help the smile that dances on your lips, because it really is ironic, but it’s quickly forgotten as the publicist goes over the general idea. There are big events scheduled for the two of you to be seen together - the press conferences, a few dates, the awards ceremony. You’re welcome to do anything else that you might want, the publicist says, and you don’t miss the wink Hawks sends you.

The rest of the meeting is settled with a copy of the contract handed to your lawyer, and the four of you disperse. You’re gathering up your things when you see Hawks waiting in the doorway. “Let me walk you to the front,” he says, and you do.

His agency building is smaller than you thought it would be, given he’s the number two hero. You get strange looks from a few people as the two of you walk towards the front - you’re not surprised, if you were anybody else but yourself you’d be curious too - and it’s not until the two of you are in the elevator, taking it down to the first floor, that Hawks speaks again.

“So,” he begins, and you turn towards him. “Fancy going on a date with me tonight?”

His gaze is playful, so you join in, and it’s not as awkward as you thought it would be. “You read my mind. Must be a lovers’ connection.”

He likes the humor, you decide, when his teasing smirk grows into a grin. “Well, I figure since we’re gonna be dating for the next few months, I should know about my new girlfriend. Doesn’t do well for the press if they ask me questions about you that I don’t know how to answer.”

You laugh, nodding along to his words. The elevator doors open and the two of you continue to the front of the building in comfortable silence.

“I’m very much looking forward to our date tonight,” you tell him when the two of you reach the front doors. They slide open as another person walks into the building, and the warm air from outside brushes against your legs. Hawks grins, pulls you closer to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. It takes you by surprise and you feel your face grow hot, but before you can say anything Hawks is already walking back to his office.

“See you tonight, babe!” He calls, and you roll your eyes, but the soft smile on your face would fool anyone.

And although it’s embarrassing to blush over something as simple as a cheek kiss, you suppose the pink on your face is a good thing. You notice paparazzi outside of the agency, and they definitely saw what just happened.

-

By this point, you’re not really nervous to be going on a date - “date” - with Hawks, but Jesus, it’s stressful to pick out what the hell you’re gonna wear. Do you actually try? Do you put on some jeans and a nice blouse and call it good? What does going on a fake date with the Number Two hero call for?

In the end you settle for a sundress, something in the middle. It doesn’t take much longer for you to finish up getting ready before you’re heading out the door to the restaurant Hawks had told you to meet him at. You’re lucky it’s not that far away - a fifteen minute walk at most. The sun glows in the evening light, drenching the world in melted gold.

The restaurant is small, but filled with a decent amount of people. When you step inside the gentle hum of overlapping conversation fills your bones, and you see Hawks in a booth down a walkway. You point him out to the hostess and she lets you find your way to him. 

“It’s awfully rude to keep your date waiting,” he says when you get close enough, standing up to greet you.

“What can I say? I dress to impress.”

Hawks kisses your cheek and you scrunch your nose at the feel of his stubble on your face. He lets you into one side of the booth, and you’re expecting him to sit on the opposite side, but instead he sits next to you. The low light of the lamp overhead makes his eyes brighter.

“You do look great.”

“Why, thank you.”

Both of you are teasing, playful, and the conversation is fluid to follow. You’re not speaking across a table so your voices are hushed, gentle, and you think you’re starting to understand why Hawks chose to sit next to you rather than across from you - it’s intimate, couple-y. 

“You know,” you say, finger tracing the rim of your wine glass, “since we’ve been dating for a total of, like, five hours, there’s a lot that I don’t know about you.”

“Ugh, were you even a fan?” Hawks teases, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. His tone softens when you make eye contact with him. “Ask away.”

“For starters, I don’t even know your real name.” You lean your head on your palm as you look at him. “And I feel like, as your girlfriend, I am entitled to that.”

Hawks chuckles, and there’s a certain look in his eyes that you can’t put your finger on. “It’s Keigo Takami.”

Keigo.

“Keigo, huh?” You repeat. It floats around in your mind, lingers on your tongue like the taste of honey. It reminds you of amber, gold, of coins and riches. Keigo.

“Well, I’m Y/N L/N.”

“I know, I looked you up.”

“At least one of us is smart.”

By the time your food comes, you’re barely eating, and it catches up to you how much the two of you have been talking. You’d been worried that the whole thing would be awkward and weird and not at all convincing, but you’re certain if anyone saw the two of you right now, they’d assume you were dating. The conversation rarely stops, and if it does -

Oh. He’s close.

There’s a moment of silence, a break from talking as you shift from one topic to another. On top of the two of you already being close from sitting on the same side of the table, with how much you’ve been talking, you’ve just gravitated towards each other. His arm is draped over the back of the bench, casual, but you can’t really focus when you fixate on his lips.

“And so we, um…” you trail off, then blink yourself out of your trance. “Wow, I completely forgot what I was gonna say.”

Hawks - Keigo - notices, and his face is smug. The smirk on his lips is nothing short of pride.

“Catching feelings for me already, Y/N?”

“In your dreams,” you bounce back.

For the first time tonight, you check your phone. It’s getting late, and although you don’t live very far away, you don’t want to be caught alone after dark. “Ah, I should probably get going.”

Keigo nods, reaching into his pocket to pull out a few thousand yen banknotes and set them on the table. You want to tell him that you have your own money to pay, but he cuts you off by getting out of the booth and speaking himself. “I’ll walk you home,” he says, and you furrow your brows as you get out, too.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna trouble you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Keigo says, offering his arm to you with a sly grin. “It’s my duty as a hero. And your boyfriend.”

He puts emphasis on the word and you can’t hide the amused smile from your lips, looping your arm through his. 

The walk to your apartment is as comfortable as being in the restaurant with him, but somehow it feels nicer. You suppose it’s the open air, the golden sun having gone down past the distant mountains, leaving remnants of its light in freckles and rosy skin. The walk home seems faster, and you find yourself a little disappointed that the night is ending so soon.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come inside,” you say, voice sultry as the two of you stop in front of your door. “Make the paparazzi think we had a little more fun in the privacy of my home?”

Keigo shrugs, and you can see him thinking about it. “I mean, if you’re okay with it…”

“Now who’s catching feelings?”

He scrunches his face up and you giggle. When you speak again, your voice is softer. Crickets chirp somewhere nearby. 

“I had a good time, dating or not,” you tell him, find your key and unlocking the door. “Thanks for taking me out.”

Keigo takes your hand in his and brings your fingers up to his lips in a formal kiss (though the wink he sends you says otherwise). “Anytime, princess. See you later.”

He takes off out of your apartment building and you go inside, immediately laying down on your sofa in the living room. You feel over the spot on your hand where he kissed you, humming quietly to yourself. 

Maybe this won’t be as hard as you thought.

[zombieratt]

Alright so forewarning this is LONG as FUCK specifically because i came up with this idea in early high school and was just today POSESSEd By the Spirit Of Musical Theatre to put it to paper— er Tumblr.

So without further ado:

DEAR EVAN HANSEN BUT EVAN ISNT A TERRIBLE PERSON AND CONNOR LIVES.

the beginning is the same, canon diverges just after waving through a window.

*this ended up getting written is script format? i also just sorta ignore alana’s whole exsistance bc in this version of the play she’s unnecessary*

In the moments before he talks to Connor evan decides to omit Zoe from his letter, having resolved himself to move on from her. (instead of being a hella creep.)

Connor: “dear Evan Hansen,” what are you writing letters to yourself? *he laughs*

Evan: its, uh, its for my therapist. its just a stupid little assignment that she says is supposed to help me process my feelings or— uh or something

Connor: hm. here. * hands Evan the letter*

Connor: your cast. no one’s signed it.

Evan: uh no. no one has.

Connor: gotta sharpie?

Evan: huh?

Connor: gotta sharpie? im gonna sign it.

Evan: *handing the sharpie to Connor* w- whuh uh why?

Connor: *shrugs* feels right.

Evan: i wish i could do that

Connor: what?

Evan: UH, IMEAN—

Connor: no wait- dude.

Evan: i mean uh, i meant that i wish i could just be, y’know impulsive like that.

Connor: Why Cant you be?

Evan: i uh, my heads pretty messed up, and stuff like that just, makes it worse i guess.

Connor: well theres some thing we have in common— were both fucked up in the head.

*the bell rings*

Evan: oh shoot! i missed the bus—

Connor: i’ll give you a ride.

Evan: are you sure i mean i can walk its not far-

Connor: all the more reason, i probably have to pass it on my way home anyway, cmon.

——

they meet Zoe in the parking lot

Zoe: I have Late practice today

Connor: whatever, gotta passenger.

Zoe: who the fuck would be crazy enough to trust your ability to drive?

Evan *being Brave*: Me Apparently?

Zoe: Uh, Evan Right?

Evan: yeah, uh, yeah.

Zoe *holding her hand out to be shaken*: i’m Zoe, we’ve met though right?

Evan wipes his hand on his shirt and shakes it: yeah, uh, nice to formally meet you, Zoe.

Zoe: i’m off, don’t kill him stoner.

Connor: i wont Princess

Evan breathing heavy: that was,, an eventful ten minutes.

Connor: oh fuck— you cool? or—

Evan: Panic Attack.

Connor: Right, uh

Connor: can you get in the car?

Evan: yeah

*car nonsense*

Connor: Can i start driving or do you want me to wait

Evan: Distractions are good,, Can Uh, Can you Talk about Stuff?

Connor: What stuff!??

Evan: any Stuff!

Connor: Is Zoe okay??

Evan: Sure?!

Connor: Uhh we don’t get along as well as we used to?

we were really close as kids, shes a huge asshole now but *fully venting now*

i kind of miss it you know? having someone to talk to and care about— and i still care about her— but its scary and i always fuck it up! not to mention the fact that our parents hate me— make her see me as some alien and not just a fucked up kid who wants to talk and — (more ranting that i dont feel like writing, but its a whole monologue bro)

Evan: Connor

Connor snaps his mouf shut: yeah

Evan: thanks

Connor: oh that, uh actually helped?

Evan: yeah focusing on your voice and whats real and stuff— it makes a difference.

Neither of them noticed that Connor was just sort of Driving. they end up at the park where in canon Connor commits Sewer-slide.

Evan: i didn’t know there was a park here.

Connor: huh, oh, yeah i guess i just sorta auto piloted, i come here to think.

Evan: About stuff?

Connor: Yeah, Stuff.

*the convo lulls*

Connor: do you have a laptop?

Evan: no, i uh, i left it at home? why?

Connor: give me a second

Connor walks to the car and grabs his back pack out of the back seat

Evan watches Quizzically from the swing-set

Connor pulls out a Sketch Pad and Pen, flipping to a clean page.

Connor: So tell me how to write one of those letters of yours.

Evan: uh, well you start like any other letter- just addressing it to yourself

Connor writing: Dear Connor Murphy,

Evan: and uh, my first one was supposed to be about my ideal summer vacation? since i started in middle school- but you don’t have to—

Connor: thats perfect.

Connor starts to sing for forever,

eventually Evan joins in there is a minor gay moment where they’re holding hands face to face.

the song ends with Connor hugging Evan.

Evan: its- its pretty late.

Connor obviously crying: just— just a couple more minutes.

Evan lets go and grabs Connors sketch book of the ground, closing it and handing it off to him: then how about this, labor day weekend- we actually go.

Connor: what are you talking about?

Evan: being spontaneous?

Connor: o-okay.

and it cuts to black.

theres a small montage here, as the set changes to Connor and Evans bedrooms

sincerely, me is a lament in this context, Connor and Evan are duetting from their respective rooms, writing to themselves.

(the lyrics are completely different and i will not be writing them here because thats too much fucking effort.

but they’re duetting from their bedrooms about making a connection to another person, feeling seen, for the first time. what it felt like and how they really want to keep it up but are afraid of making a mistake and ruining it.

its got some themes of waving thru a window, and a little bit of for forever, but its still largely the same notes just in a different key.)

after wards, Zoe knocks on Connors door to tell him dinner is ready to find him peacefully asleep.

requiem is the same, Zoe sees Connor as Dead to Her instead of actually dead, so some of the wording changes, so and so about how a monster doesn’t deserve peaceful rest etcetera.

school day happens, Connor doesn’t die, but the hot goss is that everyone saw Connor and Evan go home together after school, jared makes a shitty homophobic joke to Evan and Evan kind of tells him off about it. they argue and it culminates in Evan saying “well god forbid I’m friends with someone who isn’t YOU!” or smth like tht and it hits jared right the fuck at home man.

Connor says from the side lines: damn that was pretty hard core dude.

Evan: you have, no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that.

Connor honest to god l a u g h s, theres a number of people who hear it and lose their shit, Zoe being one of them: i have a pretty good idea, wanna get some lunch?

Evan: yeah, sure.

this general routine continues until labor day weekend, when they plan to go on their little escape. theres a short scene of Connor leaving the house with his keys and a backpack.

Connors mom confronts Zoe about his oddly upbeat attitude and hows he’s seemed differently lately Zoe Shrugs but decides to investigate his room.

she finds the letters. the first one is for forever, the theme plays as she reads it frantically, and is signed “Sincerely me (connor murphy)” so she knows its him, i f i could tell her begins but its a real duet between Connor and Zoe and at the end she resolves to try harder to connect to him.

Evan sings disappear to Connor after breaking into a formerly public park, in this context its him confessing that he broke his arm attempting su!c!de. Connor records it, for personal reference.

jared hacks Connors phone and steals the video, posting it to yt, in an effort to ruin their friendship.

Evan and Connor get in a little fight about it, and in the meantime Evan is called to the school to give an assembly because hes a phenomenal speaker and Disappear got like 1000000 views over night.

Zoe and Connor bond a little bit in a short scene before the assembly

Zoe: wheres Evan what happened?

Connor: Kleinman Did!

Zoe: what?

Connor: Why Do you care?

Zoe: because! you look happy around him!

Connor: i, i do?

Zoe: yeah? he could tell the worst joke ever written and you’d crack up. i haven’t heard you laugh like that in years Connor, maybe ever.

Connor: oh.

Zoe: Come back inside?

Connor: y, Yeah.

they all perform You Will Be Found together.

end act 1.

(no more dialogue from here i got tired)

to break in a glove is Connor’s dad trying to reconnect with him, it goes mediocrely, but Connor feels like hes being seen by his dad for the first time in years. its said in metaphors, but this is Connors dads way of saying that if Connor is willing to put in the work, so is he. they hug at the end, things are looking up. some talk of therapy is sprinkiled in the dialogue as they walk of stage together.

Only Us is Evan and Connor saying that they saved each other. its loosely romantic, as its a love song, but they don’t out right say that they’re in love or anything, they don’t know if theyre ready for that. its a promise. the song ends with Connor finally apologizing for pushing Evan over at the beginning of the show.

good for you is sung by jared only, as a power ballad, about losing people you didn’t treasure. its his attempt at an apology, but it ultimately fails, since jared is unable to take responsibility for his own actions. this is where jared and Evan go their separate ways.

Evan’s mom comforts him, as he sings words fail, which is about specifically jared, and how their rocky friendship is ruined and Evan pegs himself as the cause, instead of parents or perfect girl he uses metaphors that apply to best friends— maybe more. and talks about how he didn’t try, he was happy so he ignored that jared was hurting, and how that was really shitty of him. but instead of it being a generally somber song the end is lighter, because Connor is there— waving through his front window.

Evans mom sings So Big/So Small as Evan steps out the front door to embrace Connor and they mime talking about jared, hug and take hands. the house moves off stage in preparation for the finale.

Connor and Evan open the finale saying each others names, and sing it together as the test of the cast (minus jared) joins in, Evans mom taking his hand and Zoe Taking Connors, Evans mom the Murphys and Zoe break off to the back where Evan and Connor finish the final “all i see is sky for forever” while looking into each others eyes, and finish the musical by embracing (maybe kissing if thats ur jam).

[cesarinthefreezer]

Some notes before you guys read. If you didn’t see my post I had an idea for a fic about the reader being a Cosplayer how gets transported to the jojo universe while they are cosplaying and they run into the character they are dressed as. I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter. I plan on having 3 or 4 total

Fancy seeing you here

Chapter 1

Rohan Kishibe

It’s a warm Thursday morning. It’s the first day of the convention you’ve been looking forward to for months. You’ve been staying up till god know when , sewing and building your cosplays. Styling wigs and gathering props when you have free time after class. Day 1 is Rohan Kishibe. Your number 1 favorite character. You’ve decided to go with his iconic white crop jacket outfit with gold pen tip pendents and an iconic gold head band. With your perfectly styled green wig on and your fountain pen and part 4 manga book in hand you make your way to the convention center.

As you walk down the street to meet up with your friends you feel a sudden jolt of energy and black out. When you wake up you are laying on the side walk, but you don’t recognize the street you are on. You get yourself to your feet and take in your surroundings. You don’t see any signs of the convention center or anyone in cosplay.

“Hey Rohan Sensei!”

You jump at the voice coming from behind you,

‘Thank god someone recognized my character’

You spin around to greet the person calling out to you. When you finally see the face of the voice you can’t believe your eyes.

“Wow that has to be one of the best Josuke cosplays I’ve ever seen”

The young man pauses and his jaw drops

“You’re not Rohan, you’re dressed like him but you’re not Rohan who the hell are you?”

You take a second to look him up and down

“Of course im not actually him he’s not real, but I have to say you’re Josuke is incredible, you look as if you walked right out of the manga, are you on your way to the convention”

In that moment the man dressed as Josuke grabs your wrist

“I’ve never seen you before how do you know my name, and what do you mean cosplay? This is what I look like everyday and you never explained why you are dressed like Rohan”

Pulling your wrist free you push the young man away from you and take off running down the street. You run for a few blocks before coming to what looks like a city map. It reads;

“Morioh City Map”

You freeze before opening the manga you remember you brought with you, the Morioh map in the book matches the map in front of you.

“What the actual hell is going on here I can’t seriously be in Morioh it isn’t real”

You look around to see buildings on the street line up with buildings illustrated in your book. You punch yourself in the leg several times

“Wake up, wake up, this isn’t real... wake up”

To your surprise you don’t wake up.

“If this really is Morioh then that young man was really Josuke, and I’m not in my own reality anymore, how did I even get here...... and I’m dressed up like Rohan Kishibe, god the people here are gonna think I’m crazy or that I’m actually him”

After you calm yourself down you realize this experience is kinda like a dream come true. You’re in your favorite universe. And you got to meet Josuke Higashkita. You spend the day exploring the city since you’ve read the book you know it like that back of your hand. As you explore you are careful to stay out of sight of any major characters. However a few people have greeted you as “Rohan Sensei” they think you are actually him. As you roam around you happen to see Koichi and Yukako on a date, and Okuyasu walking into tonis, but you make sure that they don’t see you.

You’ve yet to see Rohan himself, but you assume he’s most likely working in his studio. As much as you don’t want him to see you, you can’t help but wander the streets till you come across his house. You feel butterflies in your stomach.

Rohan’s character has always held a special place in your heart, hell the manga you brought along with you is the one where he makes his first appearance. The illustrations of his house are spot on to the building in front of you. After looking the house over you decide you should move on to avoid being seen. As you turn to walk away you feel some one grab you and spin you around, but before you can see the persons face you black out.

When you wake up you are on a soft, plush green couch. When you regain all your senses you finally see the person who grabbed you, hes standing above you with your manga in hand. The person staring you down is none other than Rohan Kishibe himself.

“Who are you?... why are you dressed like me, and why am I in this book of yours”

You sit up swiftly and look him in the eyes

“You just used heavens door on me didn’t you, wouldn’t that have a told you everything?”

Rohan drops the book on the floor

“How..... how did you know about my stand? And when I tried to read your pages they were blank.... you have some explaining to do”

You’re jaw drops, his stand doesn’t work on you because you’re not from his universe that has to be why

“My....my name is y/n. I’m not from here”

Rohan rolls his eyes

“That was blatantly obvious”

“I mean I’m not from this universe, where I’m from you aren’t real, this town isn’t real, it’s all just a story”

You stand up and grab the book flipping through the pages till you come to Rohan’s pages

“Where I’m from people who are fans of these books, which became a tv show dress as their favorite characters and go to conventions... that’s why I’m dressed like you”

Rohan braces himself on the couch before sitting down to process what he had just hear. After he calms down he looks up at you and smiles

“So does that mean I’m your favorite character?”

You smile

“Yes, you are, ever since you were introduced to me in the manga I fell in love with you. Your style and attitude reminded me a lot of myself”

Rohan lets out a laugh

“ A lot of people wish they could be me, you’ve really taken it to another level.... I’m flattered. Say... that do you actually look like

You blush

“ well what are you waiting for... of with the costume”

You stare at him

“I don’t have any other clothes”

He rolls his eyes

“We are both adults here just strip to your underwear, I won’t disrespect a young lady like yourself”

You remove the crop jacket and toss it on the couch then move to take of the head band and wig.

“I need a wet cloth to take of this make up if you don’t mind”

Rohan stands up and walks to his kitchen. Meanwhile you remove your wig cap, then your pants and crop top. Leaving you in your bra and underwear. Rohan returns and hands you the cloth, you wipe of your contour and green eyebrows.

“There it’s all off, you happy?”

Rohan looks you up and down

“I have to say your have quiet the talent for becoming other people, you pull me of very well for a woman... you can put your clothes back on now”

Slipping your pants and crop top back on you leave off the jacket and wig. You sit on the couch next to Rohan and explain what your universe is like and how much he means to you.

“I just don’t know how to get back to my world, I mean I don’t live here at all where am I gonna stay?... what am I gonna do?”

Realizing this send you into a panic, you start hyperventilating and crying, you then burry your face in your hands. A few moments pass before you fell a warm set of arms hold you

“Y/n it’s alright, you can stay with me till we figure out how to get you home. I don’t usually care for people all that much, but seeing how much you care about me, a person who doesn’t really exist in your world inspires me”

Hearing Rohan’s words you begin to calm down.

“Thank you Rohan, I can’t tell you how much of a dream come true this all is, in fact I’m afraid that I am dreaming still.”

Rohan smiles and grabs his sketch book

“I don’t know how long you’ll be here but I wanna capture you before you leave”

You sit quietly as Rohan sketches away thinking about how you wish you could stay here forever

“Finished, one sketch of you as you are and one sketch of you as me”

He flips around his sketch book and shows you his work, you take it in and start to cry

“Rohan, you are amazing and I wish I was half the person you are”

Rohan rips the sketch from his book

“I’m going to hang this on the wall in my studio, because I wish I was half the person you are y/n. Now let’s get you to bed it’s getting late and we have a big day tomorrow, I’m going to show you around the whole city”

Rohan leads you to the guest room, and says goodnight. You get in bed and think of the amazing day you had as you drift off to sleep.

