#mind you her rent is already about 90% of my pay… if i gave her another hundred it would be literally all of it

[crownconstellation]

my sister is going to hate my terms and conditions for loaning her her rent money when i hand her the form she needs to sign tomorrow huh

[alluringjae]

until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

⤑ genre: fluff, humor, angst | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, college!au

⤑ warnings: jaemin mentions onlyfans as a joke, references to actual historical figures (some try to flirt with jeno lol) and literature, explicit language

⤑ author’s note: wow, i’ve had this idea for almost two years! this one was inspired by one of my favorite childhood movies, night at the museum. it definitely required a lot of research and brainstorming, and finally i brought it to life! it was so fun to play around with the characters, and even if majority of them are real people, this is all still fiction.

i also wanna mention one of my moots, marge for enlightening me about her life as an architecture major.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome​ (dm me if you want to be added) 

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Dormitory rent was another thing to worry about aside from the inflated university tuition per semester. Although he’s lucky to have his parents backing him up already on it, paying the monthly rent for his dorm was the remaining objective on Jeno’s list.

Plus, money for food. The man was a heavy eater, following the whole “gym is life” mantra.

Splitting it already with two of his dorm mates turned best friends, Renjun and Jaemin, his plate felt lighter. But the question still lies: where on earth was he going to get the money?

He’s practically checked out every available part-timing job in university and anywhere near campus. Barista at the same café Jaemin works at, teaching assistant for an art school for kids, convenience store cashier, library assistant, all taken in a heartbeat. The burden of his friends paying his debt these past months took a toll on him, almost to the point he almost considered making an Onlyfans.

“Yah, just find something else! Part-timers are in demand right now!” Renjun intensely closed his laptop before his older friend gets any suggestive thoughts.

“I mean, you didn’t work out your body to look the way it is for nothing.” Jaemin pitched otherwise, lifting the front back up. “When do you want to start filming? Loads of chicks would dig a piece of you!”

The contradicting opinions of his friends were like the devil and angel debating on his shoulders. Useless, he gave this worry a rest and returned to drawing new plates. A common thing when you’re an architecture major. Those deadlines were nearing. Looks like he’ll pull another all-nighter again.

Good thing most of his classes were late in the morning until 6 pm.

As if someone from above heard his petition, Jeno saw a help wanted sign posted on the bulletin board outside of the university museum. He initially went there to document some artwork and architecture models from Greek and Roman times, further analyzing how they’re still apparent in modern buildings.

The sign explained the need for one part-timer from any college to cover the night shift of the museum due to the current night guard’s full semester absence. He only had to come in 3x a week, choosing his days since he was still a student. Even the pay was above average, considering that most part-timers never go beyond midnight. Jeno would, on the other hand, always staying for his projects or gaming with the boys. Drinking sometimes during late-night Fridays with his entire college crew.

The pay would leave him a load of extra cash for himself, thus he sent an application to the museum office right before he left. A week later, while he was out with the boys, he got a text from the office that they wanted to meet him again for a final interview first thing on Monday.

Perhaps it was having architecture as his course and a healthy physique that landed him the part-timer position. Mainly, the latter because guards required strong endurance and fighting skills when worse comes to worst. It would start at 9 pm until 6 am the following day, and there was a designated uniform of it too. Blue blazer with matching trousers, white dress top, and loafers.

Aside from the typical museum etiquette the head director instructed him about, there was an unofficial list of tips written on paper given from the night guard on leave when the director handed you over his box of office-related things.

Only read at the night guard office once you’re the remaining staff left.

He did as he was told like an obedient son, flipping the succeeding page.

 To my temporary replacement,

This part-timing job is nothing regular than the other jobs. You’ll witness things as you’ve never imagined them to be, almost like witchcraft. You’ll be lost and maybe frightened, or that’s how I felt the first time because no one led me through it all those years ago. Lucky for you, I made this small guide on how to properly take care of the place that the other staff doesn’t know about.

Before you proceed, I request you take a 5-minute stroll around the lobby first to understand what I’m talking about. After such, go back to the office or somewhere quiet then browse through the guide as quickly as you could.

Art is timeless here, so they need to be taken care of.

Good luck!

 Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

 Nothing could’ve prepared Jeno for what’s to come once he unlocked the office door. They say that art brings so much color to our life, allowing us to feel all sorts of emotions in a glimpse. But no one ever interpreted art to be literally alive and walking in the halls.

Behold, random wax figures and marble sculptures that he’s seen in the past roamed the hallways, as well as the paintings were interacting with each other side by side. Even the standee of a puppy from the entrance played fetch with one of those sculptures. He swore he looked like Hermes the messenger god from his arrow headpiece and sandals.

It made more sense why the guard on leave explained his feelings during the first day because it resembled Jeno’s. But unlike that guard, Jeno sucked it up. No one ever does well on the first day, even if others say otherwise. The first day was a learning experience, so he collected his thoughts even though the goosebumps triggered his body during that one rotation.

There was an indoor garden, already locked by the day guard earlier. The only room without any art piece, where students lounge to study the plants or relax in nature.

The sculptures section ahead, showcasing various fictional figures specifically from Greek mythology, chattered away about family drama and beliefs. The sculptures of Hades and Zeus, according to their title plate, argued relentlessly about power while Athena always intervened by shouting or even throwing arrows or daggers to any of the lightbulbs there.

That was one rule in the guide, but Jeno didn’t know yet until he came inside the room and swerved the attention of the arguing duo.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeus, in the center, straightened his posture on his throne to present himself in a more regal way. “Are you perhaps the temporary replacement of Sir Sanghoon?”

“Sir Sanghoon’s stand-in is rather good looking, don’t you think?” Hera mused, stepping down from her throne beside Zeus to take a closer look at the taller male. Her cold fingers trailed his jaw until his chest, where his heart was beating intensely. She even pinched his toned bicep, mouthing wow.

“Truly handsome you are, my dear. So full of life, please introduce yourself to us.”

While Jeno introduced himself to everyone in that room, he answered any sorts of questions they had for him too. From his age, educational background, hobbies, Aphrodite just had to ask him if he had a girlfriend because he was that handsome.

“Nope, I’m single. With my degree in architecture, the requirements are so heavy I can’t even try dating.”

Mentioning his degree excited the gods, telling him how their people created and designed all these temples to house them and perform rituals. They loved it so much. This was a copy-paste of what Jeno learned from his history classes, and for a first, he’s hearing the perspective of the Greek gods.

Mind-boggling that he hasn’t fully freaked out yet. That’s what Athena anticipated when Sanghoon told her about his short leave, putting her in charge of everyone for the meantime while the replacement settled down.

The college museum was built during the late 70s as a gift from one of the alumni. It was for the purpose to preserve history and educate college students outside the classroom. The Greek mythology exhibit was the oldest one, making Athena have more seniority. Over her stay, she’s seen every new guard lose their senses during the first night. Some not even returning for a second night. She got used to every outcome, and so far, only 8 people lasted after the first night. A couple of students in the 70s and 80s, Sanghoon in the 90s, and now Jeno was one of them.

“Jeno, aren’t you terrified by us? You just got a job in a museum that comes to life every night, and it’s not a normal thing.”

“Well, I’m still shaken up about it. But it’s my first night, and it’s when I learn everything about the place from head to toe. Plus, I really need the money.”

“Money for what? But you’re young, a student even!”

“Yes, I am. However, I do pay for the rent in my dorm. So, this job is like my first big responsibility, and I want to perform well.”

Athena commended his sense of authority, capable of leading himself. She noticed how well-spoken and poised he is, respecting and listening to everything the gods and goddesses said even if they were nonsense. She never liked to compromise with her power, taking a while to like Sanghoon back in the day. Though Jeno looked like a natural leader on his first night. If he could take care of himself well, he’s skilled to take care of the rest in the museum as well.

Plus she had full control on the nights he won’t be there, especially the weekend.

With his potential, Athena mentored him the entire night about the gist of the entire museum. Every upcoming leader needs an intelligent mentor, right? She was naturally gifted with worthy leadership skills, managing Jeno like her own child.

Athena explained how the museum came to life, which was through a royal golden plate from the Oriental room. It was a gift from a popular sorceress in China to an affluent family from the Han dynasty, who wished them a long life after she was saved from invaders due to them. The plate preserved over time, becoming an artifact. Its power remained immortal, mutating to bring life wherever it goes. In this case, the museum since its arrival in the late 70s as well.

“That’s why the Oriental room must be locked always so no one could touch or break the plate.”

After she ordered Jeno to lock the mentioned room, alongside the Foreign Art Exhibit Room which he checked out for his class, she led him to the best view of the entire museum. Center of the second floor, where stairs were on both sides. Jeno marveled at the vivacious atmosphere, witnessing actual art living, breathing, and enjoying themselves.

“Unreal, right?” She leaned in the railing, scanning through the chatty paintings.

Jeno also leaned down, deep in thought and wonder. “Absolutely, Athena. How come no one knows about this? Art coming to life? It’ll invite more students to the museum.”

“That goes against a golden rule as a night guard in this museum.” She replied bluntly. “The life that goes on inside this museum at night must remain a secret to the public.”

Jeno predicted this kind of response, having watched too many films where anything supernatural mustn’t be revealed. Although he liked the advantage of knowing something this powerful, he’d never abuse it.

Athena’s intellect was beyond the world, seamlessly reading Jeno’s expression and what he was thinking. He had good intentions even if he’s a bit mischievous. She needed to keep a keen eye on him, but for now, he needed to explore on his own.

“Anyways, Sanghoon still left out some other details. So if you have any questions, I’ll be at my exhibit trying to shut my father and my uncle up again.”

“Can you not use any weapons to do so?”

“Can’t make any promises, Jeno.” She slyly cracked her knuckles and neck as if she was fighting another battle.

Jeno was silently left with himself, finally browsing through Sanghoon’s guide while seated in one of the museum benches.

It consisted of 25 rules, wherein the first two rules consisted of locking up. One, for the doors and gates of the museum, so no art piece could escape. If they do, they will turn into dust when the sun is out according to Athena. Two, locking the Oriental and Foreign Art Rooms, which was already done.

Rule #5: Let Mochi the puppy from the lobby tag along with you; feed him treats if you have any.

On cue, the little guy barked from the corridor and raced to his side. Jeno carried him, babying him for a little and letting him lick his face a few times before putting him back down. He’s surely going to the pet store first thing in the morning with the museum allowance the director gave him.

Since he was on the second floor, he read and followed the rules that fit in before returning downstairs. On the other side of the floor were the wax figures exhibitions: one for prominent men in history while the other for prominent women. Well, more people to get acquainted with.