The next morning Rohan rushes into the guest room to find it empty. You are nowhere to be found. His head falls in disappointment

“ I don’t think she’d be gone so soon, I do hope to see her again someday”

~

When you wake up you find yourself back in your room laying in bed in full cosplay, manga in hand. You are relived to be home but you start to cry knowing you’ll probably never see Rohan again. He will remain a fictional character here in your world. Opening your manga just so you can see his face again, you flip to a page of him sitting in his studio. As he is illustrated sitting at his desk working ,you catch a small detail , to his right there is a sketch pinned to the wall. A tear falls from your eye landing on the page, the sketch is the one he did of you.

[nctsiren]

Thank you for turning on anon uwu for the ask game thingy can I ask these for all of the girls? daydreams, caress, ivory, golden, freckles, twilight, poppy, clouds, roses, lollipop, dimples, whisper, pencil, honey, velvet, strawberry, kiss, shampoo, lace, sapphos?

hewwo anon!!! thank u for requesting!! i’m sorry it’s late :(( hope you enjoy, nonetheless!! i enjoyed writing it 🥺

daydream-

hyeyoung: “i think i’ll say joan jett or debbie harry!! i admire them a lot, i love their music, and i think it’d be fun to be a rock singer.”

mila: “i think it’d be nice to be beetle. i’ve always wondered how his mind works. being a dog seems cool”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “seulgi unnie!! i’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be perfect ;)”

caress-

hyeyoung: “i love to snuggle... i like when johnny lays between my legs with his head on my chest. it makes me so happy.”

mila: “yes... but i play hard to get with some of the wayv members. i feel at ease cuddling with ten.”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “there are hundreds of youtube comps of me being snuggly and affectionate .. i just love my members”

ivory-

hyeyoung: “i wear matching sets. like the pants and the button up shirt? or the silk/satin shorts and matching tank tops. i love cute pajamas, i always have.”

mila: “i usually wear a sports bra and boxers or shorts.”

evie: “big shirt and my underwear.”

jimin: “usually a big hoodie and shorts!”

golden-

hyeyoung: “i cannot choose!! i own lots of stationary, and i scrapbook, as well.”

mila: “i’m not really a stationary person. just gimme some lined paper and i am all good.”

evie: “i love a good pen.”

jimin: “AHH i’m a sucker for the cute stationary cards. i like writing letters and notes”

freckles-

hyeyoung: “honestly, i have a pair of black cigarette pants that i love to pieces. i wear them often- they just go with everything and are so comfortable!”

mila: “i... honestly probably this hoodie i stole from lucas. it’s super big and comfy. if i don’t wear it at certain times i feel like something bad will happen ://“

evie: “i have this big, chunky grandpa sweater that’s striped and i wear it to the point where it might start falling apart.”

jimin: “it’s not really a clothing item, but i’ve worn the lily necklace chenle gave me every day since i got it. and my necklace that’s just my name, jimin, in cursive.”

twilight (this is their best friend outside of the other girls)-

hyeyoung: “i know it’s cheesy, but johnny, for obvious reasons... i’m also quite close to irene unnie, as well as jaehyun and taeyong. it’s hard for me to pick.”

mila: “ten.”

evie: “i legitimately cannot pick outside of the girls... maybe lucas... or yuta... or doyo... i don’t fucking know.”

jimin: “chenle- i’m stuck with him.”

poppy-

hyeyoung: “pink. i’m not even much of a pink girl, but pastel pink is lovely.”

mila: “is... pastel orange a thing? i see it in my mind, but i don’t know if anyone else can.”

evie: “green. green is my favorite color in general, all shades.”

jimin: “lavender and periwinkle are my favorite colors outside of grey and white.”

clouds-

hyeyoung: “it was me alone in a practice room, but the room had large windows in it and it was so light. i was dancing- there was no music playling, but i still was. i felt so happy, and i stopped after twirling because johnny had arrived and he just smiled at me with so much love in his eyes.”

mila: “i honestly don’t remember my dreams, but i remember how i felt during them?”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “all of my dreams are weird and i don’t have a favorite because they’re too bizarre to enjoy.”

roses-

hyeyoung: “red roses... my late grandma, who was the person i loved most in the world, loved red roses.”

mila: “i think... tulips.”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “lilies, but not because of my name. my loved ones give them to me because of my name, but i love them because i receive them from my loved ones LMAO”

lollipop-

hyeyoung: “lipstick is my favorite. nice reds and pinks. i never go dark with lipstick- only dark eye makeup.”

mila: “i love ALL makeup”

evie: “i kind of hate wearing makeup, but i guess i’d pick eyebrow stuff.”

jimin: “mascara and blush! i like the heavy blush look.”

dimples-

hyeyoung: “my favorite thing is when i see people’s eyes crinkle when they smile. smiles and lips- oh, lips- are so beautiful.”

mila: “i love the variety of expressions that people can show even in a matter of seconds. i love seeing the range of emotions and thoughts on people’s faces.”

evie: “i love noses. all noses. also, i think facial structures are so lovely and unique. everyone is different.”

jimin: “smiles and eyes. i think eyes are so, so beautiful. i’ve never met anyone with eyes that aren’t beautiful. and smiles are heavenly because seeing a person’s joy written on their face is priceless.”

whisper-

hyeyoung: “i usually get the amount you’re supposed to get. i tend to go to bed earlier and wake up earlier. my alarm is santeria by sublime, like johnny’s...”

mila: “i have horrible, horrible insomnia and only get a very little amount.”

evie was answered on my other post!! ++ she also will sleep through ANYTHING even her alarms

jimin: “i either get too much or too little.”

pencil-

hyeyoung: “i bullet journal to plan, and i also write down the things that make me anxious during the day so that i can reflect and see what i could do next time to sooth myself more”

mila: “lined notebooks full of songs that i keep in a specific drawer. if i need to get out anything, it escapes my mind in a song”

evie: “my journals are 10% words, 90% drawings.”

jimin: “i have my song journals, but then i have my jimin journals which hold every intimate thought or emotion i have ever felt.”

honey-

hyeyoung: “baby or love. those are what johnny most commonly calls me. he likes to call me angel, too, and that really gets me :) .. we also call each other chipmunk.”

mila: “i used to hate being called lala, but now i love it. it’s also cute when evie calls me baozi, because i call her shumai. i also like bun.”

evie’s is answered on my other post!!

jimin: “uhh... baby, minmin (thanks, jisung), i like when people call me flower too 🥺”

velvet-

hyeyoung: “my first crush? i saw kurt cobain when i was little and thought he was the most handsome man i’d ever seen- i listened to a lot of nirvana growing up. a lot of people don’t expect me to like things like grunge or rock, but it’s very much my style!! im just shy and don’t dress to reflect it.”

mila: “i watched hercules when i was really little and became obsessed with meg. yup. it was the classic ‘i just thought i wanted to be her!’ but nope. gay.”

evie: “i don’t remember?! i think it was when i was in secondary school, because i didn’t like anyone for a while. just this classmate... and i was a cringe little fuck.”

jimin: “the first notable one i remember was when i was in second grade... i was reading twilight and fell in love with edward. yes, i was reading twilight in second grade, yes when i got to breaking dawn my mom didn’t let me read part of the honeymoon. i also had a crush on bella, and to this day, i would be in a throuple with robert pattinson and kristen stewart.”

strawberry-

hyeyoung: “cherries and strawberries, because they taste best covered in chocolate.”

mila: “mangos are so fucking good.”

evie: “grapes are arguably the best fruit and gumdrop grapes are arguably the best kind.”

jimin: “watermelon, bitchesssss”

kiss-

hyeyoung: “i mean, my first kiss was with a boy i was friends with when i was in america. we had both smoked a cigarette before it (i just wanted to try it) so it tasted bad. the other guys i kissed i weren’t proper friends with, and then johnny.”

mila: “um, ive kissed evie, like, when we were dating. i havent kissed many people to be honest...”

evie: “i kissed mila, i’ve kissed lily (a friendly peck), i’ve ALMOST kissed hyeyoung, i’ve kissed some of my guy friends and girl friends predebut- so, yes, i have kissed friends. and people who aren’t friends. i just like to kiss.”

jimin: “... sigh. renjun, chenle, evie, The Ex We Don’t Talk About, yeri (friendly, like with evie), and probably a few other friends in a non-romantic way? i dunno”

shampoo-

hyeyoung: “my favorite scent is johnny’s versace cologne, his shampoo, and his skin. definitely roses. i also love my perfume smell, clean linen, and i love the smell of champagne.”

mila: “i like the smell of cigarettes... YES i know it’s bad, but it calms me down. i’d also pick the smell of rain, or beetle, because he always smells good.”

evie: “the smell of paint and pencils is so comforting. i also like nature smells. when the air smells cold, it’s so nice. and the OCEAN.”

jimin: “home-y smells? laundry, and warm smells... lavender and florals, my perfume, and the smell of summer nights and bonfires. also any of my members.”

lace-

hyeyoung: definitely a dress person, is definitely in love with the classiness and sleeves of that first one, and is definitely happy about how sexy she looks in that second one.

mila: is NOT a dress person and prefers dresses that she can go braless with and are comfortable

evie: this is just Evie and we all know it

jimin: the first one is cute on it’s own AND with a big sweater/sweatshirt over it, and the second one make her feel like she on a european holiday

sapphos-

hyeyoung: “jiminnie :) she writes such beautiful poetry- i’m very thankful that she chose to share some with me!”

mila: “i don’t think i have a favorite poet, to be honest... i like kate bush, though, and i know she’s a singer, but she’s truly a poet.”

evie: “michael faudet. he wrote a series of poetry books, his first is called ‘dirty pretty things’ and it’s really 18+ but i thought it was gorgeous. i have all of his books.”

jimin: “asking me to pick a favorite poet is like asking me to pick a favorite member- can’t do it.”

[spcncershybrid]

Surprise You’re Older- Spencer Reid Imagine

GIF IS NOT MINE 

SPENCER REID X READER

BAU TEAM X READER (obvi platonic unless you want to date the whole BAU team,, I don’t judge.)

(Summary: Its your birthday! The BAU teams throws a surprise party for you, a well deserving FBI agent who puts the bad guys away!)

(A/N: So um This is in honor of today being my birthday so like I wanted to write a birthday imagine!!🥳🥺 it’s still a reader insert fic because i said so. Also this was originally supposed to go up on my birthday (aug 4th)but I didn’t finish:(()

I wake up staring at my off white ceiling smiling softly. 52 weeks, 365 days have accumulated to this one day. My birthday! I hear my phone ding and turn over seeing the message.

‘We have a case babe. -Spencer, my phone broke.’

No ‘happy birthday y/n!’ I never expect it but usually Penelope messages me first excitedly. Come to think of it no one sent anything.

I sadly stand up slowly and groggily walk to my closet and bathroom slowly getting ready for the day. I step out and eye my clock. Shit I’m late. I run downstairs and jog to my car quickly getting in and drive off to work. I walk into the bullpen hastily setting my things down and jog to the debriefing room as we get started on the case. “Sorry Im late, I hate Virginia.” I say laughing as I took my seat. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again Y/L/N.” Hotch says sternly. “Yes sir.” I nod towards him as I look at my case file. “We my ballistic buddies are headed to New York!” Penelope says. “Wait Pen there’s no pictures?” I ask looking at the file confused. “No it is all written work. The crime scene people sadly couldn’t get photos.” She says. I nod slowly. “I’ll give you guys a moment to read it.” She says sitting down in one of the chairs. Yikes a couple killed while celebrating a birthday. No identification either. “So these victims weren’t ID’s so why are they calling us in?” I ask as I read along the lines. “They believe it can escalate to serial. We will go to see if we can give them a good answer.” Hotch says standing. “Wheels up in 10.” He says walking out of the room. Everyone slowly follows behind leaving Spencer and I. “I didn’t get my daily kiss big guy.” I say nudging him with my elbow. “Sorry.” He says kissing my forehead. “So what are you doing later?” I ask him. “Nothing special I might just relax and read.” He says packing his stuff away. Did he really forget? That’s like majorly impossible. “Really? You don’t have anything planned.” I say hinting towards the idea of today being my birthday. “Why would I? There’s nothing special about today. Speaking of today see you on the jet.” He says closing his bag and walks out of the room. “He really forgot.” I whisper to myself sadly as I pack my things. I head to my desk and grab my go bag.

I step onto the jet and head towards my usual seat. “Garcia will be joining us for today.” Hotch says as he sits in his usual spot. “Hey you okay?” Emily whispers as she sits next to me. “Yeah Em. Let’s Just say I’m having a rough day.” I say staring out the window. She gets up and sits next to JJ. Thanks Emily. For a bunch of profilers they suck at seeing others issues. “When we land Reid and JJ, you guys can head to the M.E.” Hotch say gesturing to them. “Morgan, you and Y/L/N can head to the crime scene. The rest of us can head to the station and set up.” Hotch finishes as he reads his case file.We land in New York safely. Morgan and I head to one of the parked vans and head to the crime scene. “Why is it empty? Derek are you sure we’re in the right place? There should be tape surrounding here.” I say pointing out the obvious flaws in this crime scene area. “Yep this is where Hotch and the NYPD said to go.” He says placing his hand on his head. “Wait Y/L/N, what is that?” He asks pointing to something. I slowly walk over to it. A letter? “It’s a letter Morgan. Should I pick it up or is that obstruction of evidence?” I ask as I eye the paper. “Pick it up.” He says walking over to me. I pick up the paper and examine it. “Red Lobster?” I questioningly say as I read the paper. “That’s a food place. Why would we need to go there?” Derek asks confused. “Not sure but let’s go I guess.” I say heading towards the van.

We drive speed over to the nearest Red Lobster and head inside. Derek and I pull out our credentials and show it to one of the workers. “Hi we are investigating a case and a something was laid out informing us to go here. Has there been anything suspicious that has been brought here?” I ask a tall brunette girl. “Yes here.” She says handing me another letter. “Derek if stuff was this simple we’ll be out of jobs.” I say as he leads me outside. “Do you understand this unsubs M.O? I’m so confused.” I sigh asking Derek as I hand him the second note. “We should head to the station and see what they have so far, Reid and them are probably way ahead.” He says as he drives off. I nod in agreement and stare out the window. This is one hell of a birthday so far. Catching an unsub who leaves notes and no case pictures.

__________________

“Morgan are you sure we’re headed the right way?” I ask turning towards him. “Positive but this GPS isn’t working well with me.” He says gripping the steering wheel. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I fish it out and answer. “Hello?” I ask. “Hey it’s me.” The familiar voice of my boyfriend echos through the phone. “We’re having zero luck Spence it would be a damn miracle if this case gets solved.” I sighed sadly. “We’re slowly figuring it out over here. Are you and Morgan near?” He asks. “I think Spence. I honestly have no clue cause I’ve seen the same diner about five times.” I say aiming my sentence towards Derek. “How about you drive?” Derek says pointing towards the wheel. “Just make it safely.” Spencer says laughing softly. “I will Morgan drives like a grandpa.” I say laughing as I hung up the phone. “Okay youngster how about you drive next time.” Derek says laughing. “You got jokes geezer.” I say smiling widely as I turn towards him. Our laugh fest is cut off by Dereks phone ringing. “Yep Hotch.” He says answering the phone. “Okay we‘ll be right there.” He says nodding to no one in particular. Hotch says something inaudible and Derek hangs up the phone. “Where are we off too?” I ask confused. “The station. The address JJ gave me before was wrong. But before we go there we have to stop at another place.” He says driving quicker. “Wake me up when we’re there.” I ask leaning into my seat. “Of course.” Derek says as he turns the corner.

__________________

I feel myself being slightly shaken awake. “We’re here.” I hear Derek say as I open my eyes. I look out the window taking in my surroundings. “Derek this isn’t a station, it's a house.” I say looking at the house in front of me. “I know hard heads get up.” Derek says opening my side door. “Close your eyes.” He says as I step out. “If your going to murder me Morgan just know I’m a respected FBI agent.” I say laughing as I shut my eyes. He scoffs in response and grabs my arm guiding me to what I think hope is the house. I hear a door unlock and a soft tug on my arm. I hear a light flicker on. “Surprise!” I hear a chorus of voices yell towards me. I open my eyes quickly seeing my team standing with party hats and party poppers. I smile widely as I look around at them. “Happy birthday baby.” Spencer says smiling as he walks up to me wrapping his arms around me. The group takes turns giving me a hug and slowly disperses. “Oh my the cake! Where’s the cake!” Penelope exclaims running into the room. “Oh crap we forgot the cake.” JJ says placing her hand over her mouth in shock. I laugh softly. “It’s fine guys!” I say happily looking at them and their disappointed faces. “Fine but there are definitely presents!” Penelope says pointing towards me as she backs into the kitchen. They all huddled together on the couch, me in the middle, and slowly handed me gifts.

__________________

“Woah Rossi this is sick!” I say smiling as I open his gift. “The kid was telling me about how you wanted to start cooking. What better way to set you up than to not only combine the BAU’s two greatest things, my books and my face.” Rossi says smiling as the team softly groans. “This is from Jack and I combined.” Hotch says handing me a box. I rip the wrapping paper off revealing a framed picture and drawing. “This is supposed to be Spencer, you, and Jack. It was that time you guys babysat him. The drawing is a Jack original piece.” Hotch says smiling. “Hotch I love it. Tell Jack I said thank you.” I say smiling. “Me next!” Penelope says excitedly springing from the couch, handing me a bag. “Worlds baddest BAU babe?” I question as I read the shirt Penelope got me. “I ordered something different but it’s arriving late. Expect a huge box.” She says apologetically. “Pen if it’s bigger than my front door I will hit you with it.” I say laughing as I remembered last years gift of a giant framed painting she got me. “Then I should probably cancel it.” She says sheepishly. “My turn~” JJ says in a sing-song type voice. “This is an exclusive piece made from the bare hands of my family and the jewelry store.” JJ says handing me a bag. I quirk my eyebrow at her words smiling softly. I pull out the contents revealing a drawn painting signed by Henry and Michael, and a small bracelet. “JJ this is beautiful.” I gasp taking out the bracelet. “You seemed sad when your other one broke on the field so Will and I made a trip.” She says smiling at me. I look at her thankfully appreciating the bracelet. “Time to upstage you all.” Derek says clapping his hands together. “That’s never good.” Rossi says under his breath. “I got you and pretty boy over there a joint thing.” He says standing up smiling over to Spencer. I look over to Spencer confused as he blushes profusely. “I got you two a special Derek Morgan exclusive trip to one of my friends resort places.” Derek says spinning around. “Holy crap Morgan seriously.” I say glancing towards Spencer who has his head in his hands, still blushing. “Don’t worry it isn’t the place where Elle got arrested.” He says pointing to us, raising his eyebrow. “Okay okay my turn.” Emily says softly pushing Derek into the couch as she hands me a box with holes. I open the box cautiously smiling wide as a small black kitten peeks its head out. “I saw your face when you took care of Sergio and I know how hard it was for you two to part. So I present to you Sergio 2.0.” Emily says laughing at my shocked expression. I gush at the kitten as it meows at me.

__________________

I smile widely at the kitten's cuteness for a moment. “Okay my turn before the kitten steals you away.” Spencer says standing up. The team gets up from the couch and exits the room. “I kind of wanted to do this on the resort trip but now seems worth it.” Spencer says digging into his pocket pulling out a velvet box. “This isn’t a marriage proposal but it’s something similar. It’s a promise ring, I want to make you the promise that one day when the timing is right I will replace it with an engagement ring properly.” He says getting on one knee opening the box. “Spence, it's beautiful.” I gasp as he stands from the floor. “I promise to you Spencer Reid that one day with different rings we would be saying our vows in the same positions.” I say smiling as he slides the ring on my finger. “Wait, this looks familiar.” I say examining the ring. “You left your computer tabs open so I took a shot in the dark sorry.Spencer says shyly, scratching his head. I smile at him softly and hug his waist. “I love you.” I say into his shirt. “I love you too ever since our conversation about Alice in Wonderland.” He says kissing the top of my head. “That was so long ago!” I exclaimed, laughing as I slapped his arm softly. He smiles at me widely. The team enters back into the room taking a seat at different spots in the living room. “Wait, the whole case was fake right there isn’t a psycho in New York?” I say standing up from the couch abruptly. “I hope not we’re supposed to be celebrating a birthday.” Rossi says taking a sip of wine. Suddenly Hotch’s phone rings and he exits the room. “If it’s a case I so hate the BAU right now.” Emily says sighing. “Nope it was a surprise pizza.” Hotch says reentering the room. “Yay!” Penelope says standing up grabbing a slice. Hotch laughs at Penelope and hands out slices. “Did you know-“ Spencer starts but I cut him off with a kiss. “Not now.” I say smiling against his lips. The team laughs and we all spend the night eating and drinking the celebration away.

[joaquinfeed]

Love Letters (Arthur x Reader)

Prompt: You find Arthur’s journal and start exchanging notes with him. Fluff ensues. Word Count: 2,929 

— You push open the door of your Gotham city apartment building, before trudging over to the mailboxes.

“Bills, bills, bills,” you sigh, shoving the unopened letters into your bag. You turn to make your way to the elevator, but something catches your eye. A worn notebook lays on the floor at your feet, words scrawled across every inch of it. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you can’t help but reach down and grab it.

You let your fingers run over the pages, as your eyes land on what looks to be the last thing written. You almost set the journal back down, not wanting to intrude on the stranger’s personal thoughts. But something about the messy handwriting draws you in.

I just want peeple to see me. I think I would be happyer if I had someone who cared.

Your heart felt heavy for the stranger; there was no way you could pretend that you never saw this. Your hand immediately shuffled around inside your bag, pulling out a pen and getting to work on your note back.

I’m sorry you feel that way. Everyone deserves to be seen. I’m sure you have someone who cares about you, and if not, I’ll be that person.

You read over your words, nodding in approval. You drop the notebook next to the mailboxes, hoping that the man or woman who left it behind will come back for it. As you made your way to the elevator, you couldn’t help the light feeling that washed over you. For once, you felt like you actually did something worthwhile in Gotham.

—

The next day, you were practically buzzing with excitement as you rushed home from work. All you could think about was the journal you found. Had the person read your note? Did they write something back? Did they even notice that the journal was gone? So many questions were swirling through your head, but you didn’t have to dwell on them much longer.

Sitting in almost the exact same place as you left it in, the journal was open to a new page, and another messy note was scrawled across the lines.

I only have my mother. You must not have many peeple to. Why else would you be writing back to a man in a jurnal journal.

Despite yourself, you laughed at the bluntness of the stranger, who you now know is male. A few other residents of the building gave you a look as you chuckled to yourself. With your pen already in hand, you moved to draw a small smiley face on the paper.

:) It’s funny of you to say that. Very bold. It’s nice that you still have your mom. Do you see her often? P.S. My name is Y/N, what’s yours? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.

Oddly enough, you were looking forward to getting up the next morning to see if your mystery guy would write back. At first, you were sure he would, but the more you thought about it, the more you started second-guessing.

Was asking about his mother too forward? What about asking for his name? After all, this man didn’t know you whatsoever. He has no obligation to tell you anything about his life; however, he did say he was lonely in some regard. You’re just trying to be friendly, you told yourself. If he didn’t want to answer, he didn’t have to. You wouldn’t be disappointed.

—

You were right to tell yourself that you wouldn’t be disappointed. When you took a detour over the mailboxes that morning, you instantly saw a new reply sitting beneath yours from the previous day.

You think I’m funny? I do stand up comedy sometimes. I actully live with my mother here. I take good care of her. Ps I like your name. My name is Arthur. Arthur Fleck.

Your fingers traced over the man’s name.

“Arthur,” you said out loud to yourself. You liked the way his name sounded, and as strange as it seemed, you felt like his name matched his cute, scribbly handwriting.

I like your name too. Also, you’re a comedian? Now you have to tell me a joke!

You looked over the words, wondering if you should write anything else. He didn’t ask you any questions, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t tell him anything.

I think it’s great that you take care of your mom, not many people would do that.

You considered adding “you seem like a really nice guy” to the end of your note but decided against it. You’ve already been inquisitive; it’s probably best to hold back a little.

A reply was waiting for you the next morning when you checked back in. While reading it, you couldn’t help but laugh at Arthur’s response.

Why dont canibals cannibals eat clowns? Becus they taste funny.

There was a line of space between the joke he scribbled down and the rest of his note. You glanced down, hanging on to every word that was written on the page. You wondered if he felt the same way while reading what you left him.

Most peeple find it strange that I live with my mother. You said it was great. Thank you for being nice to me Y/N.

Your heart picked up at the use of your name. At the risk of sounding cliché, you can’t remember a time when the mere doodle of your name has caused such a surge of warmth to fill your body.

You felt kind of absurd for feeling like this. You haven’t even met the man. He could be any person in the building, and yet, you still felt drawn to Arthur like he was someone you’ve known forever.

You hastily wrote back to him, deciding to take a bit of a chance with your next move.

No need to thank me, Arthur. I truly think it’s admirable. Oh, and that was a hilarious joke. I’d love to hear it in person sometime.

You knew that was a bold thing to say to him. It has only been four days since you found the man’s notebook, and you’ve already given him a reason to meet with you. You’re absolutely positive you have a high chance of being the next star of a late-night murder mystery documentary. Still, at this point, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Pushing the thoughts of Arthur out of your mind, you left for work, hoping to go one day without thinking of your new pen-pal.

—

When you arrived home from work, you were nearly falling over in exhaustion. You just wanted to get back to your apartment and crash in front of the TV. As always, though, you stopped by to read any new messages that Arthur had left. You were surprised to see a rather long entry this time compared to his usual two or three sentences.

I dont understand why you want to talk to me Y/N. You know you are not forced to anser me. I know that you probly dont actully want to meet with me. Thats ok. I enjoy getting your mesages and I want to keep talking. I feel like I have somebody with you around. But I understand if you want to stop. You dont have to lie to me and tell me you want to meet. I will be fine.

For the first time, Arthur’s note didn’t make you smile. Instead, you read through it with a dull ache in your chest. You wished there was some way to prove to him how much you looked forward to this encounter every day. Honestly, it was the only thing you looked forward to these days. 

Arthur,

You doodled a little heart next to his name before scratching it out, too nervous about leaving it there.

I have never lied to you, and I never will. I would like to meet sometime, but only when you’re comfortable with that. Until then, we can talk here. I enjoy getting your messages too; they actually make me really happy. I feel like I have a friend in you. P.S. What’s your favorite color?

The notes between you both went on for another two weeks. Even though your communication was often brief and to the point, you still found yourself craving the disordered, misspelled words from Arthur. Nearly three weeks of knowing him, and you were convinced he was the kindest, funniest, and most selfless man in Gotham. With every new letter in the journal, you felt your control slip away, leaving behind a feeling that you haven’t experienced quite like this.

You liked him. It has only been three weeks, and you liked him.

You tried to reason to yourself that it wasn’t totally crazy to have a crush on Arthur. It’s normal to develop a crush on someone in such a short period; that’s how crushes work. You knew, however, that it wasn’t normal to crush on someone you’ve never even really met. Arthur was nothing but some words on a page right now, but you still couldn’t shake the thought that you knew him.

With each day that passed, you learned something new about him. From his favorite foods to his job at HaHa’s, you found yourself holding on to each fact as if your life depended on it. You briefly wondered if you should take a stop by HaHa’s on your way home from work, but ultimately decided against it. You wanted Arthur to be ready to meet you; you didn’t want to force him to.

After a particularly hard day at work, you sat by the mailboxes, writing furiously about your day.

I hate my job. I hate this apartment. I hate Gotham. The only thing I look forward to is writing with you, but I don’t even know you. Isn’t that pathetic?

You carried on for a whole page and a half about the shitty day you’ve had. You considered tearing it out so Arthur wouldn’t feel required to comfort you, but something kept you from doing so. Arthur has been somewhat open with you; it’s about time you do the same for him.

The next day, you halted to a stop by the mailboxes, seeing the journal laying in its usual location. But next to it, a single blue flower. You slowly made your way over, trying not to get your hopes up.

Y/N Im sorry you are feeling like this. Things in Gotham can be awful sometimes. I have felt like that my hole life. Im starting to feel diferently now that I have you. I hope you feel the same way. I got you this blue flower to cheer you up. Blue means comfort.

You felt your ears burn red, as you picked up Arthur’s gift. You knew how much courage it must have took him to leave something like that for you. The man has told you enough about him for you to picture his bouncing leg and racing heart as he sat the flower down next to his new entry.

This means more than you know, Arthur.

This time, you did leave a little doodle heart next to his name. You knew he would only find it endearing now.

I am incredibly lucky to have found you. You make living in Gotham worthwhile.

You took the flower up to your apartment, knowing that you were going to do whatever you could to keep it alive and well.

If you weren’t sure before, you were now. You really, really liked Arthur. And you kind of, sort of, hoped he liked you too.

—

The next night, you were off early from work. So, after grabbing something quick to eat, you walked back to your apartment in hopes of seeing a new message from Arthur.

When you got inside, you stopped in your tracks. A man with curly, brown locks towered over the journal. Your heart started thumping loudly in your chest as you took in, who you presumed to be, your month-long writing buddy.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, trying not to startle him. He still jumped slightly, almost toppling over from lack of balance. He gave you a confused look, seemingly trying to figure out if he knew you. “It’s Y/N.”

Suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he hurriedly concealed the journal behind his back.

“B-but, I only talk to you in my notebook. W-why are you here? You’ve never been here before,” he said, moving his hands from his chest to his waistline, a gesture you guessed was made to ground himself.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just, I got off work early. I didn’t know you would be here, I swear,” you told him. “If you want me to leave, I understand. I’ll just look at what you wrote later.”

“No.”

“No?”

He finally looked at you—all of you. His eyes roamed from your shoes, all the way to your face before his gaze rested on yours.

“You- you can’t read it. You can’t,” he mumbled.

“But… I’ve been reading everything in there,” you paused before quickly continuing. “Everything you’ve written to me. I haven’t read anything before that! I would never.”

He nods, staying silent.

“Were you going to stop talking to me?” you asked, a little hurt at the insinuation.

“No! I- I could never.”

“Then, why can’t I read what you wrote?”

He looks down at the floor, picking at a part of his sweatpants. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You know I’d never judge you, Arthur, but you don’t have to show me if you don’t want. I can leave, and we can continue writing like this never happened.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and you’re glad to see him meet your eyes once again. He drops the notebook onto the floor, and gives you a wave before taking off towards the elevator. You wait until he’s inside before reaching down and grabbing the book.

His writing, as usual, brings a small smile to your face. It makes your heart flutter that you have a face to put with the name and the messy scribbles.

I checked every word twice in order to get this right. I wanted to make sure I spelled and said everything perfictly perfectly.  I know we have known each other for a little bit but youre always on my mind. Just like you said… you make living in Gotham worthwhile. I have a queston question for you. I hope you still want to write after this. Will you go on a date with me to Pogos? It’s a comedy club. It’s okay to say no.

You bit your lip, nearly drawing blood. The smile threatening to take over your face grew the more times you read over the note. You couldn’t believe the man you just talked to wanted to go out with you. And poor Arthur, who was too embarrassed to tell you that, looked like he wanted to shrivel up.

You scrawled down a giant “yes” under Arthur’s last writing before aimlessly drawing a few hearts around the word. After running upstairs to grab a few things, you came back down to the mailboxes and threw a blanket down on the floor. You were confident that people were going to think you’re crazy, but you weren’t concerned about their opinions. You parked yourself on the blanket and decided to camp out until the next morning when Arthur would, no doubt, be returning.

When the sun did arise, so did your writing partner. You heard the elevator doors screech open, and before you could look, Arthur was standing in front of you gawking.

“Did- did you get evicted?”

You laughed slightly and shook your head. “I was waiting for you.”

“You were waiting for me,” he repeated, looking puzzled and a little nervous.

“Yes. I wanted to be here when you read my response,” you told him. Your heart raced as he carefully took the journal from your hands and looked at it. His brows furrowed, and he looked back at you in astonishment.

“Are you sure? I think you made a mistake,” he dropped the journal and put his hands firmly back onto his chest. “This is not real.”

Your heart sank a little as you took in the distressed man in front of you. “This is real, Arthur. I didn’t make a mistake. I like you.”

“No- no,” his hands went to his head, so you reached out cautiously and took them into yours.

“I like you,” you repeated. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

That seemed to break him out of his episode, and he looked down at your intertwined hands before he broke out into a smile.

“Really? Okay. I’ll write to you and tell you what time to meet me.”

You giggled, debating whether or not to tell him that you didn’t need to write any more now that you knew each other. However, you let him go with a smile on your face and kept your mouth shut. If he wanted to write to you, you’d gladly let him. You were looking forward to seeing what time your scribbly, disordered, writing partner would come up with in your journal. 

Your journal, you thought to yourself. You and Arthur’s journal. 

You liked the thought of that. Arthur will just have to get used to it. 

Turns out, Arthur didn’t have to get used to it. He already was.

[hoseoksactualass]

illicit episodes

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut 

word count: wtf it’s ltrly almost a 10k pwp im sick

warning/s: sex during office hours (and a phone call kinda) // oral (male and female receiving) // blindfold use // just very nsfw 

summary: dream boy, chief executive officer Jeon Jungkook is someone you go way back with until every fibre of your being becomes his entire fetish.

author’s note: ceo jjk for @taespired

after reading this bitch’s recs I’ve gathered inspiration to write this per her request

have the cliche that nobody asked for but everybody wants: ceo!jk and sec!oc and some other filthy endeavours (also,, jk talks a lot and is cocky here)

It’s a crisp night. Evidently and especially in Jeon Corp. where Chief Executive Officer Jeon Jungkook’s office is astood. Full glass walls that point into a corner so the Big Boss himself can choose what side of the city to overlook. After all, whatever he sees fit is what he gets, and that includes an eagle-eye’s peer over where the sun rises and sets when he feels like turning his back on stacked paperwork on his desk—something the majority doesn’t see someone with such a youthful, handsome face as Jungkook’s tending to, but he does, and aces it, too.

What he doesn’t get, unfortunately, is why he ponders an unusual amount of time about the length of your pencil skirt. Certainly enough, earlier in the day, he swore they were longer than they are tonight. Somewhere above your knees, so like paperwork, he almost demands an explanation why he can see your mid-thighs now and the mesh he wished were some panty hose.

It’s hard to be hard in dress pants, too, and Jungkook has that noted to think about again when he sees you bend over for the umth time in front of him to… tend to the coffee table? For longer than an average amount of time?

That night, you say something in admiration to the hard, sturdy, thick wood of the coffee table, and it’s the same night Jungkook fingers you on it until his fingers are wrinkled wet. The first night of many.  

“I’ll have my secretary send you an email.”

In his office, well, his quarter of the floor, Jungkook liked to let you take his blazer and let it grace the coat hanger for the whole day. It was 8:28 in the evening, and city lights, any light, is good to his veneer. Rolled shirt sleeves, expensive belt, and whatnot. Tonight was one of the rather torpid nights, twiddling a pen in his fingers, mind tranced into his phone call with the Chairman of the Board, and you’d hate for the tight of your suspender belts to go unnoticed. You’re three buttons away from an undone blouse.

“Estimates for the next month?,” this is where he looks at you from the listless loll of his head on his office chair. You nod, not missing the way he eyes at the open crevice of your blouse. He doesn’t bat an eye anyway, instantly averts and gets back into the call. “_____ has a summary of that.”

You roll your eyes, knowing full well he wouldn’t see it anyway. You walk closer.

“The marketing manager in—,” he looks up at you, looks back down only to bring his eyes up at you again, at your proximity. “—Japan has a what? Sorry, a problem?,” he has grace in his voice, but his eyes remain stern as if his attention hadn’t been solely caught by the way you dragged your fingers on the surface of his desk, making your way around towards him. “What does she need?,” he speaks to the phone in the same way he tugs at the sleeve of your blouse, pulling you steps closer so he can ogle at you in the comfort of leaning on his office chair. You flash him a smile, but you know it would come artlessly, what with the handsome part in his hair and the softening of his face when he finally gets that front seater view of the lace on the underboob of what Jungkook could make out as an… open front bra. “Uh—huh, should I—,” he nods as if Mr. Park could see him from his end. He tugs more at your blouse, shuffling you to his lap. “—call this a phone call and handle that then?,” he speaks with a tighter breath, and you send him a glare, aware that his impatience was evident and that he’d make you make the phone call in fluent Japanese after whatever he was growing impatient for. You shake your head, threatening to scoot off his lap before you feel his free hand cup at the small of your back. “Ah, that,” he nods again, pushing his lower lip into a small pout, and you roll your eyes again, but this time he sees it, and it’s with a smile. “_____ had that finalised since last week. She’s my—She’s a really sharp secretary,” he bites white at his lip, teeth sliding swiftly at his lip balm, and you watch every second blood rushes back into it. He palms at your chest, feeling for the opening until he can play his fingers onto your skin. “She’s emailing you on those March sales as we speak,” he boasts, pride in his lie and the way he cranes his neck where you offer to kiss. “I’d love to, I’d love to,” he sounds chipper. You assume it’s about drinks, dragging the tip of your nose across his jugular. His hand leaves the warmth of the inside of your blouse, and you feel it move to the mound of your ass. Just soft petting like it’s on his schedule. You don’t rut your hips; work clothes make way too much sound to be this close to a phone call.

The way you’re sat on his lap makes your skirt hike up your thighs, enough that Jungkook sees the straps of the suspender belt latched onto your stockings. You look at him, eyes still buzzed in an attempt to focus on the call while his fingers played with the mesh, gradually going up to the strips of the garter belt.

“I’m assuming it’s just Japan who has an issue,” his head perks up at you, amused by the way you followed his every gesture. He gives your thigh a squeeze before mouthing the word off. “Great, no attempt to contact was made yet?,” he watched as you slipped off your skirt.

You knew this would get him. To see you undone, undressed this way, a garter belt, just a garter belt that matched the revelation of your bra.

“I—I understand,” you see his chest rise high and fall. Lethargic. You make your way towards him again. He fishes for something on his desk, and then you figure out it’s the remote for the blinds when you hear a significant beep, and the room starts to grow dimmer. “You can—,” he gestures for you to turn around. “—leave that to me,” you comply only to turn to face him again. He bites down on his lip. “Ah—no, sir, it’s a late night for me.”

He gestures for your blouse’s buttons. You undo them slowly.

“For _____?,” you both perk up, meeting eyes, his dark, possessive. “Why do you ask? I believe she’s finalising that email at this second,” there’s a grit to his teeth, but he manages to smug it down. You smirk at him, and he takes it like a challenge to his competence. You’re a button away. “Mm, very well,” then he cuts his attention span, paying full to the phone call more because he was in a hurry to end it. “See you tomorrow.”

He ponders for a bit, recollecting everything Mr. Park had rambled through those lines before he looks back up at you. “You get better at lying by the day, sir,” you grin. “Part of the job?”

“What I know is that you—,” and he eyes you up and down for the effect. “—should keep my secrets,” he leans back on his chair, fingers hooking to the knot of his tie, then he pulls.

He’s lit by the filter of his blinds, bleeding with the blur of city lights; there’s a good reason behind the stigma that rings around the youngest CEO-Secretary duo and how good they look (and perform). “And I do,” you reach for your heels in an attempt to slip off the pain in your feet.

“Keep them on,” he cuts you off, the tip of his index finger running slowly over his lips. “What? I like them.”

“They hurt.”

“Fine. Off, then,” he sighs as you giddily kick your heels off then finally make your way to him again, bending down to brush the surface of your lips against his. The feeling’s addictive, scandalous but it only makes you more avid for it. You feel him take your blouse off before you wave it away, leaving you in lingerie an easy bite off his own credit card. Rich, and you could sniff it off him.

You kiss down his neck, his chest and abdomen through his dress shirt, and then undo his belt like it’s practice.

“You dress like this under everyday?,” he coos, watching as you get on your knees. 

“Not everyday, but I will if you make it dress code.”

“Feel like I should,” he raises an eyebrow, confident but you still see the blazing excitement in his eyes. You tease a hot kiss on his lower abdomen, unzipping his pants. “Who are you looking this good for?”

“Myself,” you respond, palming his crotch, and he takes it with a smile.

“Gonna suck my dick for yourself, too?,” he smirks, moving his foot between your thighs and nudging them open wider from where you kneel. “Don’t think so.”

You make sure you do it languidly when you take his length out, half hard in anticipation for the heat of your mouth. You tease your tongue on the head of his cock, wetting it before you wrap your lips around it just to release with a pop. “What makes you think I’m doing this for anyone other than myself?,” you stroke him dry. 

“You’re doing it for everyone you—fuck—want would get hard or wet for you,” he speaks with a voice coming more from the tightening of his chest. 

You like feeling him like this, gradually becoming solid at the mercy of your mouth, hearing every hitch of his breath, and looking at him not as someone of power but as someone you can take the power out of. You let up after a particularly deep suck. “Tell me more,” you place a tight fist around his cock. “You mean yourself?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, moans coming out in forms of consecutive heavy exhales you could feel in your spine. “And others.”

You gather a decent amount of saliva in your mouth, straighten up on your knees, and make sure he sees clearly when you let your spit drip on his dick. It’s easier to stroke him. “Others?”

“Fuck, ugh—you’re making a mess,” he leans his head back like the rest of the chair was a magnet, just to bring his line of sight back to you. 

“Who is others, sir? Who else do you think would get hard or wet for me?,” you mock. 

He hisses at the play of honorific but more because you knew exactly what you were doing with your hand. He smirks, though, scoffs almost. “Mr. Park. If I put that call on loud speaker, you would have heard how many times he’d mentioned you.” 

“Jealous?”

“No—fuck, keep going—,” he pets at your hair, gently caressing his fingers over the neat of your low updo. “Was just thinking if—he’d seen you in those already.”

You chuckle, up to play his game though fucking Jungkook was admittedly becoming pretty exclusive. Even for him. “You’re my first audience. Always,” you chaff, finally taking him in your mouth to avoid saying anything else. He takes it like it’s the same thing that puts him to sleep and keeps him up at night, head digging into the backrest, back arching at the feeling. You’ve done this too many times to not know exactly what makes his body twitch; it’s easy enough to tighten your cheeks around his cock.

“Mr. Park hasn’t one idea what you do to me,” he as if boasts, tucking stray hair behind your ear lest he wanted it caging the view of your lingerie clad body. “What you’re doing to me—now,” his breath gets cut into a tight moan, a kick of his hip hitting the back of your throat. He moans again at the sound you make. You listen to him like it’s plugged to your ears. “That—filthy rich son of a bitch thinks he has it all,” he huffs, eyes closed when he blissfully loafs his head back before looking at you again. You look at him, only feeling the moulding of your insides more. “What he doesn’t have—,” he thumbs at your cheek, dragging it across the skin of your face to the corner of your lips where he can see his cock plunge in. He bites his lip before speaking again. “—is this mouth, right?”

“Mm,” you hum. Something about how competitive he felt around his own chairman of the board made your body churn harder than it was supposed to. You were supposed to be zipping rich off traffic on your way home by now, but now, your boss’s dick is part of your schedule. You won’t question it. 

“Get up,” he forces, watching the way you let up leave a glisten on his dick, and he finds it pretty. He tugs you to his lap, manspreads when you’re sat on him, so he can touch you where he sees fit. “And what he doesn’t have—,” he continues, eyes lingering over the swell of your lips. You feel his finger feel down, all the way straight to your core. “—is this,” he smirks when he sees your face shudder. He smears his finger across the lips, rubbing too sensitive against your clit, you make a soft ah at each caress. He easily dips a finger inside, watching his hand’s work. 

You like looking at him like this, his hair curtained over his eyes when he’s tranced by how you can make parts of him disappear inside you, i.e. his finger in your cunt, his breaths shallow, cock hard and red against his abdomen. You can pretend it feels good for now, his finger prodding at the wrong place, but his visual turns you on enough that pretending doesn’t feel like a chore. Until you don’t have to. It’s one curl of his finger and the right pressure that makes your hips roll like reflex. 

“That’s it,” he leans before continuously pressing his finger against the spot. “Fuck yourself on my finger,” he would’ve asked you if you were up for it first, but he knows you’ll give in. What he doesn’t know is how hot it gets him. He watches you, in the congratulation of nature for the broad of your hips that rock on his finger, the water from your cunt that’s starting to soil your inner thighs, and the glisten reflecting colours of the city outside. You’re filthy art. 