It’s the exchange of gasps and profanities he received when he chose the latter room. Seeing their faces, these were women he’s learned in school and online. Now in the (fake) flesh. Except for one girl he’s never heard of, unbothered in her corner sketching her life away in a sketchpad. But before he could check who she was, a suggestive touch on his arm distracted him.

“My, oh my, Hera wasn’t lying when she said that the new night guard was a fine specimen.” By her dark blue eyeshadow and eyeliner with the snake-like crown, Cleopatra studied him like he was one of the most renowned art pieces. Even patting his chest, abdomen, and arms with both her hand, Jeno caught a suggestive glint in her eyes and a smirk across her red lips.

Rule #13: Reject Cleopatra’s seductive advances at all costs.

“Goodness, Cleopatra. It’s only his first night, and you’re scaring him.” With her accent, round eyes, and a chic formal outfit, she carried a posh aura while unhesitatingly scolding the Queen of the Nile.

“Come on now, Diana. He’s stunning, who wouldn’t go after him?” If no one knew her, you’re not reading up on your world history. She’s said to have been a lovely and intelligent woman, gone so soon. Jeno definitely understood why after she detached Cleopatra’s raging hands off him.

Rule #14: Treat Princess Diana and Hera like your own parent.

“Your highness.” Jeno nodded at her out of respect, only making her chuckle uncontrollably.

“No need to address me like that, love. Now, come here.” She widened her arms for Jeno, hugging him amiably. He sensed her motherly warmth, accepting such a gesture. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Harry. Welcome to the night shift of the museum, love.”

Similar to the Greek mythology exhibit, he introduced himself and responded to any questions that the women wax figures may have. Good for him, they weren’t crossing any borders and kept him at ease.

“A student like you working at night to pay rent?” Katherine Johnson, an African-American NASA mathematician whose calculations led to the success of a lot of famous spaceflights, cannot believe her ears. Students must only focus on school, nothing else. “What about your studies, boy?”

Rule #15: Engage in academic discussions with Katherine Johnson whenever you can.

“Most of my classes are in the afternoon, Miss Katherine. So I’ll sleep in the entire morning later and study during my breaks.”

“Mr. Jeno, what do you like to do outside of work?” Anne Frank, a German-Dutch teenager whose revolutionary diary that documented her life in hiding from the Nazis gained popularity worldwide after publication dreamily asked from her section of the exhibit. Her life was robbed of greatness merely because of her religion and war.

Rule #16: Bring delicious food or gifts to Anne Frank.

“Well, I like to bike with my friends, exercise, and draw whatever comes into mind!”

Everyone he’s met so far acquired pleasure in knowing about who he was and his passion for architecture, ridding the “freaking out” phase Athena assumed he had. Yet not everyone in this exhibit bothered to give him a shot.

Jeno’s attention from Anne talking about her crush towards Peter van Daan, a teenage boy who lived with her, switched to the section beside her, where an unacquainted figure was zealously sketching as if something was due to the following day. It reflected how he’d look when he’s cramming one of his plates due to first thing in the morning. While he properly excused himself, he quietly gazed at the way this woman scrunched her eyebrows when she erased something then drew it again. She was someone he’s never seen or heard before, reading the information plate in front of him about her.

 (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Explorer and Author. (1854-1900)

 Wealthy women in the Victorian Era only served one purpose in society: marry a man from a prestigious family, have his children and join whatever interests they have. However, for (Y/N), she wasn’t going to conform to those standards.

Born into the affluent house of (Y/L/N), she was the youngest of 8 children. She was said to be the kindest and sweetest sibling out of everyone, not capable of hurting anyone or anything. She said it herself that she can’t throw away a dying flower because it’s too painful. While 5 of her older brothers were sent to school, she stayed at home with her 2 older sisters Cecilia and Amelia where she learned how to play the piano and take voice lessons from impressive teachers. Due to the huge age gaps between them (12 and 8 respectively), she never felt close with them. She was only closest to the 6th and 7th siblings, her twin brothers Benjamin and Liam whom she only had a 2-year gap. She was also best friends with one of the scullery maids her age, Lily, because she found her amusing that than the boring rich girls her mother forced to interact with.

The moment it bothered her that she wanted to live a more meaningful life was when Amelia got married. She was 12 years old at the time, and it left her as the last unwed daughter in the family. Badly did she want to revolt, which she gradually did. Instead of practicing piano, she’d sneak in to read every book in her father’s office. She secretly studied the notes of her older brothers from school and even dressed as a boy numerously thanks to Benjamin and Liam to join their classes or field trips.

This was her routine up until the age of 18 when she stomped her foot down and expressed to her parents that she wasn’t going to let Victorian society dictate her. The night before her parents were bound to send her to her great aunt’s home down South to sort her out, she successfully snuck out her house thanks to Lily, Benjamin, and Liam. It’s another good thing that she saved a lot of money for that moment.

Off she went across Europe first, then sailed to America and even parts of Asia. Initially under the name Lilibe, coined from picking the first two letters of her brothers and best friend, she documented her days and nights through her journals and sketches. Over time, she sent them to her brothers for publication. It started the franchise, “The Adventures of the Young and Free Lilibe”. There are 10 books under it.

She learned French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean by herself as she made friends from those places. It was rare of someone like her to be fluent in Oriental languages, surprising locals every time she spoke to them. She was the only explorer to vividly describe life in different Asian lands in English, talking about their history and culture. With her accurate drawings of diverse citizens and their daily lives, it educated a lot of those living back home in Europe about them rather than speaking lowly of them.

In Seoul did she stayed the longest until her death from pneumonia at the young age of 46.

In her posthumous work, Finding Me, did she reveal her real identity, dedicating it to her parents whom she apologized and expressed her love for them despite everything that occurred between them. She talked about the last years of her life in Seoul, how locals were so nice and inviting to her, and how she adopted kids instead of having her own through the years.

“It’s not because I never found love in men. It’s more like I found love in doing things I’m passionate about. Traveling, learning new cultures, it outweighed the human need of romance.”

Due to her thrill in taking risks and embarking on wondrous adventures, it brought inspiration to a lot of young girls pressured to marry at that time to pursue what they really want.

 A remarkable background you had, Jeno contemplated. How come no one discussed her in his classes?

You kept brushing the bangs of your hair back as it fell repeatedly. But you got irritated instantly because it sabotaged your drive, you brought out a hairpin from her desk and attached it on both sides. But when you shifted your angle of focus, the corner of your eye locked with Jeno’s attentive gaze.

He didn’t flinch, even he should’ve. He wasn’t one to linger his look on anyone’s physical appearances, but your story and the passion on your face as you sketched mesmerized him. He was charmed, to say the least.

“Uhm, hello there?” You broke the silence due to your uneasiness about it. What’s his deal?

Jeno bowed, reintroducing himself to you. As soon as his presence settled in the room when Cleopatra attempted to hit on him, you could’ve cared less. Though this man was a first for you, a first in a long time as all guards would feel intimidated by you during the first night. Even your sharp tongue didn’t faze him. “Staring is rude, sir. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She did,” He wandered through the exterior of your section, by the fence that separated you and him. Not breaking eye contact, his eyes turned into moon crescents as he smirked with trouble. “Though she also told me to appreciate the art too.”

Snorts noisily exhaled from Cleopatra, who took the center section of the exhibit, succeeded by Princess Diana’s whispered gasps and Katherine’s side-eyeing Anne beside her while she taught her math. That was an odd way a guard conversed with you, but Jeno was merely doing what the rules stated. Partly, he was impressed with his cheesy pick-up line, partly embarrassed because he’s never spoken like this to anyone.

Rule #17: Act playfully around (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to break the tension; she’s a harsh one.

There was irony between the information he read about your life versus the wax model. Even when you faced sexism and ran away according to your history, never were you impolite to anyone in your life. You couldn’t even kill a lurking fly when it roams around your food! It showed Jeno a possibility that as much as you’re just a wax version of someone famous in the past, maybe the external environment around you had a heavy influence too.

“You fool!” His confidence exasperated you, urging you to persistently throw balls of paper with your failed sketches at him. No one dared to talk to you like that, most especially a night guard. “Take that for your comment!”

If you thought he’d scram away and act repentant, you were proven wrong. His reflexes were parallel to a spider, capturing every single paper ball without fail. Up and down his body went, one arm held on to them and no more were left on your part. Never a single defeat during the first meeting in years, but that seemed to alter now.

“Give up already, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Jeno remarked vibrantly as he discarded your mess in the trash bin behind him. If he managed to get everyone to like him tonight, he wanted to make sure to have you onboard too.

Whatever agenda he had, you weren’t up for it. You’d treat him the same way you usually treated Sanghoon for the past 20 something years: cold and ignorant. From your stool, you left your comfortable position to come face to face with this man. He better be grateful for that barrier in between you, or else you would’ve caused mayhem.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Mr. Lee.” Your mouth gave a half-smile, clenching on the bars to liberate your annoyance. Before you could fend back, that’s when Princess Diana intervened between your heated dialogue.

“Oh heavens, children!” She stood by the barrier, mostly to protect the newbie Jeno with her body. “(Y/N), he just wanted to know you. Must you be so cross?”

This Princess Diana embodied all the traits the real one had: soft-spoken, intelligent, and protective. She’s gotten so used to your gradual temper, staying on standby whenever anyone tried to mess with you. Even if it was harmless, you could get so mean!

“Diana, he was mocking me! Saying such a sleazy phrase as if to amuse me, ha! Not a chance, I hate people like that.”

“Not us women though; you just despise men in general.”

“And you’re absolutely right!” With a smug smile, you greedily rejoiced. “Anyways, escort this disgrace out. I’m not in the mood to get angry when I have a lot of inspiration on mind right now.”

While you resumed your sketching to let go of that extra steam, Jeno was left with Diana who apologized on your behalf. Your pride was too high to do that, and as the motherly figure among them, she always took care of things in your exhibit.

“I’m so sorry for that, Jeno. She’s not really like this, but I know how much you tried your best. It was quite a fresh spectacle honestly.”

Whatever was responsible for your abrasiveness, Jeno yearned to know. He couldn’t understand who you were yet even knowing your life story. All he wanted was to get along with everyone. It was the key to successfully maintain his job for the next 6 months.

“How can I make her come around then?”

A demanding question that no one had a solid answer to. Diana recalled how much Sanghoon didn’t let your dislike for him get to him, maintaining a respectful boundary in between each other after his past attempts. Though with Jeno, observing how he riled you up and your focus entirely on him, she hasn’t seen anything like it since the 80s.

There was something in Jeno that may just get you to warm up and return to your kind nature.