Another thing you like is making a mess on him and seeing him welcome it. He lets you pull on his tie rough enough, his head jerks before your lips crash. It’s almost an unkempt kiss, too—mouthing at each other like you’re trying to drink each other up, but his tongue is always so soft against your bottom lip. He kisses you like it’s ecstasy—what he feels on his finger. Then it’s near endgame when you whimper on his lips. 

“Look at me,” he mutters, swiping his tongue over his lips. But you’re in too deep that his voice is nothing but radio noise. All you do is rock your hips harder in request for more and make sure he sees when your body shudders. “Please open your eyes, and look at me,” it’s like he begs for it, too, and it’s always him to plead for something he’s greatly smitten by. Until you don’t comply. He nearly rips his tie off when he undoes it, leaving you empty and snapped out of your reverie. “If you’re not gonna look at me, you’re not gonna look at anything,” he almost growls, foaming at the mouth when he ties his necktie around your eyes, forcing nothing but a dark shade of blue until all you can do is hear, feel, smell, and taste. You wince when you feel the tip of his dick against your entrance, two firm hands on your waist. You hear it when he yanks at a drawer, shuffling through envelopes and whatnot before the ripping of plastic and just the enticing, perfect roll of rubber over his dick.

There’s a burn under your body, but you sit on the fire as if you like the way you simmer on it. With your eyes covered, your other senses are sharper, but you doll yourself into submission, not having to see to know full well how hard that made Jungkook not twitch in his dress pants. You feel his lips against your ear.

“What were you thinking of when you bought these?,” when he asks, you hear how young he is. The little postgrad boy with stars in his eyes and a gift for numbers, slack-jawed for girls in expensive lingerie he’d only ever seen in... well, much higher levels of living such as that of your lives now. You feel him pull at your garters before snapping back on your skin.

You bite your lip. Jeon Jungkook, the Computer Science major you had been pining for in your younger years, was now your boss, fingers digging into your hips like the scandal of it all blows his pupils into nothing but black. You have him right where you want him. And although you roll your hips like you’re begging, and he’s grimacing into your skin with authority, you know you’re the one in control. “You. I was thinking of showing it to you,” you whisper, voice more velvety than intended.

“Just showing?”

You crane your neck, give him more skin to nip on while he speaks through his teeth. “More than that.”

“Say it,” he presses a kiss to the juncture where your head meets your neck. “Please.”

“Thinking of making you fuck me in them,” you finger through his hair, messing the do in it, but it’s always nice to feel the silk of his roots. You have him somewhere between making and fuck. It’s only fitting you hear the noise he makes clearer. “I thought of you bending me over your desk and fucking me silly.” After that, all that rung in Jungkook’s mind was a string of I want to fuck her I want my cock inside her I want to hear her cry for it.

“You had this whole nasty act planned then, huh?,” he’s lost, the colour in his eyes a thin ring around his pupils. “Bending over every time I’m on the phone, you do this to Mr. Park, too?”

You hold back a smirk. “I had this act planned just for you.”

You could be smoldered into his skin at this rate, keening where he touches and throbbing where he doesn’t. In his pulse you hear him feeling just the same way, chest tight, sweat on his hairline. He goes a little quiet until you feel him grip at your hips, lifting you slightly, and then the glory of his cock teasing at your entrance. “Shit.”

You make a tiny whimper, and his head would have shot up if it wasn’t for the rather wet visual you had prepped for him.

“You should stop making me want to fuck you every time I’m trying to work—fuck,” he twinges when you sit on him, sinking down, and a long, raspy breath leaves his chest. “Like it just the same when you’re on top of me like this?”

You like how he mumbles this way, as if whispering small mercies and sweet nothings to his own ear, just a breathier, whinier, filthier way of him uttering things to himself when work has the best of him.

You don’t analyze it over; you just want his cock hitting the right place, so you take charge and start with a slow bounce. Enough that you can say the pressure inside you feels good. You know he’s sat back despite being deprived of his visual, with the way you feel him holding his chair in place and the tense of his thighs every time you make him bottom out, and the sounds of his breaths, leaving in ropes of heavy pants and tight groans. You feel a thumb to your clit.

“Oh, fuck,” you almost throw your head to the side. The feeling sends the pair of you into a fucking frenzy—you picking up your pace as you bounce and him trying to match with his finger on your clit. “Ugh—nngh, oh my god—Sir,” the honorific is something you don’t intend. You know, you’re used to it rolling off the tongue just right. With the kick of his hips, you know he’d reveled in that more than you knew.

“Fuck—fucking say that again.”

You shiver, gripping on the arm rests for leverage, head tilted up as if in praise. When you speak, your throat’s a little dry, but it comes off in a husky, light “Sir.”

Why do I find that so fucking hot is all Jungkook thinks of, but he’s biting his lip before he makes a sound more choked than yours.

He doesn’t ask again, but by now, you have a mental note of it. And if there’s something you’re known for as a secretary besides being astonishingly younger than most and unusually giddy around her boss, you were quick at picking up on everything, so you say “Sir, it feels so fucking good” like you were programmed to.

You feel his cock do a thing inside you, and you almost laugh. Quickly replaced by a strangled moan, though, feeling him press down harder as he rubs you. He’s all noise and no words, breathy and tickly in all the good ways until he’s formed a considerable sentence. “Yeah? Fill me in,” one thing that shocks you is his spontaneity in knowing just exactly how to play. Fill me in is the exact same thing he says when asking for minutes, and you tremble as you ride him without intending to. “You like this better than getting your back blown from behind?,” you hear the grimace on his lips. His voice drops, not lower, just softer, more silky, dangerous almost when he says “You like being blindfolded?”

It’s not only the way he says it; it’s all the context behind it. Something about him scribbling down in his head what made your pussy clench around him and what put you off; it was almost... intimate. All you could muster is a faltering “Y-Yeah.”

“Tell me what you like about it,” he prods. 

There’s another thing about responding to this that might ignite your skin where it meets him. As if giving in to him, making him feed off the fetish inside you that is him and every hot thing he does that makes you putty, and you don’t want to splay the evidence before him, but when he asks with a soft plead, “Tell me how this makes you feel”, you find your lips parting. “I—,” you choke when he draws circles on your clit faster as if intending to make you sputter. “I want to see you, but—I like—fuck, I like—how filthy this is.”

He groans, doesn’t mean to. Your thighs are feeling sore. 

He doesn’t ask you to continue, but you do. “S-Somehow, I can—I like that all I can do now is—is hear and feel you,” you’re getting lost in it, stars in your eyes though he doesn’t see. Everything’s starting to fall into the right place, and you don’t know whether the object of his dick in and of itself feels good, or whether that was because he was doing wonders for your clit, or maybe because Jungkook was just hot. You play into it like you’re trained to and ask, voice in a choked whimper, “I just need to—taste you now.”

His thighs flex to a tense. “M-Motherfuck—,” he brings the office chair low, awkward when you slowly descend, but your feet’s weight finds home on the ground, so at least you can bounce on him without rolling on a chair around the office. He doesn’t need to hold onto the desk now, too, so he brings two fingers to your lips and faintly prods. “Ah,” he groans, a low hum when he asks you to open your mouth. “B-Be a good girl,” he almost hisses. “—and taste me like this, hm?”

It’s like your blood ascends to a boil and is stunned right under your skin when you feel him stroking at your mouth. You obey, keeping your tongue a plump bed when you take his fingers inside your mouth. 

When you lightly moan, Jungkook rubs a harsh circle on your nerves before collecting his pace again. “This what you wanted?,” he asks, chest heaving harder, and you almost whine that you don’t get to see him in his glory. “Can you taste me like—like this f-for now?”

You twitch at his tone, hum to it, inner thighs burning at the sore, but you don’t give a single fuck. You bathe in it, feel the way your pupils dilate to try and collect light, but all you’re getting is a more refined version of everything but. He’s moaning for it, eyes switching between the way your lips were wrapped sloppily around his twiddling fingers and down where he was stroking you fast. He tastes of sweat and fading lotion, and every inch and twinge in your body is a second closer to ripping yourself to shreds. 

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Establishing an unintentionally exclusive sexual connection with your boss was downright absurd, but it can’t be helped when every sensation was a fucking astral projection. You felt like you were evolving, above everyone else, and it was all because of this man’s energy. His eyes are in a haze. You tongue around his fingers, zoned out yourself, until he moans again. “If—If you’re gonna keep this up, I’m gonna—,” you feel him shudder under you. “Oh, fuck—I’m gonna—”

You’d have a mouth to your face in shock if you were looking at yourselves from a third perspective, or maybe the build up was coming too fast; you’d almost want to push him away and veer off the feeling. It’s still something he pressed harder on you, until your cunt makes squelching noises, and that’s where his head snaps. “Shit—oh, god—keep talking, please—”

“Yeah? Keep going,” he says through his tongue’s sputter. “Keep yourself on—on that cock, you fucking—ugh—,” You don’t long to plague yourself on the thought that he’d like to use your body to overwhelm himself this way, let you milk him until none of you can take it, but it plagues you anyway. He takes his fingers out of your mouth, drags the wet of his down your moving torso, makes sure he’s smearing it just right. You mewl. “Fuck—keep going.”

“Shit, fuck, I’m so close,” you squeak, the lower portion of your body quivering slightly. This is what fucking Jungkook was like—bedevilling yourself into nothing but sex and filth. “God, fuck, I wanna cum so bad—”

“Fucking—take it, please,” his hand goes down your waist, planted there like he’s hesitating whether to control your motions or not. “Keep going until you can’t take it, slut—fuck—”

“Oh my god,” you shrivel. But now, your thighs are jelly and knees are trembling; it becomes a supercut—the way he latches on to your hips, lifts you like you weigh nothing and props you on his desk atop messily swiped away papers, and it doesn’t take a minute before your toes curl, and your body itself withers into a weak hold around his dampening body, blinded from everything but the feeling of him taking it away and your own tight shrieks. Then you’re palming at his chest, his shoulders; the feeling’s making your hips buck. “Sir—fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck—”

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so good,” he growls, loses control, leans over your body and pulls off the tie from your eyes only to groan yet again at the sight of your dilated pupils, the twitch of your face and body with every thrust closer to deathly overstimulation. Then his mind-to-mouth filter is nothing but barren territory. “Holy shit, you’re getting—fucking tighter,” he bites, and he’s not done. “That’s a good slut, that’s my good slut,” not done. “So you’ll take it, okay? Take this in your tight cunt until I’m done with you?,” not done. “You’re gonna make me finish, o-okay?”

You almost beg for it, still exactly aware of what strings of his to play with even if a second longer was one step closer to insanity. For now, it’s a whimpery mantra of “Sir, Sir, Sir—”.

“Oh my fuck,” then he loses it, holding back with a tight strain in his chest and all the pull in his abdomen, silent but taut pants until he lets loose with a string of airless groans, slowing down after. He curses a silent “Shit” to himself before pulling out and releasing himself of the soiled rubber. 

Jeon Jungkook is a gentleman, taking your hand and pulling the wear and use of your body to his lap, this time with your back pressed to his front. It’s a story for another time, but when you’d just started out these particular endeavours with Jungkook, you had to acclimate to him treating you like you were married after sex, now the situation being him stroking your tummy as he embraced you and taking up your scent with his nose to your back. “You like being called sir.”

You can’t see him, but you know his eyes are closed. The skin where he sniffs gets cold. “I guess so,” he mumbles. His arms tighten around you, and that’s when you declare you haven’t adjusted to him holding you this way at all, especially with his dick done being inside you. 

“I’ll put that to good use.”

“You already did, miss,” he laughs up your skin, sending two small taps to your hip to tell you it’s time to get off, and you hate it when you feel upset it didn’t last. “Anyway, I have to work from home tomorrow. Need you with me by...,” he brings his wrist up after you get off him, already in the process of pulling your skirt back up. 

At the same time, you glance at the wall clock. Just struck 9. 

“By seven.”

“In the evening?,” you toe your heels on. 

He smiles. “Better if you’re early.” 

You don’t know why, but you feel awkward when you smile back and respond with a soft “Right.”

At most at this second, you were a coffee girl, and you’d love to get out of this tight blouse that’s digging where you sweat. “Anything else?,” you stand next to Jungkook, graced but unfazed by the glory of him working on opening a new sales firm in Japan while wearing pyjamas.

It’s only now he gains sight of the restless on your face. “I didn’t really need you here, you know.”

You felt that make a section in your brain twitch, but you’ve mastered the art of sucking it up years ago. “I’m your secretary after all. We never know,” cue your signature simper, but he knows you too well by now.

“Oh, I know,” he smiles, flatting out papers on his desk and his fingers swipe dangerously close enough to knock his new cup of coffee over. “Called you here to gift you something, actually. I knew you’d be… exhausted.”

You feel the unshakeable use in your loins yet again; it’s like home was phoning you. Turns out you could get enough of your hot boss’s antics. “Oh?”

“I’d let you plan an opening shower for this firm and get that gift for you myself, but I’d figured you’ve had enough of work today,” he leans on the desk, resting his chin on the back of his palms adorably, blinking at you with the still audacity to flirt. “It’s on the bed. In my room.”

It can’t be helped. You smile at him, still in the middle of trying to oil the gears in your head to come up with a thank you or an apology for looking so fucked out.

“And can you turn on my Nintendo Switch while you’re at it? It’s on the bedside. And you can take a shower if you want.”

You laugh, nodding, to turn on your heel and make your way, the implication of him joining you to thumb at a Nintendo device heavy on your mind.

Your heels are still obnoxiously loud by the time you’re at the hall to the left despite trying. You kick them off politely before entering, and when you do, a cityscape view meets you. Someone forgot to turn down the blinds, but it’s perfect like this. A privilege to feel on top of the world by being on top of the world. The ache in your feet’s wearing off already, and the second thing you see is the beige paper bag that sits on the foot of his bed. You don’t bother switching any light on, seeing it sits bright in the contrast of the dimlit room and his dark bed sheets.

Your soles feel like they have balls under them when you walk, but you swerve and flick on his Switch first, its supposedly vivid colours toned in the night’s lighting. On the bedside table was also his watch, ticking an uncertain 8:29 and signifying you had been working on the clock for more than twelve hours. Your work hours tended to always get this rowdy when international boards like that of Japan’s had problems, so you worked like a flint striking stone, though Jungkook… was rather tranquil this evening. As if he had something planned altogether. You won’t question it.

It takes just a peek for you to decide how predictable of a gift this was, an elegant bundle of black silk and lace at the bottom of the bag. You take the bag by your fingers and walk your way to the bathroom, an inevitable smirk on your lips.

Walking in on the luxury of his bathroom will never be customary, already looking warm before you even switch on a light. When you do, you feel like you’ve stepped into a magazine altogether, the golden glow of the vanity giving the perfect accent to the dark, granite finish of the counters and big-tiled walls. For some reason, you don’t lock the door. 

“Huh?” is something you don’t say to yourself out loud while facing yourself in the mirror, but the way the black chemise drapes over the parts you’d use to provoke Jungkook has you raising your brows. 

The pair of you are for window undies and garters and lace and mesh upon lace and mesh, but an opaque, painfully lustrous slip was prettily uncalled for. Your hair’s still wet, but it’s something you ignore when you twist your body for a bit for the mirror as if not used to how concealed all your curves, slopes, and lines were. At least when around Jungkook. 

You hear the doorknob jiggle, and you’re not supposed to, but you feel jittery, on your toes. 

He greets you with a tapping foot, a flustered blush, and a bit lip. 

“You’re taught to knock,” you smile, hands smoothing the silk down your hips. You feel like a wife on her anniversary night, and he’s in careless pyjamas, too, barely allowing you to make out the more intricate lines of muscle.

“You’re taught to lock,” he mumbles through a bitten lip, and you’d expect him to eye you all the way down by now, but he’s fixated on your eyes. “Kidding.”

It’s not entirely carnal, but you feel obligated to act a certain way at this moment, what with how the pair of you are dressed for rewiring your brain into being on your toes like a wedded couple’s honeymoon. “Should I address the elephant in the room?,” you break eye contact. 

“Huh?,” but he’s already turning on his heel, feet leaden and ready to throw his weight where his bed waits for him. He catches on what you mean swift though, and responds with a huffy “You mean my present? Different, right?” as he crashes down. 

You turn off the bathroom light and close the door behind you after grabbing the beige bag now containing your work clothes. “...Sort of,” you wiggle your toes. “I was just trying it on,” you say that rather louder than intended, and it makes him chuckle.

“Nah, tell me what you really think about them,” he pushes himself up, propped on his elbows. You give a good eye at the fabric smoothing over his chest. “I think you look hot, honestly.”

“I feel like I’m about to do nothing but literally sleep with you.”

It makes him guffaw, a bit too hard you would say if you were in his shoes; you almost speculate the slack in his jaw and the wrinkle in his eyes too much and wonder if just sleeping with you had ever crossed his mind. “It’s not like you never have.”

“I have, but it’s always after we fuck,” you raise your brows slightly.

Then it’s now you discern he gives you a sly, once-over and licks his lips. It’s almost like it gives you a spritz of energy in your bones. “Well, do you want to?,” he pulls on his collar before flicking one button of his top open, then toned, honey skin is all you think of. “Just sleep with me, I mean?”

You pull a distasted face, apples of your cheeks twitching into a scrunch when you scoff “‘Course not.”

“Good. Come here,” he pats the space next to him. A smirk on your face can’t be helped when you comply. If you were alone, the instant feel of sheets would have you in an abrupt power nap, but Jungkook handles you like he couldn’t care any less. He throws a leg over you, in a kneeled crouch above you just close enough for you to feel his breath. “Just sit back for me, hm?”

You’re not used to it. The lax in your body, how unmoving you are, clad in bold silk and lace, and Jungkook can see nothing of you but the processing in your eyes and how you wait as if calculating—Why is he

touching me like I’m about to break?

“Do me a favor,” he stills before biting white on his lip. “Tonight, I—,” then you catch his eyes follow down your body, how the silk leaves nothing and yet everything to his imagination. You’re waiting, pulse in sync with the watch on his desk. “I’m not your boss, okay?,” he as if proposes like he’s unsure you’ll confide in him. All you do is search his eyes. “I’m not a CEO, I’m just—,” his shoulders go slump, and for a minute, he zones out. “Just Jungkook.”

You blink. “I—,” honestly don’t know what to say, not when you have outstanding employee plaques on your walls telling you to treat Jungkook exactly how he says not to at this moment. “—but, Sir—“

He groans, leaning down and keeping you caged between his knees, pressing an open-mouthed kiss below your ear. “Have to stop calling me that now, or I’ll snap,” he mutters. You feel his eyelashes on your skin, every edge of his close to you boosted by the touch. For some reason, the whole idea of the pair of you in bed just like teens, with no hectic schedule or firms to attend to, has your breath hitching and even more so when he sucks your skin.

Your hands find his hair, letting the strands sprout through the spaces between your fingers when you faintly tug, and he groans in response. You’ve rarely called him this ever since college, but somehow, your tongue finds it rolls off just as right at this second—he nibbles, and you sigh, “Jungkook.” His name tastes sweet.

Then his pupils blow up, and a soft growl accumulates from his throat, his body reacting at the use of his name before his mind can even grasp it. The use of his name from your lips. “I just—,” he shivers, one hand palming at your chest. Another kiss on your collarbone. “—want to be good to you.”

His voice comes from all kinds of alluring and almost desperate. His lips rose around the bone of your collar and suck, granting himself a soft hiss he realises he’s looking for his name in. Your eyes long to flitter shut, but how Jungkook stops to eye at the marks he’s left can’t be any more admirable. You hear him sniff down your chest, his nose gliding against the fabric before another near chaste kiss on your womb. 

“You’re not wearing anything else,” he utters, keeping himself level with your crotch when he slides slow hands from the back of your knees and higher. 

“’Course I’m not.”

“Good,” he exhales, languid when he pushes your knees into a bend, feet flat on the bed, enough that the chemise curtains over your arousal. You grab a pillow, stuff it under your head lest you want a strain over gaping at him too much. He knows what he does to you. Keeps his eyes on you when he bites on the hem of your slip and leisurely pulls it up where he can see more skin, breathing, turning red in a glow, panting, waiting. Lost in some new inhibition and more when he whispers “Smell so good,” he kisses the mound of your crotch. “So sweet.”

You’re throbbing for it—a prelude for Jungkook wrapping wet lips around your nerves only to stay immobile. All he does is take a deep inhale against your heat; his eyes flutter shut involuntarily, and as if that hazed him, he opens his eyes into dark, lust-ridden hoods. You’re rendered speechless, the way he touches you almost convincing you you’ll break. He kisses against you, tongue licking right under the hood and lips tightening with every stroke. You make a sound he groans to, feeling a jump in the pit of your stomach before it starts to sear in your toes. “Oh, god,” you whisper, grabbing soft hold on the back of your thighs. 

It’s not scarce he hears you like this, laboured breathing and whatnot, pressure on your fingertips wherever you hold on to, but your endeavors preceding that of now’s clearly showed you had the upper hand. Whether it be getting your hair tugged on, your ass squeezed to a bruise, or getting thrown against a wall, he’a always a glare away from being at your total mercy. Not now. And you don’t figure that out just yet.

He mouths at your pussy before pulling free with the shudder in your chest. He takes one arm from where he holds you and brings it to a fold near him, so his fingers play along your wetness. Your lip finds comfort bitten.

What’s so fun about this is the role Jungkook’s getting too good by the second at playing. Your eyes show puzzlement at his feigned love-struck ones, and he has you exactly where he wants. Vulnerable, anticipating something strangely erotic and intimate. The upper hand is his, and he uses its fingers to spread the lips of your cunt apart. “You okay?”, he keeps his eyes on your core. He’s not going to make any snarky comments on how your pussy looks like fresh fruit, but you feel how wet it is anyway, down your ass and all. He pushes a bit with his fingers, watching when the slick drips. He doesn’t spare your eyes a glance, bites his lip to the visual.

“Yeah, I’m—,” he pushes a finger in. It’s limp, and you feel nothing off it, so you know it’s just for feelers. “—fine,” you squeak.

“Want you to feel good, though,” he still doesn’t look at you when he twists his hand so his palm faces the ceiling, curling the plunged finger inch by inch and waiting for that one twitch. He finds it, warm and frilly against his prod. “Do you feel good?”