“Aside from acting playful, as Sanghoon recommended, I can think of two ways, love.” By the doors of her exhibit, where Jeno was already waltzing the corridor to visit other rooms, she suggested smartly. “One, argue back to her opinions. She hates whenever anyone tries to get her way, but boy, you’re just as wise as her. No one was brave enough to peeve on her until you came.”

“How about the second way?”

“Do your research, love. Aside from libraries, you have those small technology devices that allow you to search up anything.” She tousled Jeno’s brown locks as if it were her actual son’s. Some habits just don’t die when you do.

“Brush up on your history, Jeno. Not only will it help you with (Y/N), but it’ll serve purposefully with the other art pieces here.”

Boy, he was ready to crash in his bed for a few hours after all those interactions. His introverted nature required to be revitalized.

Towards the last hours of his shift, the art pieces who’ve strolled in the first floor lessened his plate by not leaving any major clutter behind. As if she listened to him, Athena didn’t break any lightbulbs too.

His main highlight would be meeting the men of the historical male section, who flaunted a more humorous ambiance. Freddie Mercury from Queen insisted he drink a glass of his wine and to bring more wine next time, which he denied since it would against Sanghoon’s rules. King Sejong the Great and Martin Luther King Jr. argued back and forth over the most random things (pineapple on pizza specifically), while Steve Jobs mediated whenever one crossed the line. Meanwhile, William Shakespeare was too preoccupied in his writing and speaking to himself about his books, wondering how to improve them.

During one of his breaks today, he multitasked drawing a new plate with his research on every art piece to know them better. He started with the exhibit of sculptures of the Greek gods and goddesses, which were Zeus, Hera, Hades, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus, and Circe. They weren’t the complete roster because the rest were in other museums across the globe, as said by Athena before sunrise. The majority of them he knew what they were in charge of, but the rest were foggy to his knowledge. Typing away and jotting notes down, he started downloading his favorite jazz songs too.

Rule # 4: Play jazz music to the paintings on the first floor so they can relax and dance within their frames.

Circe is a minor goddess, the daughter of the sun god Helios. She’s recognized for her versatility in incantations and herbs, capable of transforming people into animals. From Jeno’s perspective, she’s mostly within her space with her journals and magic wand, trying new spells or combinations of herbs. For the latter, he had to keep a closer eye on.

Rule #9: Don’t let Circe, god of potions, into the Oriental Room to get plants and herbs.

He discovered that Dionysus is the god of wine, happiness, and theatre. That’s why every god in the exhibit had full wine glasses during their gathering. It also added up why Freddie Mercury always comes to him when his bottles run empty, though he mustn’t go overboard.

Rule #18: Make sure Freddie Mercury doesn’t get too drunk from the wine of Dionysus; he might make numerous scenes if he does.

After his lone studying session, he took a short trip to the pet and convenience stores to buy food. He got a dumbfounded look from Jaemin back in the dorm room, who was studying for one of his quizzes in Biology in a couple of hours.

“Woah what’s with this stash? Is it for yourself or something?”

“The museum surprisingly has a lot of tasks needed to be done at night. And no, not from my wallet but the allowance they gave me before you get a heart attack.” Jeno plopped on his solo bed, covering his face with a pillow.

“Thank God.” A relaxed sigh escaped Jaemin’s lips, taking back his balled-up fists meant for his roommate. “I think I would’ve stormed that boring museum if they made your broke ass spend a cent.”

“Boring?” Jeno removed the cushion hastily, eyeing his busy and coffee-high roommate. The scent of black coffee from his mug spread in the room, assuming that this upcoming test was testing his roommate’s patience again.

Not even trying to look at Jeno while reviewing his handwritten notes, Jaemin continued giving his opinion. “Museum culture is dead, Jeno. Not everyone has the time to roam around one, plus people can always look up the artifacts online these days.”

People were entitled to their own opinions on numerous things, though Jeno begged to differ with his roommate’s. Especially after witnessing the magic of the night shift, you shouldn’t merely judge a book by its cover. In this case, you shouldn’t judge an artwork or art piece merely on its history and legacy.

Maybe because his roommate was in the science department, he thought this way. A lot of art students regularly visit the museum both for fun and for their classes, and Jeno was one of them. Though he was too sleepy to explain his side, he let it slide for now and snoozed throughout the late afternoon.

An hour before the start of his shift, Jeno promenaded the emptying museum to inspect anything else he might’ve missed out on from last night. There were two areas according to his rotation, both in the first floor.

One was the Diorama Room. Divided into 4 sections, highlighting some of the well-known ancient civilizations in world history. Ancient Egypt and Ancient China to your left, Ancient Rome and Ancient Maya to your right. They acted as if they were the actual people during those times, giving Jeno a laugh when they cracked jokes in between. Such tiny figures, yet the rule for them said otherwise.

Rule # 7: The small figurines in the Diorama Room are feisty, so make sure they don’t fight with one another again.

The remaining room left was the Theater Room. He’s never been here, though his art friends have for film festivals held by the university.

The interior of it was set to look like an actual cinema place you’d see in a mall. There was a mini lobby with a few posters of iconic films over the years. Singin’ in the Rain, Back to the Future, Titanic, those were some framed and hung on the wall. There were two other doors there: one leading to the chairs and the other where the movie projector was. The latter room was pretty riveting, wherein you can choose to watch old short films through an 88mm film projector or switch to a cd player for the newer releases.

Back to those posters, they weren’t an exception to the magic and a simple rule was left for Jeno to do.

Rule # 10: Chatter with the movie posters in the lobby of the Theater Room; they love meeting new faces.

Since there wasn’t anyone checking out the Art Rooms on the second floor, he closed them. Though as he was about to lock the Oriental Room, the ravishing plants around the royal plant appealed his interest. Said to hold magical properties from his research, Jeno was reminded of another rule to keep in mind for later.

Rule # 3: The fake flowers in the Oriental Room come to life too at night, so when no one is lurking, water it diligently.

Instead of lounging at Sanghoon’s office first, he brought his important items to the front desk of the lobby and continued sketching his plate. He wanted to watch the art come back alive with his two eyes. Usually, he’d have coffee when he does his work, but due to another crucial rule in the guide, he’d rather not take the risk.

Rule # 6: The lobby room can get rowdy, so keep any drinks away from important items.

On the dot, the cries and yawns from the art pieces around him reverberated. Closing his sketchpad, his night guard mode was on. Connecting his laptop on the aux cord of the museum speakers, he tapped play on his playlist of jazz music that’ll last for the entire shift duration. As the first notes flooded the entire vicinity, sounds of joy left the lips of each painting. Some were humming, dancing, and even singing along.

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

“This Jeno lad really did the heavens’ work quick!”

Having the sense of accomplishment on his sleeve, the small barks of his fluffy pal reached closer to him. As he kneeled to find him, he was only taken by surprise as Mochi excitedly jumped on him. Tumbling over, Jeno chuckled innocently as Mochi licked his face numerously. This puppy was friendly, easily liking everyone at first sight. He wasn’t as choosy like Daegal, the puppy of his friend Chenle studying Business Management.

Once he composed himself and cradling the dog like his own, he fed him a dog treat from the desk.

“Good boy, Mochi!” He rubbed his fur while the puppy happily munched on it, ready to fulfill more of his duties.

He skipped the Greek mythology exhibit since Athena was doing a good job not letting anyone go overboard with their powers, though he’ll check in again in a few hours. He met the posters of the theater room, who were celebrities he grew up watching on tv. Sanghoon was right; they were the kinder group in the entire museum because they were more laidback.

On to the second floor, all the female wax figures lounged by the male section due to another lecture from Shakespeare. Although the guide informed him that most of the time it could get boring, this lecture was more stimulating. On his platform, he elaborated with conviction the lines of one of his famous books, Romeo and Juliet. A must-read book back in his high school days, there’s no way Jeno could’ve missed that out.

From the looks of it, Jeno perceived that Shakespeare was performing spoken word poetry due to him reading only Romeo’s lines while Cleopatra read Juliet’s beside him. This kind of show was one of the sources of entertainment to these figures, so Jeno leaned by the side of the door to listen. After all, the famous author of it was a few feet away. Cleopatra channeled such a naïve character to her ability, absentmindedly saying as she clutched her chest.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose-”

The flow of an engaged Cleopatra was abrupted by the loud yell from Shakespeare in front, specifically to an amused Jeno. “Jeno, my boy! Welcome back!”

Such an announcement diverted everyone’s attention to the back, some running to Jeno to give their respective greetings. It’s rare for everyone to feel at ease with a new guard, taking them weeks to approach them due to the intimidation. Though Jeno’s bright presence felt welcoming, so they accepted it. Perhaps it’s because of his youth, it reminded them of theirs too.

Shakespeare highly requested (or forced) Jeno to take his part as Romeo, intrigued to watch someone younger read his lines. Since most of the male wax figures were aged, it never satisfied Shakespeare so he jumped on this opportunity as quickly as he could. With the roaring cheers from the other figures, Jeno might as well give it a try. It wasn’t like his friends were here to clown him like they usually would if he did something humiliating.

Jeno shockingly liked this activity as he wasn’t much of a performer on stage, but someone who does the behind-the-scenes of it. He realized as he read the lines from the book Shakespeare asked him to follow along with why people held university-wide spoken word shows a few times per semester. He was no actor, but it’s delightful to have tried it at least once in his life.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” As if the edge of the platform was the balcony of Juliet (or Cleopatra rather), he knelt as he ardently spoke his lines. He’s emphasizing this rush of uncontrollable desire for her, rambling whatever he would do to get the girl.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Cleopatra questioned from her chair, inching closer to the young boy. Even outside character will she attempt to charm Jeno, but Jeno was quick to catch it and kept his distance.

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it, and yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Everyone was condensed by their top-notch acting, as if this was the actual play unfolding before them. Jeno wasn’t so sure how he got himself in character without preparation, yet he felt what his character felt. He comprehended the material a lot better now than when he was still in high school.

However, there was always that one killjoy to ruin the heartfelt mood.

“How dumb is it to say that you’re in love after the first glance?” You opposed, putting the spotlight on you. This book was said to be a classic in literature, but as you matured physically and mentally, you could no longer agree with it. “Isn’t love the same thing that killed Romeo and Juliet in the end?”

Remembering what Princess Diana told him, he wasn’t going to let this pass. He wanted to give a piece of his mind too, caring less if the show must be paused. “Love is an emotion we don’t ask to feel. It’ll come to us when we least expect it, even when the timing of it can be crucial.”

“Of all the people Juliet could’ve gone for, it just had to be the enemy.” In all the years you’ve been brought to life, no one dared to test your opinions because they were aware of your intelligence, from the streets to the books. When someone bark, you’d bite back. Hard. “With all due respect, I love your works, Shakespeare. Yet the fate you’ve given these two at a young age was grave, could’ve you given them a better outcome or another character to love instead?”

“Giving them extra characters to love won’t address the horrific life fact that love can be dangerous. Regardless of what status you’re in, you can’t stop the attraction towards someone. The heart wants what it wants.” Jeno pressed his hand to his chest, pumping it a bit. Unknown to you and him, the audience found more entertainment in your argument. Anne, who was munching on the popcorn Jeno gave her earlier, passed the snack to Katherine who just couldn’t stop watching.

If this man wanted a challenge, you’re all ears. Who was he to compete with you? Was he not intelligent to know who you are?

“So are you insinuating that we just go with the flow? Be a slave to our emotions too and let them dictate our next motives?”

“Slave is such a strong word to use, (Y/N). But it’s not like we can’t choose who want to love because we actually can. In this case, Romeo chose Juliet and vice versa.”

“But what happens if the person you choose doesn’t choose you in return?”

“At least you tried your best, right? It’ll hurt like hell though, but it won’t last forever.” From his kneeling position, Jeno strutted his way with confidence. Trying not to let it mess with you, your extreme stare at him as if they’ll shoot lasers. Inches away from you, Jeno declared. “Love always has risks, that’s a given. Romeo and Juliet still tried and followed their hearts despite the downfall. But it was a needed downfall to get the message across.”

“No one would be that foolish to risk their lives for love though, right? Life is so precious, why would they do such a thing?”

“Even if they knew what their lives were without each other, they still preferred living a life where they were both in the picture. Therefore, they tried all they could that time because the regret of not doing anything at all carries a heavier burden.”

Whenever anyone argued with you, their debating points they spat back would further piss you off because most of the time, it never made sense. Back when this rude man told you to go home and be a wife in your earlier years of exploring, you civilly told him to fuck off, kicking his balls because he cornered you in an alley. For the first time, a man who tried to challenge you actually made sense. Was it because he lived in a modern time, where minds were more open? Because of the amount of sexism you faced in the past, you’ve turned a blind eye to the current period.

But your high pride maintained, not submitting into anything he said. “I still think it’s stupid to risk your life for love. There’s no such thing as having only one true love anyways, and you have to be alive to see it.”

“Fair point, but again, the feeling of regret and carrying it your entire life doesn’t fade easily. It’ll make you reflect on the what-ifs, and it’s heart-wrenching.” Jeno digressed, walking around you in circles. He’s intentionally trying to drive you mad, but he could care less. He wanted someone to put you in your place and open your mindset. “The question stands: would you rather try and go for it even knowing its risks or regret not even trying for the rest of your existence? Quite ironic for me to ask you that, don’t you think?”

Past the information board, Jeno researched more of your life history online. Your whole life was grounded on risks, from breaking the standards of your society, leaving your family and home country, to fending yourself from disrespectful men. Rather than living the original life expected from you, you chose not to because it didn’t make you happy. Such a risktaker he knew you are, but with the topic of love, he wondered why you were on a fence with it. Though some records stated you’ve had rendezvouses with a few men in your journeys, love was never in the equation. The single life was what you chose and you were more than satisfied, plus your adopted kids filled that supposed void anyways.

This man may have studied your history, but so much he still doesn’t know. Information that never made the books because you chose not to write or tell anyone about it. Aside from the discomfort growing in your chest, everyone else felt the awkward tension when you were lost for words.

Never been defeated in an argument, until tonight. Your mind lost its drive and willpower.

“Touché, Lee Jeno.” Indeed, his name you’re acquainted with. Numerously passed around in your exhibit, mostly from the lips of Cleopatra, who’d fantasize all the graphic things she would do to him. Too much information, least of your interest. “Please excuse me. I’d like to work on my sketches to ease my mind.”

As you quietly exited the room, an all too familiar sculpture leaned against the railings overseeing one side of the museum. Just like you, she hated accepting defeat or compromises. She always rooted for you to win. With a faint chuckle, “Facing a loss for the first time, I see.”

“Don’t even lecture me about it, Athena. I’m still fired up, and I need to relax.”

“Jeno is a different breed, isn’t he?” She stuck to your side, strolling wherever your feet led you.

“Different as in he’s a man? Yes. What else is there to it?”

“Men these days aren’t as trashy as those back in the day though. Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“Last time I did, it destroyed my heart. I’m not allowing myself to let men in even as a friend, Athena.”

She knew exactly what you were referring to, not touching on it further. No way will you let heartbreak or disappointment from men bother you. Even Sanghoon’s sweet company took a while to tolerate. You really needed to sketch this out on your pad right now, excusing yourself from Athena’s presence. Isolation wasn’t new to you; it’s what’s protecting your entire being. Immortal as you are, you had to recover from the past pain so the next decades won’t feel as brash.

You hoped to return to your old self when you were a fresh new figure in the 70s. So naïve, only proud of your accomplishments, and purely happy.

While Jeno continued to finish his scene in respect to Shakespeare, he received a standing ovation for his mini-show. Cleopatra didn’t expect such talent from him, growing fonder of the younger male. Whether she seduces him or not, he was never afraid to try new things and she liked that about him.

“Bravo, love!” Princess Diana praised, clapping at him.

Although Jeno appreciated all this positive attention, his thoughts bounced back to your and your stance on love. The debate earlier was just out of being playful, interested to hear your opinions. Though, he’s worried that he might’ve offended you. It may have been time to finally witness something like that, but then again, he was sure he touched something personal to you. No matter how you tried to fight it off, your eyes can’t lie. Staring down at him, there was pain beneath it. Your eyebrows scrunched to the center, thinking deeply yet remained utterly speechless.

A win he didn’t feel good about.

“It’s time she encountered something new in the years she’s been here. Give her some space tonight, then try again to reach out to her. Kindly this time; I’m not in the mood for another brawl that could end up like the Greek gods’ past fights downstairs.”

These clever words shared by Katherine loitered his mind for the rest of the night, eventually going back to finishing his current plate since everyone was behaving well. As great it is to get the approval of the majority, he tried brainstorming ways to make you like him too.

He understood the whole “men are trash” concept in today’s modern society, but if he could prove it wrong to at least one person, it would be you. Whatever is holding you back, he only hoped that you’d let it go. Questionably unsure as to why he was so persevering, he concluded that it was so he could perform his job better as the night guard. Set higher standards than Sanghoon even.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

The capability for you to ignore his efforts remained strong, whether he was pestering you over small things or debating with you again about anything. Life, books, morals, the two of you always head butt each other. Anything good he did, you searched for a flaw in it. Whatever acts he’s tried and continued trying, not one flinch from you ever.

Even if that’s his state with you, his job no longer felt stressful nor strenuous. He’d try to sleep more on days he was off-duty. Although the fatigue of staying beyond his usual sleeping time was inevitable, he compromised to take a nap lasting an hour or two when the art pieces weren’t acting frisky.

Plus, there have been multiple times they adapted to any alterations so his physical well-being wouldn’t fall sick. Per order of Princess Diana and Hera, who by instinct became his motherly figures here, only wanting what’s best for the kids.

He became accustomed to everything that went on at night, discovering things on his own without Sanghoon’s guide. Anne talked about how much she missed biking in her neighborhood, so one night, Jeno snuck his bike inside and let her use it around the first floor. With proper monitoring so none of the paintings would be unbothered or pieces wouldn’t tumble.

Hermes the messenger god was fluent in every language possible, so every so often, Jeno would freely speak to him in Korean because sometimes he felt he could explode by the amount of English he used every night. Bilingual things, you know. He knew you were multilingual too, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t converse with you.

Because Jeno was heavily favored, that should’ve been enough to push through his night shifts before the end of the semester. In addition to that, the hourly rate was above the average of whatever Jaemin or Renjun was earning. For the past 2 months, Jeno paid upfront first, even paying back all his debts. It almost made Renjun want to switch jobs with him.

“Trust me, Renjun. You don’t want it, being the lowkey scaredy cat you are.”

Work no longer felt like work, and that’s what everyone aspired to feel. Nevertheless, he tended to worry over you mid-shift, glancing at you from his side view. Sketching, reading, and writing were your default actions. No matter how many times he said to himself not to let your dislike for him affect him, it’d always backfire.

Why were you so cold?

What made you lose your fire from all the research he did about your lively personality?

When morning arrived and he gathered his stuff, you’d be the last thing he’ll check on. Frozen in your standing pose, smiling as you held a book and a pencil, he detected how fake it was. Bystanders would only assume your happiness was from your achievements, though Jeno’s gut firmly pried that something grand overpowered that happiness. And definitely, not in a good way.

Out of all the art pieces, he investigated on you the most. Skimming through every material in the library, endless searching on the net, even asking professors from the History department thanks to Renjun, he did whatever he could. People may already think he was obsessed with who you are, but only little did they know.

Another plate was done and submitted, and he promised himself to look you up one last time before surrendering. For someone who’s rarely given up on a challenge, this one was really out of his control. Maybe he should follow Sanghoon’s footsteps now.

You lived centuries before him, and there’s limited material of you left. Rather than learning of your adventures again, he dug through what things you liked over your life. Maybe by giving one of them, it’ll lessen the tension from a 100 to 99. Maybe you preferred gifts over words, he’ll never know until he tried.

Boom.

According to one of your journal entries, there’s a fond liking you’ve acquired for lavender roses from Benjamin and Liam when they visited you in Paris in secret because of how much you missed them. It went both ways, praying your family ties could be recovered.

It’s a good thing he needed to refill his stock of items for the art pieces so he could pass by the flower store a few blocks away from his dorm. That night, without further words, he graciously offered you a fresh lavender rose in between your new sketching session.

“I may not know exactly why you’re spiritless around me, but with this rose, I hope we could work something out.”

Your frigid face of disdain, keeping your chin high and squinting your eyes with judgment, began to crumble down.  Of all things as a peace offering, he gave you that? Then again, it’s not like he knew that an item you liked so much became something you’ve grown to hate and why so. No history books could teach him that.

Vulnerability was a normal thing, yet feared by many. Once one uncovered your weak spot, they could harm you. You still couldn’t trust Jeno fully, not willing to show your helplessness nor were you ever going to tell him. Hidden from his knowledge, everyone else including Sanghoon were familiarized as to why this kind of flower tormented you.