“There—I—feel good,” you lick your lips and swallow before realising how parched your throat was. He pecks a kiss on your clit before repeatedly pressing his finger against your spot, earning himself almost a shrill whimper from you. “Oh, god.”

“Yeah?,” he pushes a second digit in, the stretch sudden but easy. “Want to make you feel good, want you to cum on my tongue and fingers,” he as if confesses, stiffening his fingers when he slowly pulls in and out to push at your sweet spot again. He feels your hips buck, eyes breaking contact with your pussy just to see your abdomen clench. “You make me so hard, though, I can’t let you just cum now.”

You moan at his words, stupified by whatever persona he’s acquired, youthful and dirty and whipped. “F-Fuck,” is all you can muster.

He speeds up. “What I mean is—,” he stripes his tongue up where you throb for it, and you flinch. “—I want you to cum on my cock. I want to feel this tight, wet pussy cum around my cock, hm?,” his breath proves shallow, fucking you harder with his fingers. A little harder, and you’ll unravel. “I want you—,” his cock’s too much of a strain in his pyjamas by now, and his face feels too muggy. Then he admits, “—to fall apart,” pulling his fingers free and leaving you into a bloodshot, panting grime on his sheets before he proceeds towering over you. His fingers almost slip with your slick when he pulls his shirt off. He’s cruel enough to watch himself when he pulls the waistbands of his pj’s and boxers off, his cock springing up and twitching to a stand against his abdomen. You pulsate in anticipation.

He lazily strokes himself, propping himself in a kneel above you again. He stares at you, the curve of your body and how you wait wet for him. A breath leaves him in a shiver. You attempt getting up and taking his cock in your own hand, but he groans, pushes you down with his other hand and uses it to pull the hem of your chemise all the way above your breasts. Looks for the red undertone of your arousal, your breath and its evident heaving; he squeezes himself before picking up his pace. “Jungkook, let me touch you,” you mutter, on your elbows.

He can’t resist. He lets go and shrivels under the feel of your own hand, pumping him just as he had been. He hums, tilts his head to catch the spread of your cunt, still wet, swollen almost. You make sure your thumb glides over the curtain of the head of his cock, and he bucks. Subsequent to his almost falling apart, he breaks free of your touch and finally props himself down, eyes level with yours, length rubbing on the lips of your heat. You make a whimper of some sort. “Hm?,” he rocks his hips like this. His ears are red.

You can wait. Enamored by how much of a fetish you had become for him. Everything you do or say turns a switch on, and then he’ll want his dick inside you. And now that you had made this revelation, he has you at a blind spot, just waiting, even if one mention of his name will have him by his knees. You whisper, “Jungkook.”

“God,” he ruts, wetting himself with you. “I wanna fuck you so bad,” he makes a choked exhale, a scrunch on his nose leaving none of his struggle to your imagination. It’s excruciating already. Almost a wine sommelier made to watch before she gets a taste, and every second feels like she’s not getting it so soon. His hair’s falling over his eyes, but you won’t have his head for it. He makes it look painfully sexy, in his crazed element. “It’s—fuck,” he laughs, shaking hair from his vision, licking his lips into a bite when his hips stutter. “Fucking everything about you,” he fakes pressure on your hole, enough to give you a pre-launch on how he’s gonna feel getting in you, but he slides his cock yet again, a shrill groan leaving his throat like he’s annoying himself. “—makes me wanna fuck you so bad.”

Accordingly, you think it’ll drive him crazier if you slowly snake your arms from his back to his neck, and it does. He jerks forward and bites his lip a bit too hard, it’s blood red by the time his teeth give. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, si—Jungkook.”

With that, he caves, sparing you silent, awkward seconds to yank at the bedside drawer, and the familiar plastic ripping and rubber rolling plays like a montage again. With what vigor he had to tease you into a puzzle, he uses when he pounds you. You pull at his hair a bit too hard but this time with the awareness anything you do conjures some type of scourged reaction from him. This time, it’s a “Yeah—fucking make me feel it,” he growls, breath light already, and you feel the sheets tighten by your nape where he fists. Your nails almost spade through his scalp, and he only asks for more. Your skin sounds like cheap porn, like a fake audio overlay to appeal to those who craze over slapping skin. “Harder,” there’s a grit to his teeth. Biting down on whatever filth he has before he lets loose.

He’s fucking you hard enough. CEO Jeon Jungkook will look at who he is at this second and frown at his stripped dignity but fawn over how he knows exactly how to move. He knows your body. He’ll know exactly what skin to pinch to make a limb twitch. And he’ll learn fast when the waters haven’t been tested. In this context that he wants to fucking hear you. Are you gonna speak in tongues over dick like this? Are you gonna beg? Scream? Bleat?

“Tell me how you feel.”

Your hands go for his biceps. “I—ohhhfuck so good— fuken’—so hard, Jungkook.” Speak in tongues.

He leans down, totally snogs your ear while he’s at it, biting at skin you’ll put a pain patch over to hide. “Come on, make me hear you,” he pleads, proving lust for more. You never miss how his voice gets tight. He slows for a second, props his knees again; the sheets are starting to sting and stick to his sweat. Then he thrusts back in, fuller, deeper where his fingers have been, and your back archs the way he knows. Somehow, it’s still new. “Right—fucking there, huh?,” then cue—he goes faster. And your hips buck awkwardly, feet leaden, ankles stabbing the foam, abs flexing, and—

“J-Jungkook—more, more—.” Beg. “—More—fuck!” Scream.

And he prides himself with it. Smiles, even. “Yeah, baby?,” is in character with it. You won’t have his head now for anything even if he calls you his fucking sweetheart. Crisis talks. He’ll fuck you and won’t stop until you’ll think about him at night like he’d broken your heart.

If you clench hard enough, you feel the sensation burn but your muscles give out. Something just quite the bargain should be something that’ll fuel you. Make your eye sockets smolder. You ask for it. “Sp-Spit on me. In my mouth.”

“Shit—you fucking harlot,” there’s a glow to his chest. You almost see where his voice leaves, mouth slack when he’s not speaking; he might as well fucking moan. “Open up, baby.”

You lick your lips before you do, make sure you push on the muscle so it’s more plump, red, enough for him to make a bull’s eye when he spits. Your eyes almost roll back into your head. You can taste him. Warm, hint of mouth wash, but mostly warm, foamy, fucking hot. Your gut twists, and you swear you’ll indulge in the feeling before an orgasm starts at your door. “Nnnggh—Jung—kook,” Bleat.

“Yeah, she likes that, you like that,” he mutters before huffing hard, abdomen contracting even more before he goes silent, save for the tiny pants he gives out. Pays attention, wraps his head around your sounds, more pornographic because the both of you are nearing, and your filter has gone to hell. Your lower extremities have thrown a twitching fit, caught between shutting close and keeping them broad open for him. Your right hand lets free from his assaulted skin, traveling down your front to press down on the pit of your stomach, almost so you can feel his dick moving from outside. He makes a cursed growl when he sees you do so. “Look at you,” he hisses through his teeth’s rattling mettle. If he bites down on them, they’ll break. “You know I love your pussy,” he laughs only for it to get choked into a groan. “Getting it even tighter for me.”

Your attempt at a growl turns into almost a cough, dragging out from the blooming of your chest. You’re hot, convulsing, cells expanding and breaking at the heat. Each twinge is like a snap of thunder. You scrunch your face, choosing to show struggle to hold back over sticking your tongue out with rolled back eyes like a cadaver. “Fucking me so good, it feels so good—,” you choke, body curled at his mercy, trusting and praying to his stamina to throw you over the edge, and he’ll prove success with no fail. You have your eyes closed, but his breaths are hot and hard enough that you can pretend to see it in colour. You can write something entirely about the sounds he makes. There’s a pinch in it, each take for air like a sip of helium. “Jungkook, I’m close,” you pant.

“Yeah? Fuckyeah, give it to me.” Skin slaps. His thighs are aching, but he uses its last against your core, fucking the pair of you over it. He’ll hold it back or come to a release with a strangled groan, so he’ll beg for it like you’re gonna forget. “C-Cum, babe, I’m gonna—cum with you,” he groans, pays heed to every bounce and twinge and buck in your body to get off to.

“Fuuuck—there, there, there—“

“Gonnacum—jesus fuck,” he spasms, digs his hips into yours when he unravels and watches when your body twitches into tune. Almost like an instrument played back on track when your body softens with his and your breaths are evidently loud in the air, mouths parched. “Shit,” he exhales, crashing on you, scorching his face with your body warmth where he buries his head.

It takes seconds for you to remember you hadn’t even pulled off your chemise.

It’s a crisp night. Evidently and especially in a Jeon Corp service limo. Full tinted, glass windows that meet by the sides so the Secretary herself can choose what side of the city to overlook. After all, whatever she sees fit is what Jeon Jungkook gets for her, and that includes an eagle-eye’s peer over the roots of the city on the way home when he feels like he’s fucked her hard enough to tick something off his fetish bucket list—something the majority doesn’t see someone with such a youthful, handsome face as Jungkook’s tending to, but he does, and aces it, too.

You go home with Jeon Jungkook’s blazer over your crumpled chemise, a calculated step off the vehicle like in the films. What you don’t expect is Sang-hyuk, designated driver, handing you another beige bag, similar to where your slip had come from just about an hour ago. You peek in, enough to make out a gaping card with a Wear this next before you even find out what it is.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written.)

I have requests and ideas for all of the prompts, so no more requests from this card will be accepted. I’m planning on writing and posting all of these within the month of December and probably a bit into January. If you don’t want to see these stories, block the tag #false bthb, if you would like to be tagged in future stories shoot me an ask!

This prompt got away from me a bit so it’s split into two parts. The prompt comes into play in this second part. Requested by @atlasistryingherbest​ I hope you like the last part!

General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck

My Sunshine Part 2

Summary: Patton thinks he’s finally caught the break he needs when he finds and falls in love with Roman. Ignoring the warning signs until it’s too late Patton ends up losing more than he had dared to gain.

Warnings: contains human trafficking, implied non consensual sex, unsympathetic Roman and starvation

Prompt: Denied food as Punishment

Ships: Royality, Patton x Roman

WC: 3, 284

Bustling around their bedroom, Patton quickly threw the books he’d need into his bag before cramming it shut with a huff and throwing it none too gently over his shoulder in his haste to leave. Hearing the car horn honk again he slipped on his shoes and practically ran out the door, a grateful smile on his face even in the wake of his boyfriends impatience. Roman insisted on driving him to the campus even if it wasn’t that much of a walk, meaning he could sleep in a little later which he definitely needed even if he was only working one job now. He had been convinced the third month they lived together that the rent was cheap enough for him to only have to work one job- and it surprisingly was for it being a bigger and better apartment than his old one. He knew Roman probably hadn’t split the rent evenly and he would really have to bring that up with him eventually so he could feel more helpful than he was being but for now as long as it was okay with Roman he felt alright using the extra money to help buy groceries and to start building his savings back up; they’d have that conversation when he felt stable enough to actually back up what he would be offering.

Sliding into the car with a ready smile they shared a quick kiss before Patton buckled himself in and they began to move towards his college. He gripped the straps of his backpack and relaxed in the seat processing just how much his life was turning around and how lucky he was that he head found Roman- or rather that Romann had found him. He brushed that thought aside quickly; he had never brought up the fact that he had noticed Roman’s car practically everywhere significant he went, chalking it up as either coincidence or happenstance. He trusted the other now wholeheartedly and it wouldn’t do any good to bring up his nervousness now nearly half a year into their relationship. Spring break was coming up and he knew Roman was planning a small trip to relax, they shared nearly everything they had in the apartment, grocery getting and meal making was always an even split between them and he could never have asked for a better listener than Roman. For the first time in a long time Patton was completely happy; he wasn’t about to start questioning things and ruin it.

“We’re here, my sunshine.” Roman’s voice brought him out of his thoughts abruptly and he leaned back up and smiled. “You were miles away love, are you alright?”

Leaning over and pecking his boyfriend on the cheek, Patton unbuckled his seatbelt and sat his bag on his shoulder as he opened the door. “Just thinking about my classes, it's gonna be busy today. Thanks for the ride Roman, I hope you have a good day at work.”

Before he could leave his wrist was caught in a vice grip making his heart leap in his throat. Forcing himself to calm down Patton turned only to be met with a loving smile that immediately set his nerves somewhat at ease. “No proper kiss this morning then?”

Patton laughed and leaned back in, capturing the other’s lips somewhat messily and wriggling his hand free with a little effort, finally escaping the car and waving. “I have to go you goof! See you later.”

He didn’t watch the car leave as he walked to his first class, heart still beating a little faster than normal but chiding himself internally to calm down already. Roman was needy with physical affection that was all, no need for alarm bells to go off every time something like that happened. It was just- that happened a lot. Even on days Patton didn’t particularly want touched but that was just what you did in a relationship. He thought so anyway having nothing to compare it to. He shook himself out of his thoughts again, appalled at the line they had crossed. Roman was gone a lot for his job, he didn’t really know what he did other than “business” but it sounded important and it meant he was often out of town for the day, so it made sense he’d be more touchy and affection neddy after such long days working so hard at what he did. The least Patton could do was reciprocate and not be so ungrateful, even if it was only in his head.

Classes went by surprisingly quickly; unfortunately with spring break approaching it meant there would be a lot of projects and essays being piled on as a final hurrah before the two blissful weeks of doing nothing but his job. Bag full to bursting with papers and notes and an extra book or two he sighed as he realized he still had his shift to cover at that restaurant before he could go home. He took a deep breath as he began to get overwhelmed, thinking of work schedules and homework schedules and how much of what projects he could get done before, during and after the break was making his head spin. He knew this would all be worth it afterwards, being able to put all of the busy work behind him and be able to figure out what he wanted to major in and focus on that instead of math he barely understood and classic literature that was nice but frankly did not belong on his priority list right now.

It din’t take him long to get to the restaurant but when he did the full parking lot made him want to turn right back around and go home. It was going to be so busy and with him already being so tired he wasn’t going to lie to himself and say this would be an easy shift. No breaks would be had meaning all the school work he had would have to wait until he got home. Sighing and squaring his shoulders he went in, donned his apron and watched as his switch practically bolted out after waving to his nearly full to bursting section. Plastering on his favorite smile and whipping out the notepad and pen he started towards the closest table and hoped for the best.

-----

Hoping, as it turned out, wasn’t suited for high stress situations in which at any given moment he could feel his sanity slipping away from him.

Since quitting the job at the warehouse he had taken up a couple more hours at the restaurant to make up for the lack of a second paycheck even though living with Roman made money trouble’s much easier to handle. Which meant he was running around on his feet more rather than splitting that with ;lifting heavy boxes , which in and of itself wasn’t bad, but that was on a good day. This was decidedly not a good day. It had been so busy that when one table emptied it seemed he had scarcely wiped it down before it was being taken over by another family or couple waiting impatiently for their orders to be taken and their food to be made and brought out. No matter how much he smiled and suppressed his tears at being insulted or yelled at and pushed down the frustration of being left a one dollar tip or none at all the afternoon turned to late evening and it still hadn’t gotten any better.

His shift was finally ended with one last wipe down of a table and he trudged into the back room utterly exhausted, dragging his feet behind him with every step and his thoughts only filled with a hot shower and bed. Swinging up his heavy backpack reminded him however of all the work he had yet to get done and he felt tears threatening to spill all over again. He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep after the incredibly crappy day he had had and on top of all that he remembered it was his turn to make dinner. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly Patton stumbled out of the restaurant and towards the parking lot searching for Roman’s car since he had taken to picking him up from work since the move. No dark blue Sudan to be seen. For once, when he was looking for it and not searching nervously for it back before he had met Roman, the ever present car was nowhere to be seen. Adding insult to injury it started to rain slightly, prompting his tired legs to move quicker to avoid the inevitable soaking he’d get.

He was halfway home when a car pulled up beside him, his mind telling him to run and his heart clenching with nerves before a voice- Roman’s voice, called to him as he got out of the car.

“Patton, I’m so sorry! Jeez, come get in the car!” Numbly Patton followed him to the passenger side where he was buckled in and his bag set on the floor, too tired to wave off Roman’s apology as he slumped into the seat. He was too tired for anything really, chin touching his chest more than once on the short drive home. He heard Roman chuckle softly as the engine shut off and he struggled to get his eyes open enough to unbuckle his seatbelt and leave the car. His door was opened before he could, however, backpack being scooped up and then himself being lifted from his seat as he woke up a bit more and wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck, feeling safe and content and secure.

He was set down on the couch before too long, where he could hear Roman bustling around in the kitchen as he had his eyes closed still. Shooting awake and up after a few minutes he made his way over and began rolling up his sleeves, intent on shooing Roman out of the kitchen so he could make the meal.

“Go back and rest Patton.’ Roman didn’t even look up from where he was slicing tomatoes.

Huffing at the dismissive tone, Patton shook his head and grabbed out the chicken patties from the freezer. “It’s my turn to make dinner that isn’t fair.”

Setting the knife down, Roman gently pried the box out of his hands and steered him back to the couch. “What isn’t fair is that you had a rough day and then you had to walk halfway home in the rain and are now exhausted. Take a quick nap Sunshine; I’ll wake you for dinner and then I can help you to organize your school things so that you don’t have to be so worried about it okay?”

“Roman-” He was stopped by a finger to his lips.

“What kind of Prince Charming would I be if I couldn’t help my damsel in distress?” Patton giggled and leaned into the forehead kiss, relaxing back into the couch and closing his eyes.

-----

He hardly remembered scarfing down his dinner or Roman helping him organize his planner. If he could get just a little bit done each day he shouldn’t be thrown too far off schedule and he might actually be able to enjoy his break. Exhaustion dragged his eyelids down and he settled back into Roman’s strong chest and open arms, smiling contentedly as he felt himself be wrapped up in warmth. Everything was so fuzzy, and he was so tired-

“Did you think maybe you’d be a lot less stressed if you didn't have to work at that restaurant anymore?”

The question nearly succeeded at jarring him awake but with Roman gently rocking him and petting through his hair it hardly seemed to matter. He merely hummed in response, barely entertaining the thought as Roamn shifted seemingly to get more comfortable.

“I could even write an email of resignation for you. All you would have to do is sign off on it.”

Patton hummed again, shaking his head slightly though he wasn’t sure if Roman noticed. He liked his job; sure it got frantic and frustrating sometimes but he could handle it. He had to, how else would he help pay for staying here? Loving as Roman was Patton doubted he’d want to-

“I can fully support you without any problems my love. You’re going to college, that should be the only stress someone like you should have to worry about.”

Faintly he heard typing but it was so distant he could barely concentrate on it. He was so warm and floaty and comfortable and safe- it was fine, they’d talk it over more tomorrow, Roman would never make a decision lille that for him while he was halfway to Dreamland.

“Sleep well my sunshine. I’ll take care of everything.” And with a final kiss to the top of his head, Patton was gone, drifting off peacefully in Roman’s arms.

-----

“You agreed it was for the best!”

“I was ASLEEP, Roman! How am I supposed to support myself now? They already had a replacement filling in for me, I can;t go back now!”

“Then it was probably for the best that you got out before they fired you!”

“Why on EARTH-” Patton took a deep breath and held it before letting it out in a whoosh. “They always have temps as back ups, especially in a college town, Roman. And since ‘I’ quit, I’ll have a really hard time getting back in.”

“But I can help you with that-”

“I didn’t ask you to-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Patton took a step back, fear crossing over his features at the darker tone Roman’s voice had adopted. His angry expression smoothed out after a second, but Patton didn’t miss the way hsis fingers twitched. This wasn’t really the first time Patton had been afraid in their relationship but this is just what people did- at least he thought. Roman must love him, that’s why he’d been taking care of him and why when he saw Patton so stressed he had only wanted to take that stress away- Patton really had been an idiot. Hanging his head in shame he walked forward and gently brushed his fingers against Roman’s.

“I’m sorry. I know you were trying to help, I just- I was so tired yesterday, I wish you would have let me think it through properly. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

Oh, my sunshine.” Roman leaned down to press his cheek against the top of Patton’s head. “You never could be.”

-----

“You never could be.” So many months later and those words still ring painfully in Patton’s head. Stupid. He had been so stupid. There had been so many warning signs and yet Patton had been too stupid and selfish to see them for what they were and now...he looked mournfully down as his thin frame, skin stretched taunt over what little muscle he had. He was cold. He was miserable. He wanted nothing more than to back in his shitty apartment with his two jobs and college classes he had been trying his best at; but instead he was here, sitting in a dingy room while he waited for someone else to pay for him to make their fantasy come true.

It had been the little things: Roman always being out of town “on business” he would say. Patton scoffed quietly. Some business. The second cell phone that he had found while cleaning, anger crossing Roman’s features before he brushed it off as his work phone, snatching it away just a little too forcefully to avoid suspicion. Then there was that night, his third night of break where Roman had sprung a surprise trip on him “to a nice hotel and restaurant” and too tired and worn to decline Patton of course agreed, glad to be away from the textbooks for little while at the very least.

He had been told to dress nice, some stopping Roman in the hotel’s hall but he had waved him towards the room saying he was just paying room service early. But Patton had seen the huge money exchange and his suspicion seemed to immediately be founded, but where was he supposed to go? H knew n one except Roman, his work contacts were strangers now, he couldn’t call or just simply go home. He was completely and utterly trapped. And Roman knew it. The entire ride to the restaurant Patton had wanted to throw up. He knew what was going to happen but there was no out for him. He was terrified. Terrified to go with Roman but terrified to even attempt escape. He didn’t know how long he had been stalking him, whether it had been when he first noticed the caar across his apartment building or even earlier than that. He should have trusted his instincts, called the police, anything other than brush it off as coincidence and then as an even bigger one when it turned out to be his date's car. He should have left the first time he got scared around Roman, the first time he noticed he was off but he hadn’t, because Roman was his dream come true, the answer to all his problems, his knight in shining armor come to help him get back on his feet.

Instead he was led into a darkened restaurant where he was stared at while Roman left, coming back with a notebook and showing him all the expenses he had managed to wrack up from what he had taken as Roman being sweet and kind. Every rent bill, overdue book, gas, groceries, heating- he had kept tabs on all of it. And It was all very, very expensive.

“Here's what's going to happen.” He had said. “We need a new face to bring in business, so I found you. You’ll work and pay me back every centt, and then you can go. In exchange you get a free ride through college. Fair?”