You sprinted like thunder out the exhibit room to wherever it’s private to control your senses. You may not have a physical heart, but your emotions were just as actual as a human’s. You needed to regulate your panting breath. In the past decades, you’ve not shed a singular tear but the cycle broke when they streamed out your miserable eyes like a flowing river. Quiet sobs, an empty corner near the fire exit was where your wobbly legs faltered, the painful memories of the past replayed in your head. Once beautiful, but now an agonizing reminder of what could’ve been.

Katherine, Cleopatra, and Anne were swift on their feet to hunt you down, anxious of what you may do next. Seeing or the mention of these flowers still affected you despairingly. Sanghoon must’ve forgotten to write them down, or perhaps he didn’t know either about this fact during all the years he’s worked there.

It’s one of the biggest secrets of his museum. By the clueless face Jeno had with his eyebrows raised, mouth, and small eyes slightly open, he repeatedly asked what he did wrong and adding that he never meant to harm you. Indeed, they knew that yet what occurred involved a secret in the list of museum secrets. Confidential only between art pieces according to Athena, none of the male wax figures spoke a word, only pitying the boy.

“I wasn’t here yet that time, but they said that it was once beautiful, but now it’s a rough period.” With hesitation, Princess Diana chose to reveal it to rid Jeno’s misery. She didn’t mind having to argue about it with Athena later on, as this may further affect the two of you later on.

“A long time ago in the early ‘80s, there was a night guard around your age named Junmyeon. Also, a college student, trying to make ends meet. He did it for 3 years until he graduated. Though within his stay, not only was he such a delight to everyone, he broke a golden rule in the guide. I believe you do know the guide much more now, Jeno?”

“Yes, I do, Princess Diana. Memorized it even, but which one specifically?” Jeno’s desperate eyes pleaded, only hoping for the best and to fix what he messed up.

“You can form friendships with the art pieces, but nothing more.” Princess Diana replied bitterly. “Junmyeon was an aspiring painter, a different path from his business-oriented family. He was seen as the black sheep. She resonated with him, sharing the burden and lifting it by doing whatever fun they could in the museum. In time, they both fell in love with each other; they were each other’s first loves.”

“Why must something beautiful like love be broken? It’s not like you can control it. That golden rule makes no sense.”

“It does, unfortunately. Wax figures like me cannot age, while humans like you can. None of them could accept the reality, always pushing it away. Until Junmyeon’s last week in university, he broke it off with her unexpectedly. From there, (Y/N) was heartbroken for decades. With heartbreak, giving the cold shoulder and bitterness followed. Then with the lavender rose you gave that she used to love became a flower that she associated with Junmyeon too because he gave her one almost every night for those past 3 years.”

Things finally added up, and the guilt in Jeno’s gut expanded. His major lightbulb moment was a major failure.

“Has Junmyeon ever returned to try and win her back?”

“Well, there was one time he did come back for an art exhibition for his paintings in the 2000s. I was already here, then he had a woman around his shoulder with an adolescent boy holding his hand. He roamed around our exhibit and kept gawking at (Y/N). We may be asleep, but we remember the conversations exchanged in the room. So, his son then asked him if he knew who she was.”

“What did he respond?” Jeno attentively listened, on the edge of such a hurtful tale.

“He knew her name, praising her for historical achievements. However, nothing as a former friend or lover. From what I predict, he ingested one of Circe’s potions.”

“But I thought Circe isn’t allowed to make potions for actual consumption. She’s not even allowed to enter the Oriental Art Room.” Jeno pointed out, overwhelmed at the puzzling past. Princess Diana was mindful that she had to stop spreading too much information, so she had to end her discussion with the lost boy.

“There are a lot of secrets about this museum, Jeno. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal to you to protect our peace.”

With due respect, Jeno quit his follow-up questions and concerns. The only thing he wished to do was mend his relationship with you. As vague as to where you even stood in the first place, he unintentionally crossed a line due to his selfish intention to befriend you.

“What can I do now, Princess Diana? You know I’d never push her buttons like that, even if I’m a whimsical person.”

“Oh, my boy.” Princess Diana soothed, holding both her hand on his sweaty palm and cupping his cheek. “For the meantime, give her space. No taunting for a while, and just observe her from a distance. Though do not fret the slightest; I’m sure she’ll be okay again.”

During that interval, you were hunched on the wall, bawling and weeping like the wound was brand new again. While Katherine and Anne stood by your side, on the lookout for anyone who’d be spying on you, Cleopatra knelt in front of you as your infinite tears gushed down.

“My dear,” She tried to wipe some of them while holding your hand. “It’s been years, and Jeno didn’t know a single thing. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I don’t care, Cleopatra! He should’ve stopped trying to socialize with me because I won’t ever live down my experience with Junmyeon.”

“As if crying like this will bring Junmyeon back to your life,” Cleopatra exclaimed, holding in her temper. Acquainted with heartbreak, it’s awful that it changed you entirely, but you should’ve found a way to heal. Throughout your attitude change, it’s mostly you in pain, not those you inflict it to. “My dear, I love you a lot. But this Jeno boy is different, and you know it.”

“He’s still a nightguard, for Christ’s sake, Cleopatra.”

“You shouldn’t generalize that all night guards are bad just because of one encounter that occurred at the wrong time.” Brushing some strands stuck by your wet visage, she professed to you bluntly. “You’re never going to know how good Jeno is unless you slowly open up again, (Y/N). Not forcing you the slightest, but healing started once you’ve acknowledged the past and move on from it.”

“But I’m scared, Cleopatra.” You restlessly admitted, hunching even more against the wall. Your poor, metaphorical heart could only take so much. You barely expressed sorrow towards others as you always held a strong exterior, only letting it out alone. Not holding back anymore, Cleopatra brought you in for a hug. The last time she did that was the first night after Junmyeon left, calming your intensified emotions so you wouldn’t do anything dumb that night. No violence, just pure sorrow.

“My dear, it’s alright.” She whispered while stroking your back upwards. “But you’re a risktaker; that’s how people remember you. Now, you must challenge yourself to move on from things that didn’t work out. Because once you do, it’ll put your heart and mind at ease.”

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

“Yes, you will be, my dear. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Acting like the dutiful son he always was, Jeno distanced from you.

He still cracked jokes, chatted with the art pieces, and followed the rules, yet never did he utter anything to you. You’ve proudly anticipated it since day one, not wanting him up in your business or teasing you ever. But this time, it felt odd.

On nights he didn’t report, you’ve unconsciously wondered what he may have been up to. A job like this at his age was just as Sanghoon once said: nothing in the regular.

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

From the moment you chose to let go of your limitations and old thoughts, it included your grudge against past guards. Asking for forgiveness to Sanghoon when he returns was on the top of your list, however, that’ll take a while to happen. In the start, you’re baffled as to why he no longer picked on you like every night he’s been present. Somehow, it became a habit you’ve gotten used to, having so many comebacks planned to fend yourself. But you didn’t want to concede to it, maintaining what was left of your pride since that breakdown.

While on the subject, you suspected if anyone told him anything that night because that also indicated the last time he reached out to you. By anything, it would be your unwritten past with Junmyeon. A part of yourself in the museum that you didn’t want to disperse like rapid-fire again. It would be the last thing you wanted Jeno to know.

To your misfortune, Princess Diana came clean due to your growing concern over it. Although your attitude changed and people got used to it, you could only blame yourself that you were responsible for Jeno’s change.

“All he wanted was to understand and enlighten us with his likable presence. Then with you, you were his challenge because of your high walls. Out of everyone, he tried to learn everything about you. From my observation, whenever he has a goal, he’s determined to achieve it.”

“But I’m trying to be better now, Diana. Why did he stop?”

“He may have determination, but he knows where the boundaries lie.” Princess Diana patted the side of your arm, giving you a half-grin. “It hurt him when he hurt you, even if it was accidental. So he opted to give you space; that way, you could catch a breather and he wouldn’t harm you anymore. It was what you wanted from the start anyways, right?”

A hard pill to swallow, though it was a fact. It’s just that now, you’re slowly willing to release yourself from the dark. It’s been decades, and more to come. Nothing can move on unless you do.

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

Just as she predicted right on the edge, Diana completed the grin on her face and led you to the entrance of your exhibit. She may be younger than you, but you’re reverted in your twenties while she remained in her mid-thirties. Gaping the wide museum from the railing, starting from the painting exhibit in the lobby to across the other side of the museum, Diana spotted the black hair of the boy in the Foreign Art Room.

“Over there.”

Observing where her eyes focused, you caught a glimpse of a recognizable side profile. The owner’s eyes were completely taken by whatever he was drawing on the fold-up desk he brought out from the storage room. By the tedious action of his right hand going up and down, you’ve gotten so used to his part-time identity as the night guard to entirely dismiss his current status as a university student.

Architecture specifically as he first introduced himself to you. The same path your oldest brother, Christopher, worked in. The look of tenacity Jeno presented as his eyebrows continuously scrunched, his crescent orbs hastily spied his work for any unnecessary details and his veiny hands brushed his already messy hair, you were profoundly reminded of Christopher when he was designing his possible future house. You were 8 years old, and he was 22, who just got married. He explained how many floors it’ll have, what rooms to put and what extra furniture he’ll place to make it feel more at home.

Seeing how exceptional his art skills were, you started to sketch like him. With flowers first, it turned into bedrooms and sceneries of your neighborhood. You felt your shoulders rise in accomplishment when you were able to accurately draw people. As much as you credited Benjamin and Liam the most in your works, it’ll only be within yourself to know that you also held a soft spot for Christopher.

Excusing yourself to Princess Diana, you bravely yet quietly ventured into the Foreign Art Room. Hiding first from one of the cement columns, you resumed watching him sketch. Instead of a pencil, he used a black pen with a tip as thin as a pencil. Your assumptions would be it was for a class, basing it on him informing everybody earlier that he’ll be inactive for the remaining hours of his shift to focus on his midterm requirements. That must be difficult to balance, yet he still does everything expected from him. Maybe the second cup of iced coffee beside him stimulated his bones and mind, letting his imagination free.

Through the limited space, you tiptoed whilst holding the side of the column to make up his work. There were 2 and a half rectangular shapes stacked on top of each other, the third one he was still tracing. A sign encrypted with tiny written words you couldn’t decipher, the beauty and modernity of Jeno’s plate cannot go unappreciated.

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

Sweet words you didn’t think would bounce back in the room, Jeno’s pace ceased whilst you hid again. Art pieces capable of walking weren’t allowed here, he locked the door even beforehand! Or he thought as he was rushing to get his work done because one of his terror professors moved up the deadline to tomorrow morning. Not even 25% finished, he petitioned for everyone’s cooperation just for tonight.

He used up his 2 days of not having the night shift for other projects, and not wanting to ruin his perfect attendance, he proceeded to show up.

The voices from the foreign paintings around him hushed for him out of respect. So possibly someone snuck in, his head looking around for intruders. But only did he quit it when he saw your blurry reflection leaning against the column. The glass windows slightly mirror back what it sees, without you knowing that.

Not to mention, the small bit of your lilac dress was left out. Of all people, it was you?

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) inside when she’s not allowed so?”

To break the killing tension, he tested the waves with an innocent taunt. Never did you reach out to him, so least to say he was entertained whilst keeping his distance.

Fixing your proud stance, you responded in a low baritone voice you used to persuade numerous men in her adventures. “Uhm no, I don’t know who she is.”

As intelligent as you were, Jeno was a few steps farther than you this time. Educated about the risky ways you’d get around and one of them was changing the pitch of your voice, he heartily laughed at your unsuccessful attempt.

“Okay don’t lie, (Y/N). I can see a trail of your dress and your cloak. Oh, your reflection too.”

Damn, you peeked a little to realize that he was correct. Hauling your dress back in to readjust your outfit, you pushed your hair back before appearing to him. Though when you did such, you didn’t suppose that he was practically beside you the entire time. Bumping into his towering stance of 5’10 while the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, your proud posture loosened up. He even discarded his blazer. A few more inches, he could’ve cornered you on the column if you didn’t take another step back.

Has he always been this tall or were you so used to your boots having high heels under? Oh wait, maybe because you wore flats this time because it’s making your toes sore. Your head bowed from struggling to maintain eye contact with him, your palms caressing your cheeks that suddenly heated up. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back again like nothing happened.

Jeno thought otherwise, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled. He’s never seen you get shy, not that it was a bad thing either. The temptation to play around it more was there, but he was running out of time for his assignment.

“Come in. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” His arms opened up, allowing you access to such a wonderful exhibit. Paintings from different European periods, miniature versions of famous infrastructures inside glass containers, and replicas of Greek columns in the front entrance, no wonder it’s important to protect them all.

“Are you sure?” Watching him return to his spot, which was a bench in the center of the exhibit with a table in front, it didn’t process that you were gawking at his toned back. His broad shoulders and the evident muscles in his arms while he stretched, your eyes were speedy to look away when he tried to take a glance at you.

“I don’t think the paintings here and I mind.” Sitting down again, he tapped the vacant space beside him. “Feel free to watch me draw if you want to.”

Settling by his side, he recommenced where he left off. Now with a closer view of his piece, it did look like a building as you thought. He was sketching the remaining outline of the 3rd floor of this hypothetical place, continuously checking his ruler to monitor if the lines were consistent. Able to pick up on the words of the sign beside the building, you wowed with one hand on your lips.

“You’re redrawing Seoul National University Museum of Art?”

“One of my plate assignments was to visualize a renovation of a certain place, so I chose the museum.”

“Why so?”

“Well,” Jeno shook his pen so the ink could come out. “This entire place comes to life with the royal plate, so I think we should expand the space and bring in more art pieces to life if we add another extra floor. A rooftop area for visitors and events would be fun. And definitely, we should modernize the exterior and interior a bit because it looks outdated personally. That’s also what my friends think too.”

Noticing the minor details of his plate whilst removing any unnecessary pens so it wouldn’t smudge, “Huh, I quite agree with you.”

For the first time since his night shift, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), came into an agreement with him. He became so accustomed to clashing opinions that now, you had no contrasting points to make at all. A good change perhaps was what he’s witnessing.

“Woah, who are you agreeing with me and where’s (Y/N)?” He creased his brows whilst locking eye contact with you. This time, you didn’t wince away and just nudged him on his shoulder to get back to work.

“Hush, Jeno. Isn’t that due later? Get to work, I’ll roam around here for the meantime.”

After decades in this museum, you’re enlightened with the foreign paintings in which some you’ve heard of in your younger years and some that were created beyond your time. The Birth of Venus, Liberty Leading the People, Girl with a Pearl Earring, there’s an advantage of learning about their stories that humans couldn’t interpret. Logical that this section must be off-limits because these pieces were extra special, yet there’s so much more than what meets the eye.

There’s peace in silence while you wandered around, though it doesn’t hinder only at the art. Jeno hasn’t uttered a word since he got back to drawing, and once you asked him what’s doing now, still no answer back. Odd, he’s constantly awa-

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

Your eyes laid on Jeno leaning forward on his desk with his arms serving as his pillow, resting his head sideways. Soft snores and minimal movement in his upper body to shake the growing cold temperature of the room, he was sleeping like a log.

Putting into perspective, he hasn’t acquired enough rest specifically this past 2 weeks. The endless number of plates due making him work extra during his shift rather than sleeping in the slightest, exhaustion must be an understatement. Coffee no longer pushed him to his maximum for this week even.

But this was the path he chose, and it’ll have its challenges. Still, if you could relieve the stress in any way, you would. This would be one of the ways to repay for all the rudeness you’ve passed on him. Scurrying to his side, placing the plate on the side with his other things. You returned the caps of his open pens so they don’t spill. They must be expensive, recalling how Jeno shared the cons of being an architecture major to Princess Diana. One was the pens needed for sketching, and any tiny damages to them meant buying them again.

With his watch on clear display, he only had 2 hours left until his shift was done. Then, 4 hours until his plate assignment was done, and his current plate was far from done.

The blunt impulse to wake him up slithered your mind, though his calm state deflected your duty. As if you were on board a ship again for your explorations, you paid attention to the view with a relaxed mindset.

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

His coffee-stained lips were parted and his sharp nose breathing in and out at a relaxing pace, he must be dreaming a happy moment the way half his lips curved into a smile. If he’s resting well, then you too would be calm.

Because of your past disinterest in him, only at this moment did you observe how sharp his jawline was and the cuts on his arms he sought refuge in. No matter how many times you tried to deny Hera’s compliments of him on the side, you couldn’t.

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

Back to his plate, it’ll put him at a disadvantage if he submitted the way it looked before he passed out. But you remembered all those extra details he mentioned and wanted to add to this project. Being an explorer, you documented all your ventures through words or drawings. You’re fast to adjust to anything new too.

For all the good he’s done for everyone, he only deserved some help in return.

Your version of help was sketching the remaining details of this plate, using other pens for more emphasis. It’s a risk also, but no way could you turn a blind eye on Jeno this time.

Around 5:30 am, Jeno’s eyes blinked open due to a brightening light from the outside. Stretching his limbs, he finds a velvet cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. But before he could question it, he pulled his arm in to see the time on his watch.

“Fuck!” He cursed, realizing that his so-called 10-minute snooze break aborted.

“Oh my, you’re awake!” From his frazzled state, there you were. So put together yet active, some strands of your hair falling down your face even with your hair up in a ponytail. “How was your sleep?”

This whole time he could’ve been woken up, yet you chose not to. You’re aware of his deadline, yet you let him rest entirely. He could’ve burst out in stress, yet he didn’t. You and he may have started on the wrong foot, yet it’s impossible of you to do such an evil thing. He’ll just have to tolerate the outcome later today.

“Refreshing. I really needed it.” Packing his things in his bag and closing the table, you trailed along as he exited with you. Locking up, he has 30 minutes left to accomplish the cleaning. A long good morning indeed.

But his worry of that vanished when you admitted that you had it all covered.

“Everyone helped out in cleaning, plus there are no damages made either.” From your hand, you returned one of his keys that was on his guard blazer. “I double-checked the Oriental Room and locked the doors again.”

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me, (Y/N)?” He questioned with confusion, wearing his blazer again and patting away any creases. He placed your cloak over you again like a true gentleman.

Without a word, you simply invited him to walk you back to your exhibit as parts of the sun began to rise. As you returned to your section, your fellow figures readying themselves to pose again,

“It’s my way to apologize for my very rude first impression and the succeeding moments after. I was too cooped up in my past that I was too afraid to let humans in again, night guards in particular.” You admitted, removing your cloak and placing behind your chair like always. “I’m so sorry, Jeno. Everyone was right about you and your kind heart.”

“About time.” Cleopatra’s sultry voice cut in, laying on her day bed.

Before you had the chance to flip off, Jeno mediated swiftly. With a gentle smile, “No worries about it. I’m just happy you’re okay, after all you’ve been through.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Absolutely.” With his free hand, he brought it out. No matter what kind of introductions, shaking one’s hand was the best way to start a friendship. “Good evening. I’m Lee Jeno, the new museum night guard.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), explorer and author.” Sighing at his humor, you still replied by shaking his hand. “And I believe you’re mistaken, Lee Jeno. It’s a good morning.”

Seconds after, you imitated your typical pose and smile. Only now, the latter was more genuine. Finally, a fresh start to end your agony.

Once the sun fully revealed itself, every figure including yourself froze back to sleep. Something Jeno wished to catch up on if it weren’t for his damn plate. He was so screwed, already contemplating his next steps if he does fail this class. The possibility of getting delayed in all aspects, he dreaded it already.

Heading back to his dorm, where both his roommates completely passed out from soju on the couch, he sat by his work desk and turned on his night lamp for more light since the sun wasn’t strong enough yet.

With another cup of coffee, he cracked the joints of his knuckles and laid out his pens. He had 2 hours left to submit this plate, and at most he should accomplish 50% of his initial plan. However, he didn’t anticipate such a gorgeous outcome when he brought out his plate.

Picture perfect of every detail he desired, even adding a rooftop area with that he’d love to have if ever the museum does go under renovation one day. Rather than setting the plate during the day, it was at night as the skies were dark and bright specks of yellow inside the building symbolized light.

So much for wasting coffee, he’ll just give it to Jaemin when he wakes up later. Below the final product, a note written in cursive was stuck on it.

 I knew you wanted to get this specific plate done, but you mustn’t compromise your sleep for it. It’s your inhumane professor’s fault!

To make up for my faults, I wanted to help you out. I paid extra attention to the details you spoke highly about, so I only hoped that I interpreted it correctly. It’s risky, but as someone who researched so much about me, would you be surprised that I did such a thing?

PS: Get back to sleep. I’m quite sure your desk is laid out the same way in the Foreign Art Room.

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

 Turning off his lamp, Jeno jumped the covers of his bed to continue his lost sleep. Without an ounce of care that he hasn’t changed into cleaner clothes, he’s relieved that he won’t flunk his class.

Most of all, he’s relieved that you’ve melted the ice in you and allowed kindness to come in. Jeno may never understand how hard that must’ve been for you, yet he raved you for it.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Surprise is an understatement when it comes to you.”