And in that moment, that crucial moment, Patton simply nodded. What was he supposed to do? Say no? He knew now what saying no would have risked and his stomach growled painfully at the reminder of the punishment he was carrying out. “Deny a client,” he had said. “Deny me and I promise you you won’t want to do it again.” The warning was always close to the forefront of his mind, though he did stills lip up now and then. A no meant no food for the day, since he had already lost the money it was only fair he lost a meal. Simple on paper, excruciatingly difficult in practice.

He curled further into himself as his stomach growled again, going on the third day of his punishment, too tired to care, too utterly exhausted to question when his fall classes started so he could attempt to fix himself up before then. He existed, he floated and that was enough for everyone who came in the room at any given moment, so of course it had to be enough for him.

Patton existed, and his stomach growled and his muscled tightened when he thought he heard noises from outside and his eyes squeezed shut when they dared threaten to let any of his unshed tears fall because the last time he had gotten dehydrated no one had cared until he couldn’t be woken up for an hour. His joints creaked under the weight of his odd position but it didn’t matter, nothing did. He existed and he floated and his groaned and his stomach growled and curled tighter when he thought he heard noises.

And that was enough.

This work is also available on AO3!

[likeshipsonthesea]

heat of her breath in my mouth; im alive" for nurseydex?

heyyy remember months ago when i asked y’all to send in hozier lyrics as prompts and y’all fucking Delivered and i sat on my ass and did nothing??? (well,, two As and a citation in my classes but who gives a shit about that)

HERE IT IS. well. one of them. here one of them is. it’s weird and wishy washy and most reminiscent of my writing style from Forever Stained (remember that?) and nursey is mildly ooc and dex is Emotional and if you don’t know my oc luke it may be confusing for a bit but anyway it’s FUN and i hope y’all enjoy it

will be tackling the other prompts soon!! hopefully!! :]

warning for parental homophobia and older-person-young-person relationship (a 14 year old and a 17 year old, only in flashback)

The first night Dex is in New York, he dreams.

He dreams himself a house. A loud, angry house. The walls shiver, the floors ache. He drags his rough palm against peeling wallpaper until his fingers catch on the latch of a back door.

The night air is cold. It hurts, but tastes like water, and he chokes it down until his lungs close up. When he finishes swallowing, he is on a beach. The house is far away, a distant thrum in the back of his head. To his left is an outcropping of mossy rocks. To his right are the glassy waves of low tide. Behind him, he can feel, is a roaring fire.

If he turns around, he will find a ring of drunken teenagers cupping sixty cent beer like salvation. He will fade into their circle with little fuss and spend the night with sand in his jeans pockets wondering if he will ever be allowed to leave this place.

If he turns right, he will be chilled and damp and alone.

He turns left.

The rocks create a familiar path. The bottoms of the stones are encrusted with salt from high tide washing in and moss grows along their sides and tops, soft with stolen sunshine. The moss is smoother than the wallpaper and soothes his rough hands. Sand steals into his sneakers, irritating, but he continues to walk. He knows what is waiting for him at the end.

The house is all but silent, now. The bonfire’s warmth has evaporated, leaving the late autumn chill on Dex’s fingertips, his nose. He cannot hear his drunken peers and, more than that, he does not think of them. He tastes sixty cent beer and salvation and he has more important things to worry about.

After walking for hours, he turns the final corner, and there is a boy.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the boy says.

“Sorry,” Dex says. He dreams he is small. “I tried to be quick but—”

The boy shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now.” The boy grab Dex’s wrist. His fingers are cold. He pulls Dex close. Dex comes to his chin, stares up at him with a broken back neck.

Moments before their lips meet, Dex realizes what’s wrong.

“You’re not Luke,” he says.

Nursey doesn’t stop to respond. His mouth, on Dex’s, is cold.

Dex wakes up, shivering in June, in an unfamiliar bed. He wants to go home. He wants to call Nursey. He turns over, instead, and tries to fall back asleep.

*~*~*

“Is the apartment nice?” Ma asks, when she calls the next morning.

Dex bends to grab a water bottle from his fridge. “It’s clean,” he says, pressing the bottle against his red, sweating neck. “It’s in a good location.”

“It was so nice of them to set you up with a place,” Ma says.

Dex nods, taking a breath. “Yeah, I got lucky.”

“It wasn’t luck,” Ma says. “You worked hard.”

Dex breathes.

“You’re breathing funny,” she says. Hesitant, “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head at nothing. “Yeah, I’m fine, Ma. You just caught me right as I finished my run.”

“Oh. You must’ve been up early.” Dex doesn’t know what to say to that, and doesn’t really want to explain that he woke up in the middle of the night after dreaming a memory all twisted and couldn’t force himself back to sleep, so he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, Ma asks, “Is there a nice running route nearby?”

“There’s a park close enough to go through.” He takes a quick sip of his water. “It’s nothing like home, though.”

“Well.” Ma fiddles with something—a pen or a piece of scrap paper in front of her. “It’s a good opportunity.”

“I know, Ma. I’m—I’m glad to be here.” 

“Good.” She lets out an audible breath. 

Dex can picture her, curled small against the phone, fiddling with a pen. She’s probably sitting in the kitchen, at the end of the table they squished in there. They use it as a kids’ table during family gatherings, but it’s otherwise just a junk surface for every odd end they bring into the house. Every few months Ma will get stressed at work, or worried about money, or someone in the family will get sick, and she’ll decide that it’s time to go through all the junk and keep the table clean for once, God damn it. Now, it’s probably half organized, half mess. She’d only started a week ago, when Dex got home from Samwell to pack for New York.

“Good,” Ma says again. “This really is a good opportunity. The company is great, right? And it will give you experience.” Dex hums, sipping his water. “And—and you won’t be alone, right? You have that—that friend of yours, Nurse something?”

Dex stops drinking. The water bottle sweats in his hand, one chilled droplet sliding down his skin. “Yeah,” Dex says, “he lives nearby.”

“Good.” Ma taps some more, with the pen. “Good.”

Dex puts down the water bottle and wipes his hand off on his gym shorts. “How’s cleaning going, Ma?”

“Oh. You know, it’s getting there.”

“This time’s the charm, I’m sure. As long as Dad remembers to keep it clean.”

“Yes, yes. He has to get better about that.” Dex breathes. Tries to think up another thing to say that won’t lead anywhere that makes Ma tap. He can’t think of anything. Ma says, “We all have to get better about things, though.”

Dex tangles his fingers in the fabric of his shorts. “I—I’ve got to go shower, Ma, but I’ll call you, okay?”

“Oh—okay.” She hesitates, and Dex thinks about just hanging up. “We love you.”

“I love you, too.” Dex picks up the cap from his water bottle. Ma doesn’t say anything more. “Okay, bye, Ma.” He hangs up, cutting her off in the middle of a second-too-late goodbye. He debates calling back to apologize.

He ends up leaving his phone on the counter, chugging the rest of his water, and stripping on the way to his shower. Whatever heat the run in the summer city air had given him has since disappeared, leaving his skin chilled, shivering.

*~*~*

The dreams don’t stop.

The next one is in a bathroom. Dex doesn’t remember the tile or the shower curtain with little blue whales on it, but he knows somehow that it’s Luke’s childhood bathroom. Downstairs a graduation party ensues, clean fun music simmering through the floorboards as Dex is nudged back into the wall.

Cold hands push under his shirt, nails catching. Cool breath hits his neck, wet, and he shivers. He is not drunk. He is worrying, about Luke’s parents, about the other guests. People here know him, know his family. This is a bad idea.

“We should go back,” he says, in the dream. He didn’t say it, back when this happened. “This is a bad idea.”

“You never go along with my ideas, Poindoodle.” Nursey laughs into Dex’s chin. “Come on, just try one play. I think we could make the two headed beast work.”

This is wrong, Dex thinks, and opens his eyes to the soft grey ceiling of his New York apartment.

*~*~*

“Good work so far, Will.”

Dex looks up from his screen as his boss raps his knuckles against Dex’s monitor. Dex’s fingers pause on the keyboard and he smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

Dex’s boss shakes his head. “Call me Hugh. I don’t feel old enough to be a sir yet.”

Dex inclines his head. “Thank you, Hugh.”

Hugh smiles, wide, and lifts his coffee mug. “Keep it up,” he says, and heads into his office. The walls of his office are see-through, all made of glass, and Dex’s eyes follow him without thought as he sits down at his desk. The building they work in is nice enough, clean, lots of glass that lets in sunlight. It’s nothing like Dex had been picturing, some dark room where they code for hours on end with no break. Dex likes it. Likes it here. Likes the people. To think such a thing feels almost like a betrayal, like he shouldn’t be enjoying this place of exile, but he can’t help it.

Dex returns his attention to his code. He lets the logic of the work soothe his brain, until thoughts of trading in worn wood for clean glass and disguised disappointment for blatant pride leave the forefront of his mind. He just works, and doesn’t think, and enjoys every moment.

Sometime later, his phone buzzes.

what’s up willy p, ready to hit the town this weekend :PPP

Dex stares at the screen until it goes to black. He turns over his phone and pushes it away, to focus on work, and two minutes later has to restrain himself from looking when it buzzes once again.

*~*~*

Not all of the dreams have Nursey in them.

“Good work so far, Will,” Luke pants into Dex’s neck.

They are in a car—Luke’s probably, it has the fancy leather seats and the driver’s side window isn’t stuck perpetually open. The air tastes like sweat and the windows are fogged, obscuring the beach outside with its black, freezing water.

Luke’s fingers scrape at the base of Dex’s back. “Keep it up,” he says, grin wide against Dex’s shoulder. “Keep it up, keep it up.”

Dex stares at the glassy waves. They loom ever closer, higher and higher tide until they reach the tires of the car. The air tastes more and more like salt until it’s dripping from his tongue. The car has filled with the sea. Luke is cold, like the water, and he keeps saying his lines, “Good work,” until Dex opens his eyes to a grey ceiling, alone.

*~*~*

On Friday afternoon, Dex texts Nursey back.

I’m not up for anything crazy. Still settling in.

Dex grabs his things—wallet, keys, sticky note reminding him to call Ma—and bids goodbye to the few left in the office, Hugh and a nice girl named Kate a few desks over he’s chatted with during their coffee breaks.

Nursey responds by the time Dex reaches the street. no p dude. wanna come over and watch a movie?

Dex falls into step with the endless, faceless mass of people. The city buildings around him cut into the sky, grey, unyielding. He needs something like fresh air.

What movie? he asks.

;) Nursey sends back.

Dex breathes. Okay.

*~*~*

Nursey’s brownstone is tall and clean and, surprisingly, cozy. Dex was picturing something styled out of a magazine, hard edges and white and unwelcoming. Nursey welcomes Dex into a house full of oranges and deep browns and yellows with a big smile. He’s wearing a t-shirt and Samwell branded shorts. He is not wearing socks.

“Dude,” he says, emphatic, and pulls Dex into a hug. “Feels like it’s been years, bro.”

Dex hugs back, automatic. “It’s been three weeks, Nursey. Chill.”

Nursey laughs, chest rumbling against Dex’s. His back shakes, sweaty and warm, under Dex’s hands. “Shut up,” he says, pulling back. “You’re allowed to say you missed me, too.”

Dex scrunches his eyebrows. “Did you say you missed me? I didn’t hear that part.”

Nursey laughs again. With all the colors around him, he looks like sunshine. Dex skitters his eyes away, blistering. Nursey coughs. “We’ll be in the living room tonight,” he says, walking towards one of the open doorways. Dex follows. “I’ve got snacks and shit, and my dad made food and put it in some containers before he left but I don’t know what it is.”

“He’s not here?” Dex asks, looking at the old concert posters on the far wall, next to a long stretch of built in bookcases, all filled to the brim.

“Nah, he left on a business trip on Wednesday. Mom and Mama have been gone since Monday. Date vacation.” Nursey flops onto a leather couch, plush. With limbs thrown about, he embodies coziness. Despite the heat outside, the air conditioner keeps it nice inside, and the idea of climbing onto the couch with him is irritatingly desirable.

“You’re here alone?” Dex asks, taking a seat on the other end of the sectional.

Nursey grins. “Not anymore, now that I have you.” He flutters his eyelashes at Dex. Dex laughs and says, “Shut up,” and doesn’t think about it any more than that.

*~*~*

When Dex gets home that night, after several movies, more than half of them Very Bad, full of popcorn and homemade food and laughter he’d forgotten the taste of, he gets into bed alone with his grey foreign ceiling and does not dream of anything.

*~*~*

“I’m glad work is going well,” Ma says, when Dex calls her in the morning. She’s on speaker phone, he can tell, while she works around the house.

“Me too.” Dex stirs the eggs in his pan. Eating Nursey’s dad’s food reminded him that he could actually use the kitchen in his temporary apartment. After his run, he decided to start easy, with breakfast.

“That girl you mentioned, Kate, she sounds nice.”

“She is.” He scrapes some cooked egg from the bottom of the pan and swirls around the yolks a bit. “She’s been working there for about two years now and she says it’s a nice place.”

“That’s good.” On Ma’s end, there’s some movement, probably throwing something out because there’s a soft swooshing sound, like the trash can makes. “Have you been able to do some fun things around the city yet? Maybe with your new coworkers?”

“Kate invited me out to dinner next weekend.” Dex turns down the heat and continues to scrape.

The movement noises stop. “Oh! How nice of her.”

“The restaurant is supposed to be really good. Her fiancé is the head chef there.” Dex checks on his toast just as they pop and he carefully plucks them from the toaster.

“Oh.”

Dex hums, dropping the toast on his plate and turning to find the eggs done. “I also watched some movies with Nursey last night.” He deposits the eggs next to the toast and then hurries to check the bacon before it gets too crispy.

“Oh. Your aunt and I wanted to see a movie, but nothing was playing that we liked.” Distantly, Dex hears tapping of something, probably as Ma cleans.

Dex pulls out the tray of bacon. “We didn’t go to the theaters, so we could just stream.”

“He came to your apartment?”

Dex uses tongs to transfer the bacon to his plate. “I went to his family’s brownstone.” Satisfied, he gets the pre-poured glass of orange juice out from the fridge.

Ma hums. “Were his parents nice?”

Dex gathers together his plate, utensils, napkin, drink, and phone onto a tray and carries it out to the living room. “They were traveling, but I’ve met them before. They’re nice.”

“Oh.”

Dex settles his things down on the coffee table and sits on the couch, refraining from digging in for a moment to admire his handy work. It isn’t amazing by any means, but since being home, since finals, the playoffs, even before that when the stove was temporarily disengaged, he hasn’t had a chance to make food for himself, really. He almost wants to snap a picture.

“Are you—”

Dex looks away from his plate, to his phone sitting next to it. He picks it up and turns off speaker. “What, Ma?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

Dex drags his thumb against the case. Either the lack of AC or keeping up the call has made his phone heat up. Against his cheek, it itches. “Everything okay, Ma?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I just—” Dex hears the tapping, louder now that it’s in his ear. “I just want you to remember why you’re there. You’re working. This is for your future.”

The uncomfortable wrinkles appear between his eyebrows. “I know, Ma.”

“Good. I just don’t want you to—”

“To what, Ma?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Tapping fills the silence. “I’m glad you’re having a good time so far,” she says, quiet. “I’ll let you go. Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Ma hangs up. Dex drops his phone from his ear, hot in his hand now. He breathes for a moment and then picks up the tray. He digs into his eggs and, though they’ve just started to go cold, it tastes good enough.

*~*~*

He dreams he’s trapped under sheets.

Fingers curl in his hair, tight. His scalp hurts, but he keeps going, stops breathing. He’s smothered under blankets, but he’s shivering. Every time he tries to surface, the hands on his head hold him steady.

After long, long minutes, the sheets flood with saltwater and he breaks through the waves and gulps in air. The world is still freezing but he can breathe. He can breathe.

“Be quiet,” Nursey rasps, cold breath against Dex’s ears. “Don’t want to wake anyone up.”

Nursey is swallowed by the sheets and Dex is left floating, freezing, staring at the ceiling of his own childhood bedroom. The open window lets in chilled winter air that flutters the drapes, dark blue that blends in with the water he’s drowning in. Ma could walk in at any moment. Jay could hear them, just a few walls away. What if someone walks in? What would happen then?

When Dex opens his eyes, he’s staring at the grey ceiling again. He can’t breathe, even though the air is air, and not water. He grabs at his chest and tries to press down, like he could manually make his lungs work.

With his free hand he reaches for the nightstand, the light, and floods the room with yellow. He sits up, gasping, and knocks his phone off the table, disconnecting it from the charger. Grabbing for it, because it seems important in the moment, he sees there’s a notification.

y tf are safiya nygaard’s videos so entertaining

it’s fucking 3 in the morning and i’m watching her wear clear plastic jeans for a week

like wtf

Dex realizes that he still can’t breathe, but now because laughter is bubbling in his chest and clogging up his throat. He laughs, hard and long and unbearable, until his whole body aches.

He lies back in his bed, on land, now. He types back a message.

Who let you on YouTube this late at night? You know how easy you fall into holes.

The three dots appear within seconds.

i am but a simple man with no self restraint

The dots appear again, disappear, and reappear.

you would understand if you watched her

Dex grabs for his laptop, sitting by the foot of his bed. He double checks the name and clicks on a random video about a merged Ugg and Teva shoe.

What… I.. what? Teva Uggs?

ur watching!!

I don’t understand

it’s Art dexington appreciate it

Dex doesn’t end up falling back asleep for a while, and getting up for work that morning is hell, but when he lies back down in bed with a buzzing phone and too-bright computer screen, he’s not drowning.

*~*~*

Someone taps Dex’s shoulder and he turns to find Kate smiling pleasantly at him. He takes out one earbud.

“Break time!” she says.

Dex laughs. “Wouldn’t want to be productive for too long.”

“Exactly.”

He turns off the music he was listening to to concentrate—some Spotify playlist Nursey made him to “be more productive” that just tends to make Dex laugh at inopportune moments—and then he joins Kate in the break room as she talks at him about dinner the other night.

“George says to come back whenever you want, he loves when people love his food, it’s a little ridiculous.” She fiddles with the coffee maker as Dex grabs his smoothie from the fridge. He’s taken to making himself smoothies in the morning and bringing them in for his breaks, since he’s never loved coffee all that much.

“I’ve been telling my friend all about it and he’s begging me to take him now, so tell George he can expect me back soon. My friend is pretty pushy.”

“Perfect, then he’ll stop bothering me about it.” Kate reaches out without looking. “Could you pass the cream?”

Dex dutifully hands her the cream.

“You’re coming to the office party next week right?” She fixes her coffee the way she likes it and turns to Dex, sipping. Her eyes are wide and clear that Dex’s answer should and will be yes. It’s a bit like Bitty’s captain look and it curls something sharp and sad in Dex’s chest. Going back to school in August is going to be so very different without him.

“I didn’t know there was a party next week,” Dex says, licking excess smoothie from his upper lip. “What’s it for?”

“Jenny’s birthday. There’s gonna be a cake.”

“How can I say no to cake?”

Kate grins. “You can bring a guest, too. We need fresh meat at these things. Also if you don’t bring a date someone is going to try to set you up with someone and believe me, you do not want to get stuck on a date with Karen’s second cousin Stew. He’s basically the opposite of whatever a hoot is.”

Dex snorts into his smoothie. “Noted.”

Dex’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out without thinking twice. He doesn’t check it while he’s working and there are a few messages.

buzzfeed unsolved is THE SHIT

shane and ryan r defo u and me but i can’t tell who’s who. you believe in ghosts right??

ur homework is to watch every episode tonight and then come sleep in my apartment bc i’m scared af rn

Dex smiles and quickly types out a response.

Sounds like the writing is going well.

“Who’s that?” Kate pushes onto her tiptoes to look over the lip of Dex’s phone screen.

“My friend from school.” Dex keeps his phone out long enough to see Nursey’s response– f off– and then shoves it back in his pocket. “He’s supposed to be writing a short story for the publication he’s working with over the summer and he’s getting a little sidetracked.”

“Ooh, a humanities. How did we meet someone from the Other Side?” Kate grins into her coffee.

“He’s on the hockey team with me.”

Kate hums. “Hockey, I should’ve known.”

“Huh?”

“George and I were betting that you played some kind of sport. I thought basketball because you’re so tall, but he guessed baseball.” She scrunches up her nose. “Basketball’s closer, I think.”

Dex huffs, laughing a little. “What was the prize?”

Kate is staring at nothing, face scrunched up, and then blinks, hearing Dex, apparently. She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, I can’t tell you that, HR would have a fit.” She sips her coffee again and Dex can’t help the volume of the laugh he lets out.

*~*~*

In the next dream, the sun is high and bright and dead in the sky.

“You’re good,” Luke says, walking next to him on the sidewalk. The ground is too hard against Dex’s feet, even through his sneakers. He turns and Luke is Luke, but also Jack. They speak at once. “If you work hard, you could take this somewhere.”

“You really think so?” Dex asks. He is small. Short. He looks up at Jack and his neck aches.

Luke grins, all teeth. “I really do.”

Dex wakes up reaching for his phone. Two texts wait for him, and he breathes as he makes his shaking fingers type out a response.

*~*~*

“I can’t believe you work a block away from my favorite coffee shop and it’s taken you this long to meet me on your lunch break.” Nursey tsks, reaching over to steal a bit of Dex’s muffin.

Dex slaps lightly at his hand, but Nursey still escapes with a sizable crumb. “I’ve been here for less than a month, it isn’t that long.”

“It’s ages,” Nursey insists, fingers still in his mouth as he speaks.

Dex winces to smother his smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nursey retorts, and then sticks out his tongue to further prove it.

Dex huffs, sipping his smoothie to keep himself from doing something stupid, like responding. “How’s writing going?” he asks, when he’s taken his sip.

Nursey hums, swirling a mixing stick through his iced coffee. “Pretty good. I have a working draft done, but it needs some serious editing.”

“That’s good, dude. ‘Swawesome, even.”

Nursey grins around his straw. “’Swawesome,” he repeats. “C would be proud.”

“You talk to him recently?” Dex picks at his muffin.

“Yesterday, actually. Training is going well.”

Dex chews thoughtfully. “S’good. Last time I talked to him he was more worried about Bitty than the NHL.”

“Oh, he definitely still is.” Nursey laughs and makes another dive for Dex’s muffin. Dex deftly moves the plate out of the line of fire.

“It took him two weeks to pick a wall color,” Dex says, pausing to drink his smoothie. “And Jack must be drowning in all the tester bakes.”