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 4: 404 File Not Found

by @dracusfyre

Over the next few weeks Bucky did start to get hints of Stark’s criminal operations, at least the ones that were easy to see: the illegal gambling dens, knockoff designer bags and sunglasses, the chop shops that picked up and moved every two weeks. This was the stuff that they already knew about, though, and so far Bucky hadn’t been able to directly link Stark to any of it. Learning that Stark had an accountant was the biggest break he’d had so far, but despite his best efforts he hadn’t gotten even the hint of a name. He was so lost in thought trying to figure out a way to get deeper into Stark’s organization that he didn’t even notice that KT had stopped walking until he was already several steps away.

“What’s up?” he asked and followed KT’s gaze to the park bench where someone was sleeping, an overflowing shopping cart pulled up next to them.

 “Stay here,” KT said, and went over to the bench. As Bucky watched, he squatted next to the bench. He must have said something because the person startled awake and sat up, scooting away from him. Now that the person was sitting up, Bucky could see that it was an older woman, gray hair waving in the wind. KT remained crouched, hands up, still talking. He was there long enough that Bucky looked around for a place to sit, but before he could find a seat KT handed her something and walked away.  KT had his phone out and was talking on it by the time he got back to where Bucky was waiting, so Bucky walked in silence until KT hung up.

“Who was that?” he asked as KT put his phone away, looking over his shoulder at where the old woman was pushing her cart somewhere else.

“Social worker,” KT answered. “Boss keeps one on retainer.”

“Retainer?”

“Yeah. She works for the city, but the Boss pays her extra to handle the cases he sends her way. Anna there,” he said, gesturing towards the old woman, “refused to go to the shelter so I told Ms. Walker to have someone come talk to her, see if they can get her some help.” Bucky managed to not roll his eyes, though he wanted to, but he must have made some kind of noise because KT looked up at him and said, “What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said, but KT put a hand on his arm and pulled him to a stop right there on the sidewalk.

“No, we’re going to talk about this. You’ve had an attitude whenever I talk about the Boss since you started, and I’m tired of it. Say what you want to say.”

“I just don’t get why you really believe all that stuff, about Tony Stark being in it for a little guy. ‘The mob boss with a heart of gold,’” Bucky said sarcastically. “I mean, a social worker? Really? Head start programs, scholarships, small business loans, the whole line about kicking out drug dealers - it’s all bullshit. He’s just got a hell of a PR team.”

“And there it is. I knew this was coming. You new guys are all the same.” KT gave him a scornful look. “Look, belief is for things that you don’t know are true, so no, I don’t believe all that stuff. I know it.” He took his jacket off and pulled up the sleeve on his left arm; the inside of his forearm and elbow were scarred with track marks. “My name wasn’t Kenton when I was born, it was Katie,” he said. “My parents let me stay until I was eighteen, then they kicked me out on my birthday. I spent two years on the streets, and I was one of the first people in that rehab center when it reopened. The sweet deal I mentioned that you get at the 90 day mark? It's a rent-controlled apartment and a job. With benefits, no less. Haven’t been back on the bullshit since, and now the Boss is paying for me to get a degree in social work.”

Bucky was stunned. “That’s insane,” he said as KT put his jacket back on. “I don’t…people aren’t like that in real life.”

“Yeah, that’s what they say,” KT said with a snort, and turned to keep walking. “But I think that assholes want you to think that everyone is an asshole deep down; that way you don’t get mad at them for being assholes. Because if people knew that there were good guys, like really good guys like the Boss, then no one would put up with the assholes anymore. You get me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said faintly. “It’s just…”

“I know. I had a hard time believing it, too. Kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, you know? Like, no one gives away this stuff for free. But then the Boss sat down with a bunch of us and explained the buy-in, and that’s what made me realize he was for real.”

“Is anyone ever going to explain what that means? The buy-in?”

“When you’re ready, the Boss will explain what it means.” As they walked, KT pointed out small things around the neighborhood that Bucky had noticed but not really paid much attention to: the walls covered with paint that Bucky had assumed was graffiti but was actually street art, commissioned from local high schoolers; sidewalks were power washed with no weeds in the cracks; the space between the sidewalk and the curb often had flowers rather than being a sad patch of dead dirt and litter. No broken windows, no broken street lights, playgrounds with new equipment. It wasn’t like it was suddenly a rich neighborhood, with boutique shops and craft breweries, but it was clean and safe and clearly cared for. Bucky went through the rest of the shift on autopilot, lost in thought.

That night, he couldn’t sleep for thinking about it, so finally he pulled out his computer. He hadn’t done demographic research like this since he’d studied sociology in college, but gradually the picture started to emerge. Census data, crime rates, education statistics, property values, employment rates – they all added up to a picture that was hard to argue with: there was a bubble of prosperity around the neighborhoods that Stark controlled, an effect that faded quickly beyond the de facto edge of his territory.

Bucky closed his laptop slowly and bit his lip.  Some of the stuff he’d seen, like helping out the local businesses and the sex workers, could be explained as being good business sense. But for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why a mob boss would care about high school graduation rates and early childhood education. He exhaled and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“A criminal philanthropist is still a criminal,” he said to his ceiling. “Right?”

                                                 ***

As the weather grew cooler, Bucky realized had been working for Stark long enough to have developed something of a routine; he worked with KT during the week, but occasionally swapped out for one of Stark’s other patsani when KT was needed for something else, then on his days off he made his way to the library to make his report to his handlers. Despite what Stark had said about him being a cop when they first met, Stark seemed willing to let him stay on the streets; Bucky figured maybe it had been a test or his idea of a joke. But the sheer normalcy of the routine meant that, despite his best efforts, he had started to relax and let down his guard. He realized just how relaxed he had gotten when he showed up to meet KT for their daily rounds and Happy was there instead, leaning against one of Stark’s cars; his mind raced over the past few days as he felt a pulse of panic that he had screwed up somehow and his cover was blown. “What’s up, Happy?” Bucky said, steps slowing as his blood ran cold.

“New gig tonight,” he said, holding a car door open for Bucky. “You’re going to be the Boss’s bodyguard.” Bucky let out a silent breath and his shoulders relaxed as the spike of fear was replaced by a quick thrill of excitement. This was the opportunity he'd been looking for.

He shrugged carelessly as he got in the car. “Anything I should know?”

“Boss will tell you what you need to know.”

Happy took him back to the garage where he’d met Stark the first time, only this time instead of the grungy mechanic, Stark looked like the Tony Stark, the capital M Mechanic that Bucky had expected to see then. He was wearing a tailored Tom Ford three piece suit, charcoal grey over a crimson collared shirt, and his jaw was clean shaven except for his trademark Van Dyke beard. He was talking to a Black man with a military bearing, but when he saw them come in he gave them a blinding smile that made Bucky’s heart skip a beat. While Bucky tried to process that unexpected development Tony pushed his glasses to the top of his head and studied Bucky with eyes that were sparkling with humor, like he'd just heard a joke he was eager to share.

“Hey, copper,” he said as Bucky approached. “New job for you. I’ve got a black tie event to go to and I need someone to watch my back, so you’re going to be my plus one.”

"Not a cop," Bucky said automatically, then he heard the rest of Stark's sentence. “Wait, plus one? I’m your date?” he said before he could stop himself.

That surprised a laugh out of Stark. The curl of his smile got sultry and intimate, and he stepped closer to Bucky, who could only stare and swallow thickly, frozen in place. “Do you want to be, Blue Eyes?” he murmured, and Bucky got goosebumps as his voice got deep and smooth. The humor in Stark's eyes turned into flicker of interest as the moment stretched like hot taffy and a denial failed to manifest. Bucky bit his lip as Stark swayed closer, and his breath stalled in his lungs Stark’s gaze flicked down to his mouth and then back up. This close, he could tell that Stark was a few inches shorter than him; if he tilted his head down and Stark tilted his head up, they could be-

“Tony,” Stark’s friend said quellingly, breaking the tension. “Stop teasing the poor man.”

Stark inhaled sharply, as if he’d forgotten they weren’t alone, and took a step back. The glasses came back down over his eyes, and by the time he turned to face his friend, the laughing smile was back in place. “You should have seen his face, Rhodey,” he said, hands in his pockets as he strolled away. “I’ve never seen a person’s brain blue screen so thoroughly before. No, Blue Eyes, you’re not my date, you’re my bodyguard.”

Bucky blew out a breath, feeling shaky for some reason, and rewound the conversation. “Black tie event, you said?” Bucky looked down at his outfit, jeans and a Henley shirt, with his old military issue boots and a jean jacket.

Tony tilted his head towards the back of the garage, not meeting his eyes. “I got your fancy duds in the bathroom back there. And a razor, though I dig the manly stubble.”

 “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Rhodey said as Blue Eyes closed the door to the bathroom to get changed.

“Of course,” Tony said, keeping his voice light despite the fact that his nerves were still vibrating like a plucked string. “First of all, it’s objectively hilarious and you know it. Second, photos from this event are going to be all over the internet and I don’t want you or Happy to get that kind of press.” He looked over to see that Rhodey was watching him skeptically. “What?”

“Don’t sleep with the undercover cop.”

“I won’t.”

“Uh huh.” Somehow Rhodey’s skeptical face got more skeptical. “I saw that moment. You guys had a moment.”

“I’m not going to sleep with the undercover cop,” Tony repeated dutifully, wishing Rhodey would drop it. Because there had been a moment, a breathtakingly arousing moment that had felt as fragile as spun glass and as powerful as a hurricane; at any other time with any other person Tony would have chased that moment, that feeling, but the reminder that Blue Eyes was a cop had soured it. Now Tony wished he had a drink to wash the taste of want from his mouth. “Is Happy bringing the car around?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

The pause before Rhodey answered made it clear that he knew what Tony was doing, but instead of calling him out on it he just said, “It’s already out front.”

After a few more minutes, Tony heard the doorknob to the bathroom turning and consciously plastered an easygoing look on his face as Blue Eyes came out. It was good that Tony had a legendary poker face, because seeing Blue Eyes in a fitted suit, clean-shaven with his slightly long hair brushed back from his face, would have broken a lesser bisexual. Shaving made him look ten years younger and drew attention to his full mouth, which was currently frowning in concentration as he tried to fasten his cufflinks one-handed. A rare sense of self-preservation kept Tony from offering to help; he stuffed his hands in his pockets against the urge to reach out and run his fingers along the sharp, smooth line of Blue Eyes’ jaw.

Rhodey must have seen something in Tony’s face or posture that gave away his thoughts, because he said, “Don’t sleep with-“

“Enough, Rhodey,” Tony said under his breath. “Ready, Blue Eyes?” he said more loudly, gesturing towards the door where Happy was waiting. Blue Eyes nodded and followed him, climbing into the front seat next to Happy while Tony sat in the back.