“Let’s be real, though, if Bitty Bakes ever does open it’s gonna be the sickest bakery of all time.”

Dex inclines his head, slowly nodding. “Oh, I’ll definitely be spending my entire paycheck on imported pastries.”

“If you run out we can share my trust fund,” Nursey says, batting his eyelashes.

The laughter tastes so pleasant and—more than that—familiar on Dex’s tongue that he doesn’t even do anything as Nursey makes another grab for his muffin.

*~*~*

The worst dreams are ones that aren’t really memories at all.

It’s a beach, but the sand is blue and the ocean is clear and all Dex can see is sunshine, though he can’t feel a thing. Nursey is next to him and their hands are stuck in the sand, twisted together and hiding.

“I love you,” Nursey says, and it’s his voice and his words except not, because Dex knows it’s wrong, know it’s his brain that made it all up, and he starts running, slipping against the sand.

He trips and falls onto his knees and he looks up and it’s Luke and he’s grinning and looming and huge and he speaks, “Quiet, kid, quiet or they’ll hear you,” and for some reason Dex knows they is Nursey and he swallows every breath, worried it will sound like a scream, and when he wakes up he is, screaming, except no sound will come out and he’s just broken with his throat open and empty and—

He presses call without thinking and Nursey answers on the third ring.

“Dex—what—”

“Can you—just—” Dex swallows, tries again. “Just talk. Please.”

“Dex, what’s going—”

“Please.”

“I—uh. Okay.”

And he does. He talks, about the funny conversation he had with his mama today and these cool shoes he saw on Instagram and the pretty clouds he saw yesterday and this fruity drink he wants to try at a bar downtown that he’s going to drag Dex to whether he wants to go or not.

And sometime later, Dex falls asleep. He wakes up with his phone warm and nearly dead against his ear and a text from Nursey asking if everything’s g and Dex doesn’t respond, half because Nursey used g for good and half because he doesn’t know the answer.

*~*~*

His old running route in Maine took him through the woods. Past gnarled roots that curled, mischievous, and tried to trip him up, under a canopy of green that shivered in the early morning wind. He liked to wake up with the sun, at home, liked the quiet moments before the rest of town woke up and started looking at him. So he’d wake and run and take his path until the trees gave way to a dusky beach, accompanied by a barely awake sun.

A lot of the time, the water would still be smeared with the red hues of the fading sunrise, and Dex would stand and pant and stare and think about nothing, or Samwell, or—later on—Nursey.

It was a nice path, back home. Even if it would inevitably bring him back to houses that creaked under his footsteps, full of people that couldn’t look away until he met their gaze.

In New York, he runs against sidewalk. Smooth and uncomplicated, it brings him to a small park, with a few trees and some grass and, occasionally, some pigeons. He takes the path set out for him there and doesn’t have to think about winding roots, but does, anyway. He thinks about how easy it is without them, and how much he misses them, and wonders what that means before the adrenaline in his body pulses in his temples and he stops thinking of much all together.

He returns to his apartment and guzzles down water and makes himself breakfast and sometimes calls Ma and tries not to think about how different his life is here, tries not to categorize the things he misses, and the things he’s glad to be without.

He runs to forget, and it doesn’t always work, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try.

*~*~*

Jenny’s birthday party is, surprisingly, fun. Nursey texts him in the middle of the afternoon apologizing, saying that his meeting is running late and he might not be there in time, but he will be there. Dex, dejected, expects the party to suck, but when they all clock out and the cake is wheeled out on one of the trays they typically use for mail and Kate grabs the AUX cord for the speakers, things actually become interesting.

It’s not quite a kegster—nothing is quite like a kegster—but his coworkers are nice, funny people and the music is lively and the cake, while not Bitty’s, is pretty damn good. Nursey texts him intermittent updates with ridiculous comments and Dex, after Karen is drawn to the dance floor to Cotton Eyed Joe, takes up a spot by the wall with his cake and his phone and snickers down icing to type out a response to do you think they sell candles that smell like the subway.

Then, suddenly, Hugh pops up.

“Will, hi,” he says, holding his own plate of cake. “Thought I’d come over and say hello, now that Karen’s let you go.”

Dex swallows a bite of cake and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Oh, Karen wasn’t holding me hostage or anything. We were talking apple pie recipes.”

“Good to hear she wasn’t trying to get you to meet Stew.” Hugh leans in, secretive and exaggerated. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but he isn’t quite the catch she makes him out to be.”

Dex laughs, because Hugh is his boss and you laugh when your boss makes a joke. “I’ve been warned.”

“Good, good.” Hugh leans back, nodding. The silence hovers for a second, then he asks, “How’ve you been liking it here?”

“New York or the company?”

Hugh shrugs. “Either. Both.”

“New York I’m liking more than I thought I would. I’m from Maine,” Dex says, smiling in that way Nursey describes as country-boy-sheepish, “so I’m used to some greenery, but the city has its perks too.”

“Good, good!” Hugh grins. “I grew up in the country too. Northern Michigan. It sure is an adjustment. But I think it’s worth it.”

“Working here has helped,” Dex says, and if Nursey was here he’d probably cough to poorly disguise a kiss up but he isn’t really lying. Working here has proved to him that he would enjoy going into this field, and while he is keeping his options open, that’s a good thing to know.

“Oh, I’m glad,” Hugh says, gesturing haphazardly with his cake. “We’re lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you, sir—Hugh.”

Hugh smiles, and they stand there for a beat, two, and then he says, “Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but are you seeing anyone?”

Dex stiffens. Hugh isn’t—? He’s Dex’s boss, he can’t—is he? It’s like ice, gone down Dex’s back, through his veins. He wants to pinch himself, almost. Is he dreaming? But Luke never said those words before. But the dreams have been stranger lately. Is it—?

“Because my brother,” Hugh continues to speak, unaware, “just got out of college and I couldn’t help but notice the Bruins t-shirt you had on last Friday and he is the biggest hockey fan—”

Nursey is there, suddenly, and he’s right there, bumping his shoulder into Dex’s. He’s out of breath and smiling and warm and Dex leans back into him without thinking. “I am so sorry I’m late,” he’s saying, to Dex, and then to Hugh, “I’m sorry, I just completely interrupted you. I’m Nursey—well, Derek, but everyone calls me Nursey, so take your pick.” Then, to Dex, “Do you go as Dex or William here?” He scrunches up his face. “William. Ew. You sound like an uncle.”

“I was named after my uncle,” Dex says, vaguely.

Nursey nods. “Exactly.”

Hugh coughs. “My apologies, Will. I didn’t know—well. I see now.” He smiles, tight. “I’ll let you two catch up,” he says, lifting his cake, untouched, in parting.

“What was that about?” Nursey ask, peering after him obviously. “Ooh, is that cake?”

Dex hands over the rest of his second slice. He isn’t much hungry now.

“You will not believe my trip here,” Nursey says, beginning to eat. “It was, like, totally unchill, dude.”

Nursey hasn’t moved, still pressed up against Dex’s shoulder. Dex takes a deep breath. “Tell me about it,” he says, and Nursey does.

*~*~*

“—and all the ladies at church say hi,” Ma says, over speaker phone as she works around the kitchen. 

The table, a continuous project, has been tabled for now—pun intended—for the sake of getting the dishes clean. Ma has to yell over the roar of the faucet. Dex is doing his own tidying as he folds laundry and listens to Ma talk. She always did used to talk while doing chores, Dex following her around, soothed by the words and the humming and the simplicity. It’s been a while since they’ve done chores together, and the familiarity, the comfort, mellows an ache in Dex’s chest.

“They all worry for you down in the big city,” Ma says, scrubbing audibly. “They don’t like the idea of a sweet country boy like you surrounded by all that crime and greyness.”

“You can tell them I’m holding my own,” Dex says, which makes Ma laugh a little, the short chuckle thing that he inherited from her.

“I will,” she says. A small clatter comes over the line as she, presumably, adds a dish to the drying rack. “They’re all in a tizzy planning for the July 4th social. I’ve been assigned drink coordination, which really means fielding arguments between Mrs. McMahon and Mrs. Fielding about soda over spirits, even though we all know we’re going to end up with the same drinks we always get and one of the rotten teenage boys is going to spike the lemonade despite whatever ridiculousness Mr. Spaulding tries to rig up.”

Dex smiles, remembering. When he was a kid and accidentally drank some of the spiked lemonade and wouldn’t stop giggling the whole ride home, when he was a teen and helped his then-girlfriend Isabelle spike it herself, when he was back from college and roped into standing watch over the lemonade but let one of the teens through anyway, on account of tradition.

“Oh, and you’ll never guess who I ran into in the grocery store the other day,” Ma continues as Dex reminisces. He probably could guess—there’s only so many people in their town, after all—but he lets Ma tell it how she wants as he searches for the pair to the sock in his hand. “Do you remember your old hockey captain? Luke Rossi?”

Dex freezes with his hand buried in laundry. A chill runs through the apartment.

“I ran into his mother,” Ma continues without a response. “She looks great—she says it’s yoga! I wish I had the time for something like that. But she was telling me all about Luke—you remember him, he was your hockey captain back when you were what? A sophomore?”

“A freshman,” Dex says, rough.

“Oh, that’s right. Well, anyway, his mother was telling me, he’s working with some big company out in Boston. He’s engaged! His mother says the girl is sweet as all get out, a tiny little thing. And she’s one of us, a ginger!”

Dex sits back on his couch. Small. Ginger.

“His mother’s just thrilled. It must be so nice to have a son engaged. Jay’s been with Kelsey for years, but who knows with him. Maybe I should send him Luke’s way, let that boy rub off on him!” Ma laughs. “Maybe he could rub off on you, too.”

A sick kind of laugh bubbles up in Dex’s throat. He swallows.

“It was just such a surprise. I knew all those kids you boys were friends with in high school, but I never get to hear what happens to them after, really. Luke was such a nice boy, too. It was just nice to hear about him.”

Nice. Yeah.

*~*~*

He dreams he is swallowing ice.

Someone’s mouth is on his and their tongue is heavy, leaden. Dex’s mouth catches on it, too cold, and it rips the skin from his lips until they’re bloodied. Copper stains everything, his tongue and eyes, and it rushes until he can’t hear anything but the blood.

He tries to open his eyes, and between one blink and the next the boy above him shifts, blond hair and blue eyes and too many teeth, then green and smile and salvation, and back again, sickening, spinning.

He manages to push himself away, sits up in whatever bed, ocean, driftwood, he’s on. Ma stands in the doorway. “Luke was such a nice boy,” she says, smiling, laughing. “That friend of yours, Nurse something? Is he a nice boy?” she asks, frowning suddenly, eyes intent.

“You’re wrong,” Dex goes to say, but chokes on the blood on his lips. He looks back over to the end of the bed, where Luke or Nursey or whoever is sitting, except it’s not just them anymore, it’s Jack and Hugh and Bitty, even, and they’re all staring at him.

“Good work,” they say, “If you work hard, you could take this somewhere,” they say, “Keep it up,” they say.

“She’s one of us,” Ma says, “Maybe he could rub off on you,” she says, “Nice boy,” she says.

Through it all, he can hear Nursey. “I love you,” shivers down Dex’s spine, ice. Dex swallows and swallows and tries to push through the rest of the voices to find Nursey in the haze.

Dex wakes up running and doesn’t—can’t—stop.

*~*~*

The sky is dark and the world is dizzyingly bright when Dex knocks on Nursey’s front door.

By all rights, it should be too warm to stomach. Late June, with all these people stuffed into one little place, blistering. But Dex clutches his jacket to his body, shivering. He can’t get warm. He can never get warm.

“Dex?” Nursey answers the door with a frown. Dex’s eyes catch on it and can’t pull away.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“I—okay?”

Dex nods. He steps inside, around Nursey, and their arms brush. It burns.

“What’s going on?” Nursey asks, shutting the door.

“Are your parents home?” Dex turns around to face him. The door—big and green behind Nursey—brings out the deeper green tones in his worried eyes. Nursey’s eyes have always made Dex homesick. Now, he aches.

“No,” Nursey says. “Mom’s in Milan and Dad’s in Chicago and Mama—she’s somewhere in the UK. Why are you—”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay?” His face is all scrunched and his hair’s a little messy, curls hanging over his forehead, and he’s soft in Samwell pajama bottoms and so fucking gorgeous and Dex’s whole body is shaking, shivering, freezing.

“I—I’ve been having these dreams,” Dex says, hands clenching in his pockets. “For months now, these—these dreams about—” He swallows and shakes his head. “And now he’s engaged and it doesn’t—it doesn’t make sense, he—he shouldn’t get to move on when I’m drowning every fucking night, I don’t—I—”

“Dex.” Nursey is closer. Hands up, palms forward. Frowning. “What are you talking about?”

Dex shakes his head, but all of him is shaking and he doesn’t—he shouldn’t have come here. His broken brain isn’t Nursey’s problem, just because he’s in New York doesn’t mean they’re more than what they were before all this. Just because Dex’s home isn’t home anymore doesn’t mean he can build one in Nursey.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—I should go.” His mouth tastes like a panic attack. How did he make the decision to come here in the middle of the night?

“Dex.” Nursey grabs onto Dex’s forearm, a brand. “Sit down. Please.”

Dex stares at Nursey’s hand. He hasn’t been warm in—it feels like years, now. It feels like he went out into the Maine winter one year with a boy’s hand curled around his wrist and frost spread from that point out and he never got warm again.

“Nursey,” Dex says, the word broken like so many shards of ice, and Nursey’s grip on his arm stutters, hesitation. Dex, without thinking, breaks the hold, and in the next moment he has his mouth pressed against Nursey and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s—

Dex doesn’t know if he’s been alive, before this. The heat from Nursey’s mouth, soft and surprised and then—firmer, more intent, it warms him from the bones out, until his skin itches with it, sings. Dex sighs into it, slumps.

Hands come up to his cheeks, pull him back, so soft. “Dex,” Nursey says, quiet. “Can we please sit down?”

Okay, Dex thinks. He breathes. Okay.

*~*~*

Nursey makes them cocoa. In July.

Dex holds the mug between his shaking hands and explains, in starts, but mostly stops. I had this captain when I was a kid, he says, and then, not a kid, he says. Well.

“I was fourteen,” he says. “He was—older. I wanted—I wanted to be good for him.”

I was, he says, but doesn’t quite make the words work.

“Ma never knew. No one ever knew. Ma, though, she loved him. Thought he—brought me out of my shell.” He brushes his thumbs along the sides of the mug, takes a sip and licks marshmallow off his lip.

He jumps in time. “After Bitty and Jack—after the kiss, home wasn’t—home. Maybe before that, too, but—but after the kiss, everyone knew, they knew I was.” He shakes his head. “It was hard to be there. So I came here.”

She doesn’t, he says. She thinks, he says. “Ma thinks you’re gay, because you live in New York, and you go to Samwell, and it’s easier to think it’s—it’s you. Easier than thinking it’s me.”

Nursey holds back questions. Dex swallows. It’s me, he says. I talk about you. Too much. She worries. She thinks—she sees. Sees that I—that I love—hm. “She doesn’t like it,” he says, without finishing the last sentence. “It worries her. It worries me, I guess.”

He tries to put it together. The dreams—they pulled it all together. “She looks at Luke and she doesn’t—she likes him, he’s a nice boy, but he—he left me with all of these—these things, the things where I can’t have a normal relationship with my fucking boss, and all this—this cold in my body, and she doesn’t—she likes him when he is so cold and she doesn’t like you when you’re so warm and it just—I couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it was and how angry it made me and Nursey, it’s just—it’s so—you’re so–”

Nursey curls his mug-warm hand over Dex’s knee. “Hey,” he says, quiet. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Dex says, and he can feel the way his eyes are rimmed red, itchy, and hear the hoarseness in his throat, and feel the way that Nursey’s hand burns against his skin, and he wishes that he’d done this different, more coherently, earlier.

“No,” Nursey agrees, “it’s not. But I—it’s late. And we’re both tired. We can talk more in the morning, if you want. But I think—I think we both need to sleep.”

Dex swallows. He tastes cocoa and gratitude and—thick, clinging love. “Okay,” he breathes.

Nursey leads him up to a bedroom filled with books. Mussed blankets encourage Dex into the bed. Nursey gets in on the other side. It’s cozy and the duvet is heavy against his aching body and the ceiling is blue and Dex is not alone.

Nursey curls his hand around Dex’s, under the blankets. Dex curls back, and squeezes.

“I love,” Dex says and swallows.

“I know,” Nursey says, close, breath hot against Dex’s skin. “Me, too.”

Dex closes his eyes. He may dream. He may not. Either way, when he opens his eyes, he will not be cold.

[moshymosh]

The Switch pt 10

A/N: This part is a heart jerker Im sorry please forgive me everyone

Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Stark!Reader

Summary: One woman’s dream and one man’s drunken mistake. Will things turn out ok or will things go downhill

|Previous part | Next part|

Y/N sighed as she continued to set out the food in her kitchen for Monet's party. Her thoughts were turning against her with Bucky's response last night.

Once the part was going, Bucky walked in, smiling at his daughter playing in the living room with her other toddler friends. Bucky looked around as she walked towards the sound of Y/N's voice. Once he reached her, he smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Hey."

Y/N smiled up at him. "Hey." She turned her cheek to him when she saw him leaning in.

Bucky pulled back and looked down at his feet. "Can we talk about last night, I couldn't sleep, the energy thing."

Y/N put her hands up and shook her head. "Bucky, No, can we just forget about that?"

Bucky shook his head. "It's worth talking about because it's something-"

Bucky was cut off by Nathan stepping up beside Y/N and sliding his arm around her shoulder, Y/N slid her hand on Natha's back. "Bucky, you remember Nathan?"

Bucky nodded and shook Nathan's outstretched hand. Bucky smiled at him sarcastically before looking at Y/N. "Where's the gift table?" He asked her, holding up a present in his hands.

"It's over there."  Y/N said as she pointed to a table in the corner of the living room that was piled with gifts for the birthday girl. Bucky nodded at her instruction and went to go put his gift down. After he put his gift down, he leaned against the wall beside Steve, watching Y/N laughing at something Nathan said. Bucky growled lowly, but Steve still heard it.

"Jealous much?" Steve asked as he looked at the grumbling man beside him, only receiving a grunt in response.

All of a sudden, a high pitched wail rang out in the apartment, causing Y/N, Nathan, and Bucky to all turn to the source. Seeing a mother grab her child who was playing with Monet. Monet continued to cry, Nathan, who joined by Y/N quickly rushed to the girl. Nathan kneeled down in front of Monet, trying to soothe the girl.

Y/N looked at the mother who pulled her child away from Monet. "What happened?"

The woman shook her head. "I don't know."

Y/N gave her steely look, tilting her head to the side at the thought that this woman had the audacity to lie to her. "Monica, you suck at lying, so tell me what happened."

Monica trembled at her steely tone of voice. "Jessica threw one of Monet's toys at her, and it hit her in the face." She said, her voice getting softer as she finished speaking.

"Get out." Was all Y/N said to the woman, turning to see Monet pull away from Nathan and running to Bucky with open arms. "Daddy!" Monet cried as Bucky leaned down and scooped up the toddler when she was in range.

Everyone was quiet for a moment before the party continued on. Everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around Y/N for the rest of the party.

Bucky helped clean up from the party. Y/N avoided last night's conversation at all costs. Once they were finished, they went their separate ways for the night.

Over the next two weeks, Y/N and Nathan went on several more dates. Nathan invited Y/N to come with him for a weekend trip up to his family's cabin in New Jersey.

Bucky was lounging on his bed, trying to find something to watch on TV when Y/N called him. "Hello?" He answered when he turned off the TV.

"Hey, James, sorry to call you this late, but there's something I need you to do for me. I'm stuck at Nathan's cabin in New Jersey, and I can't get a ride till the morning." Y/N explained.

Bucky chuckled to himself. "Of course, Y/N anything for your doll."

Y/N giggled at his use of the word doll. "You might retract that once you do what I need." Y/N sighed. "Monet is staying with one of her friends from daycare, But I just got off the phone with the girl's mother and Pepper. Her friend's mother said she has lice, so she's bringing Monet back home. Pepper is bringing the stuff you need to treat it, you got a pen ready?"

Y/N began to explain what to do as Bucky wrote them down. Once Monet and the supplies arrived, he began to do as instructed, once he put Monet to bed, he called Y/N again when the little girl put up a fight on going to bed.

"Bucky? What's wrong?" Y/N asked sleepily.

"Sorry to wake you, but Monet won't go to sleep." Bucky said softly in the doorway to Monet's bedroom.

"Ugh, she hasn't done that for a while. Ok, put me on speaker so she can hear me. When I'm done, she will be asleep, so just tuck her in and make sure you take the baby monitor." Y/N said on the other end of the line.

Bucky nodded and put his phone on speaker. "Ok, she can hear you."

Y/N sighed and cleared her throat, once Bucky heard her began to sing, he felt time stand still.

"Hush now, my baby, be still love, don't cry.

  Sleep as you're rocked by the stream.

  Sleep and remember my last lullaby.

  So, I'll be with you when you dream."

Y/N hummed softly to give herself a breath.

"River, oh river, flow gently for me.

  Such precious cargo you bear.

  Do you know somewhere where he can be free?

  River, deliver him there."

Y/N hummed again, the intramental part from memory. Bucky smiled at the sound and looked over at Monet, who was smiling, dreamily at his phone.

"Brother, you're safe now and safe may you stay.

For I have a prayer, just for you.

Grow baby brother, come back someday.

Come and deliver us too."

Y/N finished singing, causing Bucky to look at his phone, then he looked back at the now sleeping Monet. Bucky tucked her in and grabbed his phone and the baby monitor before he walked to the living room. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" She asked sleepily, smiling softly at the sound of his voice.

"Where have you been hidin' that voice doll? Also, where's that song from?" Bucky asked, sitting on the coffee table the fear of lice getting to him.

Y/N giggled softly. "I've always had the voice, just never sang in front of people before. The song is from the movie The Prince of Egypt. Monet, fell asleep when that song came on, so I've always used it." Y/N said.

Bucky knows she's tired so he told her to go to bed, Bucky went to sleep after the call ended.

Y/N walks into her apartment the next morning to see Bucky with a clear shower cap on his head. Obviously giving himself a lice treatment, talking to a babbling Monet in a highchair as he made pancakes. Bucky looked over to see a smiling Y/N leaning against the counter.

"Hey!" Bucky said, causing Monet to look at her mother.

"Mommy! Dada pancks." She said happily, making grabby hands at Y/N who walked over to pick her up.

"I see that, my little Monkey." Y/N said as she pressed a kiss to Monet's head.

Y/N walked over to the playpen in the living room and placed Monet in it before she turned and headed back to the kitchen with Bucky.

"Cute look." Y/N said, pointing to his shower cap as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

Bucky chuckled. "Oh, this-" He said, gesturing with his spatula. "I was starting to feel itchy, so I used a little of the shampoo."

Y/N chuckled. "You don't have lice, and I really thank you. Thanks for taking care of her."

Bucky plated the last pancake and smiled at her. "Yeah, you're welcome. How was that weekend?"

Y/N leaned against the counter, taking a drink of her coffee. "It was good, it was really beautiful. It's quiet, It's on the lake. Were going in like two weeks and taking Monet."

Bucky looked down at the floor to hide his disappointment. "Wow, it's getting serious, huh?"

Y/N nodded, taking another drink to also hide her own disappointment. "We're actually talking about maybe moving in together sometime." Y/N looked up at Bucky, who was about to say something. "Don't! Don't ruin this for me."

Y/N got up from her leaning stance and stormed to her bedroom to put her stuff away. Bucky checked on Monet, seeing her playing with her toys before he followed after Y/N.

"He started the year married to someone else. Look, he's obviously going through some crap, and maybe he doesn't realize it, but it looks like he might be using you and Money to cushion the blow." Bucky said as he walked after her.

Y/N turned around and glared at him. "You know for a second I actually that thought that you'd changed, but you haven't. I'm trying to move on with my life, and you are exactly the same. The truth is, I'm actually happy." She lied, so what, sue her. It's not like he would know.

Bucky looked at her. "Are you?"

"Yes!" Y/N nodded furiously. "Nathan is a good guy. At least I'm trying to let someone in, you should try it sometime." Y/N turned around. "Just leave, James. Just leave."

Bucky felt his heart drop at her use of his first name, more so than before, with a sigh he turned around. Once he reached the living room, he saw Monet making grabby hands at him, he smiled at her sadly before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Not now, baby girl." He said sadly before walking to the elevator.

"Daddy!" Money cried as the elevator doors closed on him, he felt his heart break, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself cry.

------------------------------

Tags: @vgiselle​

[atlaslimbs]

March 26, 2020

    Maybe I should start using this platform for something productive. Not that my usual activity of sharing pretty things can’t be meaningful. I do believe looking at and sharing things pleasing to my eyes is something important for me to remain hopeful (especially after being flooded with all kinds of not to nice images lately.) I want to take the time to talk on here and express myself in a way that is loose and not pretty. Sort of a stream of consciousness style of journal entries. I have tried journaling regularly so many times. Every time I would try to do this style of stream of consciousness free writing with a pen and journal I would eventually give up because I would have too much to say and my hand would get tired or i would get too caught up in what my handwriting looked like as silly as that sounds. Recently I even tried this thing where as i was driving to school or work I would record myself talking out loud as a means of journaling. That didn’t work either because I wanted to refer back to them to see what I had said but could not stand to hear the sound of my own voice long enough to meditate on any of the words. So here I go bouncing it back to Tumblr typing away on my computer trying to quiet down all of these thoughts swirling through my head all of the time. I am not sure why I am not doing them in a word document that is private... I guess there is something to be said about the vulnerability of putting it all out there to where anyone could find or read these things. I would like to think I am a very open person but even as I am typing this into I feel myself wondering who is going to read this. I know a few people that I do know might read these, however the four or five friends and a couple ex lovers that have my account are ones I wouldn’t mind hearing the inside of my head anyways. 

    I guess I should set the scene here as if no one reading this knows anything about me at all so that I don’t get started from a place where I think there are already preconceived notions of myself that I must adhere to. Who knows, maybe the journal entries of a young person in 2020 might be useful one day. I sure have a lot of things to say that I feel like someone might want to listen to. My name is Sydney and I am twenty years old. I am going to be turning twenty one in April and was looking forward to having a fun outdoor party with all of the people I love there around me. For now we are going to have to celebrate from far away because of the recent stuff going on with the Corona Virus. We are being instructed to stay inside and away from people as much as possible. I feel like I will eventually get into a rant about the politics to all of this and my political beliefs in general but for now I just want to set the scene for anyone reading this. I am sitting on my porch watching cars drive by me. I cant help but think why are all these people still out? People seem to be acting like everything is okay which is just going to prolong all of this and cause more deaths in the end. God if you told me that this wasn’t fiction I wouldn’t have believed you last year. Wow last year me would be so terrified. Today me is terrified... But I am finding strength every day through managing my anxiety and trying to convince myself that I am prepared. Back to what I was saying, I am sitting on my porch listening to a playlist of my “top songs of 2019.” Each song takes me back to a certain feeling whether it be driving to school or screaming the songs out in my shower. I want to just say on record I LOVE TO SING. It is something in my life that I have always enjoyed. I have been singing more lately which feels so nice. My dad is a singer he sings in a band with some friends and they play at bars here and there locally. I just had the heart wrenching feeling of realizing that I may not be able to hear my dads band play for a very long time if ever again. I am thankful for all of the videos I have taken though that I can always refer back to if that is the case. I don’t tell many people that I love to sing because people tend to think that in order for you to love to sing you have to be good at it. Or at least people in our culture which sucks. If you think about it, all of our religions have some sort of exchange of energy with the highest power through singing. That has to mean something. When I am singing I feel like I am letting the songs feel for me instead of feeling them vulnerable all alone by myself. Even if the emotion is not one that is hard to feel it still is just so comfortable to experience it wrapped in a protective layer of a song. Some of my happiest memories are singing in the car with my dad. He never once has told me that he doesn’t like the way I sound or that I am singing too loud. I think that I really have got to start now on rebuilding a lot of the confidence that was torn away from me at a young age being around a couple of really toxic and sad family members. I remember wanting to sing along to the songs on the radio and them saying things like “Sydney we get it you know every word to the songs you don’t have to prove it” or “Sydney why are you singing so loud like you think everyone wants to hear you.” Thinking back on that and wanting to protect that small innocent version of myself I want to say to them “Have you guys never enjoyed anything in your entire life? Does anything ever FEEL GOOD to you?” I become more and more aware every day of how a lot of the time I suppressed doing things that brought me joy because I was afraid of them making fun of me for it or being “annoying.” Whoever made that word up sucks because it has been in my thoughts suppressing me ever since I was first called it. Note to self: don’t under any circumstances call someone annoying because wow that shit hurts. I want to talk about something one of my friends said but I feel like if I am going to introduce that person into the narrative I want to tell you all about her from the beginning. I wish I didn’t feel the need to be so thorough all the time but recently a friend told me that they love that quality about me so I suppose I will give myself some slack. If I were to get real deep and try to figure out why I do that I think I would have to link a lot of it back to being young and the toxic family members I mentioned before questioning everything I said to the point where I felt like I had to prove absolutely everything I said. So instead of simply being able to say “The other day someone who’s very important to me and one of my closest companions said...” my brain tells me that you aren’t going to believe how important she is to me if I don’t describe every detail of our relationship and portray it as beautifully as I have felt it so instead I have to divert and go on a tangent about that person before getting back to this story. I can see how that would annoy someone who didn’t care to know about the things I love, but luckily the silver lining to all of that is, being this way has showed me who cares enough to listen to me for hours regardless of what I am talking about. If you told that young version of Sydney who got brushed off every time she got excited about anything or told she talked too much that one day she would meet people who would make her feel like every word that was coming out of her mouth was worth listening to I don’t think she would believe you. Things like this are thoughts I have that restore every bit of hope I have in my body. Knowing that in the short time of being alive and away from my family I have found more love than I ever thought could exist in my reality really keeps me going every day. 

    Wow I am thinking so many things right now and want to tell so many stories. There is one person in particular that I keep thinking about when it comes to not only the listening to me talk thing but also about my love for singing. My dad is not the only person who has made me feel safe screaming music in the car and I am thinking about all of those people now. My brain automatically wants to use words like “tolerate” even though that is such a negative connotation when I’m sure they don’t feel that way about it at all. This person I am thinking about who would listen to me talk for hours or sing with me in the car is a very special person to me. She is honestly probably the only person who is going to read this at all much less to the end. I don’t know if I will ever be able to repay this person for the amount of love she brought into my life. I want to make a whole post describing all of our memories together but im not sure what format to put them in. Maybe I should tell them like a story. People always tell me I should write a book. I am going to end this here and maybe write out some topics I want to talk about more thoroughly and cohesively so that I can document them here. I would love to talk about all of my memories from certain time periods before they leave my head forever. That is a big fear of mine. I want to tell you about all of my first loves and all of the times I have felt love at all and all of the art I have experienced and everything. Thank you for reading this if you do. And thank you for loving me if you have because I am learning how to love myself and it helps so much to have people who show me ways. 

Maybe if you read this like it so I know. 

[peach-mangos]

New Year’s Eve

☾ yoo kihyun/im changkyun ☾ holiday fluff/fluff/humor/meet cute/neighbors au...aka the changki new year’s eve au no one asked for lmao ☾ 2.6k ☾ can also read here

“What do you want?”

“Well good morning sunshine—at least you’re up, kind of surprised I must say” Jooheon chuckles on the other side of the line.

“Yeah well—pretty hard to get any sleep when the whole population on this damn apartment hall is up and about causing a ruckus” Changkyun grumbles, and just as he throws open his apartment door, a group of teenage kids zoom past him blowing party horns and leaving in their wake a trail of party tinsel.

“Kyunnie, it’s New Year’s Eve, lighten up. Of course people are excited and happy, they’re celebrating the end of a long ass exhausting year, new beginnings are always welcomed” Jooheon tells him, and Changkyun can’t help but roll his eyes.

He heads back into his apartment to retrieve a trash bag from his kitchen drawer and makes his way out once again.

“You know, in my opinion—every day is an opportunity for a new beginning—don’t understand why everyone and their damn mother lose their shit over this New Year bullshit”

“You know, you used to love celebrating New Year’s Eve until—”

“Whatever, I’m taking down all these damn decorations” Changkyun says cutting off his friend, “the regulations of our apartment complex doesn’t allow them for safety purposes”

“Dude” Jooheon laughs, “isn’t that a little too much?”

“I’m sorry, was there a reason for this call?” Changkyun asks shoving his cellphone between his ear and shoulder while trying to hold open a trash bag in one hand and ripping off “Happy New Year” decorations off the hallway walls with the other.

“Right, get showered, get dressed—we are going out tonight”

“Like hell we are” Changkyun chuckles bitterly and continues making his way down the hall ripping off decorations with a fiery purpose.

“Listen man, I know it’s been hard for you to celebrate New Year’s ever since Soobin—but damn it, we are doing something this year. We all let it slide last year because it was still pretty fresh, but not this year. You are not gonna sit in that apartment in your old man flannel pajamas and greet the year alone and bitter”

“Are you done?” Changkyun asks making his way towards the elevator.

“Yes” Jooheon concedes harrumphing at his friend.

With that, Chankgyun hangs up on his best friend and tries to close off the gate to the elevator.

“HOLD THE ELEVATOR PLEASE!” someone yells, and usually—well, usually Changkyun isn’t one to be an asshole— but he really isn’t in the mood to share an awkward elevator ride with some random stranger at the moment. So instead of holding the gate open as the unsuspecting stranger had asked, Changkyun rushes to close it.

As his crummy luck would have it though, the trash bag full of holiday decorations he was on his way to get rid of gets stuck between the gate, giving the stranger just enough time to reach the elevator.

“I know you heard me” the guy accuses, narrowing his eyes at Changkyun.

“Oh, sorry , I’m a little hard of hearing” Changkyun lies adjusting his hoodie and begrudgingly making space for the man to get in. He hates the fact that he has to do a double take because —upon closer inspection—his new elevator companion is quite the looker. Dressed to the nines beneath his cream colored winter coat in a silky red button up dress shirt buttoned down all the way to the center of his chest, nice black crispy ironed dress pants accompanied by shiny polished black dress shoes and hair slicked back.

“Are you a little blind as well, you literally saw me rushing towards you”

I wish, Changkyun thinks, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “You know, you’re kind of loud for such a small person” he muses, making the tiny handsome man blush.

“And you’re a little bit of a dick, but that’s none of my business, is it? Could you press the floor button now, please?”

Laughing at how easy it had been to ruffle the guys’ feathers, Changkyun obediently moves over and carries on with pressing the button to the apartment complex’s lobby.

Not even a minute into the elevator ride and the damn metal contraption begins to make a startling noise followed by staggering movements that cause both men to topple forwards in loss of balance.

“The hell was that?” the stranger asks, eyes wide and panicked.

“Think the elevator broke, genius” Changkyun sighs leaning against the metal wall.

“Broke? BROKE?!” Mr. Slicked Back hair wails, “it can’t be broke, I’m going to be late for work? Isn’t there an emergency button or something ?” he asks looking around franticly for the emergency button. He finds it behind a small door next to the button selection also containing a red emergency phone. “Hello, this is Yoo Kihyun from apartment 3B, can someone help us?”

Changkyun chuckles because of course, he’s the new guy that moved into 3B.

“Hey, 3B—phone doesn’t work, genius. Can’t you see it’s not even connected?” Changkyun tells him rolling his eyes.

“Well, do something, don’t just stand there!” 3B wails slamming back the phone into place.

“This happens every other week dude, they’ll get us out eventually” Changkyun shrugs, and the guy, Kihyun visibly deflates.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” he asks defeatedly.

“Could be a couple of hours, to be honest”

Kihyun staggers back into the opposite metal wall and groans, “couple of hours?” he whispers in disbelief. He runs a hand through his hair and gasps, as he looks up he notices an opening and walks over to slap Changkyun on the chest.

“Look, up there, there’s an escape door—you seem stronger I’m not even going to lie, and my shoulders are much narrower than yours—think you could maybe lift me up?” Kihyun asks.

“First of all, ow—your rings, asshole” Changkyun whines rubbing at his chest, “Second, I mean I guess I could, but that thing looks like it’s bolted shut man”

“Doesn’t hurt to try” Kihyun tells him already shrugging off his coat, and Changkyun can’t help but roll his eyes.

“This job so damn important you’re willing to squeeze out of an escape door in an old and faulty elevator?” Changkyun asks groaning as he awkwardly tries to lift Kihyun up. He isn’t that much taller than the guy, he doubts he’ll be able to reach the trap door even with Changkyun lifting him.

As Kihyun struggles to make his hands reach the ceiling, something slips out from around his neck and out of his shirt slapping Changkyun in the face.

“You’re a groupie ?” Changkyun asks, narrowing his eyes at the shiny VIP pass, voice full of judgement.  

Kihyun freezes in his arms.

“Put. Me. Down” he bites out.

Changkyun is quick to do as he’s told and let’s Kihyun slide down and out of his arms.

Once his feet are back on the floor, Kihyun immediately walks away as far away as possible from Changkyun, hiding his VIP pass and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that, I just wondered” Changkyun tells him truthfully.

“Why the hell do you have a trash bag full of  party decorations?” Kihyun asks instead.

“Took them down from our hallway, we aren’t allowed to hang decorations like that. It’s against the regulations of the complex” Changkyun tells him as a matter of fact.

“Why is that any of your concern? Why is it up to you to police the way people enjoy their holiday? God, of course I get stuck in an elevator with the goddamn grinch of the apartment complex. Who hurt you dude?”

“Ex fiancé” Changkyun tells him, a sad smile on his lips, “two years ago, to the day, actually. Cheated on me the night of our engagement party with who I thought was one of my best friends”

“Well fuck” Kihyun groans blowing out an awkward breath and sits down on the little wooden bench lining one of the walls of the elevator. “Fuck, I’m sorry man—“

“It’s alright, it’s whatever now, you know? But yeah, you’re right. Did turn me into a bit of a grinch, which kinda sucks because I used to love celebrating New Year’s with my best friends” Changkyun confesses.

“I never understood the concept of cheating” Kihyun sighs, “if you feel like you no longer have strong feelings for the person you’re with, just tell them and set them free. Don’t hurt them and waste their time. It’s selfish and plain old mean” he tells him.

“Sounds like you have strong opinions on the subject as well then” Changkyun muses.

Kihyun smiles and stands up.

“You said it’d be a couple of hours right? Well then, I guess we’ll just have to have a party of our own. Rediscover your love for the New Year’s celebration. Come on, we’ve got decorations “ Kihyun says coming over to pull out the holiday decorations trash bag from his fingers.

“But the—” and the withering look Kihyun levels him with has Changkyun shutting up immediately and pliantly handing over the bag and it’s contents.

“Come on grumpy, start putting these banners up” Kihyun demands shoving an array of banners onto his arms. He then rummages through the bag and manages to find a pair of party hats. Making a small noise of triumph, he walks over to strap the red one on Changkyun, smiling when it earns him an eye roll.

“You are something else, 3B”

In comfortable companionship, both men decorate the elevator to their best ability with the few decorations they have, Kihyun occasionally humming random tunes.

“So what do you do for a living?” Kihyun asks as he strings tinsel around.

“I’m a comic book illustrator”

“Oh, is that so? Draw something for me then” Kihyun demands, pulling out a pen and paper pad from his bag, and Changkyun has begun to realize Yoo Kihyun from apartment 3B is quite the demanding fella.

“You’re so bossy” Changkyun says with a chuckle, he takes the man’s pen and pad nonetheless and begins to draw. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Well for starters, I’m not a groupie” Kihyun says pointedly. “I’m a singer, well back up singer right now. It’s why I have this pass, I’m supposed to be performing at the ball drop on New Year’s Eve in Times Square” he sighs sadly.

“Sing something for me then, so I can concentrate on your drawing” Changkyun laughs and Kihyun shakes his head furiously.

“No way man, maybe if we get out of this damn elevator you can come watch me perform instead”

Changkyun shoots Kihyun a look and both burst out in laughter.

They carry on talking for hours about the randomest things. From their earliest childhood memories to likes and dislikes to the reasons why they’re both in New York.

“Are we ever gonna get out of here?” Kihyun sighs defeatedly, “not that you aren’t wonderful company, but I’ve already missed the rehearsal. I’m sure it’s nearing ten p. m, god, I’m really going to miss my chance to perform at Times Square” he laments.

“I’m sorry dude—but hey, look we still have time before you have to go on, you said your performance is at 11:30, right? Perhaps by then” Kihyun gives Changkyun a, ‘thanks for trying’ look and smiles.

“You done with that drawing then?” Kihyun asks and Changkyun laughs nodding his head.

“Here, happy New Year’s” Changkyun laughs handing Kihyun his illustration of him frantically yelling for help earlier in the elevator clutching onto the emergency phone for dear life.

“You are insufferable, I hope you know” Kihyun laughs taking the drawing from his hands. “But you’re actually pretty good, this is so intricate, how do you do that?” he says voice full of awe.

Changkyun just shrugs rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

“We’re supposed to be having a party” Kihyun comments, then stands up and begins to narrate his movements.

“The handsome young singer scanned the room, when suddenly, his eyes made contact with another handsome young man”

Changkyun tolled his eyes but stood up.

“They stared at each other for a moment, tentatively smiling at one another” at this point Kihyun shoots Changkyun a shu smile and he can’t help but birst out into a fit of laughter.

“Tentatively!” Kihyun exclaims laughing as well.

“Okay, okay—how about now?” Changkyun asks trying his best at a tentative smile.

“Eh, guess it’ll do” Kihyun teases. “We finally cross the room, just as everyone starts to count down…” Kihyun comes closer to Changkyun, smiling and begins to count. “Ten, nine, eight, seven” Kihyun’s words are barely above a whisper now, and Changkyun feels likes his face is on fire. He doesn’t know what to do with himself or where to look, so he settles for Kihyun’s eyes, which—kind of a mistake. A feeling of being able to lose himself in that pair of warm brown eyes settles over him and he really thinks, fuck it, it’s the New Year. If he were to kiss this man right here, it would be a perfect end to the year. “Six, five, four, three, two—”

Just as Kihyun is about to close the distance between them, the elevator shakes once again throwing both men backwards as it descends properly once again.

Both men clear their throats once the doors to the elevator open, and a group of tenants cheer.

“See, told you I’d get it fixed—and it only took what, leight hours” their landlord cheers, and several tenants erupt in a chorus of annoyed ‘shut ups’ and ‘took you long enoughs’.

“Oh my god, I can still make it, if I hurry”

“Then you should probably head out” Changkyun tells Kihyun clearing his throat.

“I uh—yeah, I’ll see you around. Happy New Year” Kihyun tells him as he rushes out the hallway.

“Yeah. See you around” Changkyun sighs making his way back to the elevator. “Hold that for me will you Mrs. Jensen”

And as Changkyun makes his way back into that damned elevator he notices a rubber pink balance bracelet on the ground.

Fuck.

He picks it up and rushes out of the elevator once more irritating a few dozen of his neighbors in the process and runs out hoping he can make it to Kihyun in time.

Turns out, he does make it to Times Square in time, he barely catches Kihyun on his way up the stage.

“HEY! 3B!” he exclaims.

Startled, Kihyun turns around, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in a silent gasp.

“You’re—what? What are you doing here?” Kihyun asks.

“I uh—well I found this, figured it might be yours. I don’t know” Changkyun laughs.

“How did you even get back here?”

“Security is actually so bad? They think I’m the band’s drummer” Changkyun laughs.

“You came all the way out here—in your pajamas, I might add—to hand me my bracelet?”

“It says it’s for balance, didn’t want you out there performing without it. And who knows, maybe it’s good luck. What do I know?” Changkyun mumbles, now blushing slightly.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you” Kihyun laughs taking the bracelet from Changkyun’s hands.

And he’s not sure what gives him the courage to do what he does next, but “ you also forgot this in the elevator,” he says. In one swift movement, he leans up to press a kiss to Kihyun’s lips, pulling him in by his dress pants belt loops. It takes Kihyun about 0.01 seconds to respond, clutching fiercely only the fabric of Changkyun’s hoodie.

“I’m—yeah okay, thanks for that” Kihyun says in a bit of a daze once he’s pulled away, “I’m glad you remembered that” he says clearing his throat.

Changkyun shoots him a million wat smile and presses a light peck to his lips once more.

“Go knock them dead, tonight, I’m your groupie” Changkyun jokes.

“Go!” Kihyun says laughing heartily and Changkyun supposes that maybe new beginnings really are welcomed.