“So where are we going?” Blue Eyes asked, turning around in the seat to look at Tony.

The reminder immediately cheered Tony up. “The Policeman’s Ball,” he said with relish, and got to see Blue Eyes’ brain 404 error for the second time that night.

[smoochkooks]

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst 

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed. 

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

 May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

 Park Jimin

 Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

[reddie-fangirl24]

Rent for reddie

NOTE: This is 90′s Reddie

Support me on my Ko-Fi!

“The rent for this apartment should work the best. Of course, if you need the money I can always pitch in-”

“No, Richie, I am paying for this on my own!” Eddie cut Richie off, following giving his arm a pat. “I appreciate it, but I will be fine.”

Richie smiled, his mustache curling with his mouth. He touched him on the shoulder. “I still don’t see why we can’t just live together.”

Sighing because Richie asked him this question several times already, Eddie gently smiled at him. “I just think it’s best not to rush things. I mean, I am only downstairs, right?”

“Depends what you’re referring to by that term,” Richie smiled, joking. He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s frame. “I’ll just miss you is all.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I doubt that I will.”

“Meany!” Richie kissed his cheek.

“That’s so kindergarten!”

“It’s where we met!”

Laughing, Eddie fell silent as Richie began to straighten up the kitchen. In the beginning, when Eddie was recuperating from his injury, Richie made him help as a way to get his strength back. Eddie liked helping him. His mother always worried that something would fall off the counters and shatter accidentally cutting him. 

The more Richie studied Eddie sitting at the table, there was something that was not right. “Why no meatballs, Spaghetti-Man?” Richie asked him, wiping off a glass.

That was a translation for ‘What’s on your mind?’ Eddie stared into his cup of tea before looking up at his boyfriend. He could feel his heart pounding. “My mother called me today.”

“What? She called you?? What did she say?” Richie stumbled to sit down at the table. It had been almost five months since Richie asked for Eddie to move in with him. When his mother found out about their relationship, she disowned Eddie, telling him, in her words, that she was never going to speak to him again.

“She thinks that she was being too harsh in her decision,” Eddie explained to him.

“Yeah, and what else?” Richie asked, having no patience. 

“She told me that if I moved back in with her, she could help me.”

“Can you expand on the term ‘help?’”

“I didn’t care to ask her what she meant by that,” Eddie remarked, averting his gaze. Richie frowned when he saw that hurt look in his boyfriend’s eyes. He didn’t blame him. Their relationship still took some adjusting to. But, he liked it. This was the happiest he’d felt for some time. And Eddie could agree. 

Richie gave his hand a small squeeze, getting his attention. The moment Eddie looked at him his eyes sparkled, radiating love. He could never get enough of his eyes. 

“You don’t need her,” he whispered softly. 

Eddie frowned again. “She was still my mother.”

Not arguing with that, Richie collected him a tight hug. “Don’t worry, we’ll get through this together. Just you and me, Spaghetti-Man.”

[flowerthornsart]

Haven meets Sybil

A drabble that i ended up working on for the day, it ended up being longer than i thought it would (3493 words) but I’m super happy with the result!

CW for blood, body horror, and medical grossness

Applying for nursing jobs was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I wasn’t expecting to have a job right away, but with my rent, bills, and student loans cropping up, it’d be nice to get a higher paying job than door dash and Walmart. Sure, I was getting by, but it felt almost as though I had wasted those years studying. It was getting more and more disheartening with every email stating I wasn’t “quite what they were looking for”, if I even got an email or phone call back at all.

I was lying in bed, scrolling through social media, and trying not to let the weight of the last rejection email I had gotten suffocate me when a notification popped up.

 1 new email.

 I sat up a little, clicking on the notification and being taken to my inbox. I refreshed, and refreshed again, but nothing popped up. That’s when I noticed that there was a 1 next to the spam folder.

“Thank you for your application!” the title read, and I could feel my heart start to flutter with nervous excitement as I opened it up.

“Hello Miranda Havis, thank you for submitting your application. We here at Mending Collective have looked over your application and would love to interview you in person. Please give us a call at…”

I barely read the rest as I looked over the number, typing it into my phone and waiting with bated breath for an answer. After a long bout of ringing, it cut off suddenly.

“Mending Collective, Sybil speaking.”

The woman’s voice on the other end was low, in both volume and tone. It took me a second to speak up, nerves getting the best of me for a moment.

“Yes, this is Miranda Havis. I had gotten an email about the position?”

“Oh, Ms. Havis!” The voice sounded more sing song at that. “I’ve been waiting for your call; you’re wanting an interview, right? How about this, I have a client I’m going to meet tomorrow, so why don’t you come with me and show me just how good of an assistant you can be? It beats sitting in my office and asking a bunch of questions.”

“err…” I stammered, unsure what to think. This was in no way professional; I wasn’t sure how to react. “I could always meet you after, if you’re busy.”

“Well, if you’re there, you can show me how well you preform under pressure. If not, I can go alone and consider other applications.” She replied bluntly. “Meet me at the address listed on the email by 3:00 pm. If you come early with some coffee, that might warm me up to you more!” She cackled a bit at that. “Hope to see you then!”

Sybil hung up before I could even reply, and I was left stunned, mouth gaping. Did I really call the right number? I looked over the number listed again and again, even clicked through to the official site linked, only to be greeted with a very early 90s looking site. It had the same number, the address, and a little about the head and seemingly only doctor, Dr. Sybil. There was a picture of what looked to be an almost generic woman in a doctors’ uniform, face framed in grey hair and smiling a pearly white grin. The description of services was vague at best, things like “surgery, pharmaceuticals, and cleansing.” I sat back, eyebrows furrowed, and phone still clutched in my hand as the picture stared up at me. This couldn’t be real. To have a practice so small, to have such a strange doctor with an even stranger idea of an interview, it all seemed too crazy. But I did need the money, maybe Sybil was just getting started, as bizarre a start that would be.

I went through the rest of the day in a haze, flipping from going, or not going, or reasoning behind why someone would pull such an elaborate trick. Kidnapping? Murder? From sundown to sunup the next day, my mind was racing.

Yet I found myself getting dressed, and ready to go by 1:30. I wasn’t completely stupid, I texted a couple friends the address, a vague sense of what was going on, and what I was wearing to the ‘interview’. I didn’t tell them of the odd phone call, just that I felt safer letting them know where I was, since it was in the town over. I could tell they thought it was odd, but they assured me the interview would go well and to not be so nervous.

So, I drove, and picked up coffee on the way while I was at it. The office ended up being in a building consisting of different offices and clinics. If it wasn’t for her office being pushed into a back corner, the black out curtains covering the glass front along with the sign “by appointment only” being plastered on the door would have made it stick out like a sore thumb.

I shifted one of the coffees into the crook of my elbow and tapped twice on the door waiting for a response moment trying the door. It swung open, and the first thing I could smell was potpourri. Its strong scent in comparison to the slightly sterilized smell of the outside hallway made my nose itch, but I shook it off as I walked in. It wasn’t as dark as I thought it would be, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing as I took in the room.

There were shelves of books, jars, knickknacks that made the whole area look eclectic. There were only a couple chairs in this, what I could only assume to be a waiting room. The plush carpet seemed to hold on to the scent of the potpourri on a couple of the shelves, though there were some petals and plants in there that I just couldn’t identify. The door on the other side of the room had the plaque for Sybil’s practice, though it still only listed the name “Dr. Sybil”. No first name or indication that she had any other surnames. Before I could go to knock on that door, it swung open.

I wasn’t expecting the doctor to be so tall, or to look so different from the picture online.

If I had to guess, Dr. Sybil is easily 6’0”, give or take. Her skin is a pale grey, oddly shiny in the fluorescent light as though she was drenched in water. Her hair was a pale, almost grey purple, her wild hair tied in two loose pigtails on either side of her face. Though the first thing I noticed after her height was the scowl on her face.

She had many sharp teeth, too many for a human to have. Her yellow sclera made her white eyes even more piercing, before her expression changed to a strange crooked smile.

“Oh, look who showed up! Ms. Haven, right?”

“uhm, M…Ms. Havis, ma’am.”

“I didn’t expect you to actually bring coffee! I can already tell we’re going to get along great.” She took the coffee cup from the crook of my arm. As she spoke, I could see glints of even more teeth peeking from the sides of her lips. She took a long swig of the coffee before looking to me again. “Follow me, I’ve got what we’ll need for the house call, and I think I have an extra mask for you.”

“extra mask? Wait-!” I finally bring myself to speak. “Who are you? I mean, what are you? What kind of practice is this?”

Sybil stopped at the door, turning back to me before shaking her head.

“Ah, I forgot I pulled from some human candidates. I didn’t realize I pulled from ones that are unfamiliar with less… mainstream practices.” She turned fully to look at me, tilting her head.

“you already know my name, but as for what I am… well, best way I can put this…” she furrowed her brows for a moment. “You know what a vampire is right?” I nod, taking a step back. “Christ, calm down, if I wanted to bite you I would. I’m sort of something like that, but not in the traditional way. I don’t turn other creatures to vampires, I don’t burn in the sunlight, I’m more akin to a leech, I suppose.”

Sybil pulled her lip back, revealing what I thought I had seen: Her teeth seemed to circle her mouth, and there were a few more hiding behind the from teeth.

“I’ve been around humans for centuries, long enough to learn about you, the way you work, and what shouldn’t be there. Including more supernatural things. That’s what we’re dealing with today.” Sybil put her hand on the handle of the door, looking at me expectantly. “I may have pulled resumes from places other than my usual, I forgot that humans don’t always want to dabble in this sort of environment. If you don’t want to come with me, that’s fine, I don’t even mind if you tell people, because who would believe you? I will say I pay handsomely, but this is ultimately your choice.”

“Handsomely? How much would the payment be?” I blurted out. As unsettling as Sybil herself was, and the idea there was more out there like her, I did still have rent to pay. Sybil’s grin crept back onto her face as she chuckled.

“There’s not exactly co-pay for the visits I do, usually I get to keep the money for myself. But I don’t really need a lot of money, just enough for upkeep and I get my meals as payment from the client as well.” She must have seen the horrified look on my face because she waved me off. “Its nothing deadly, I promise. The most the client has after is a bite mark. My point is, I don’t mind doing a fifty-fifty split with you. These sort of jobs are high demand, there’s very few people who can do it, and my services can range from 3,000-5,000. So, half of that at least 3 times a week if not more.”

I opened my mouth to speak, before closing again. That sounded like an amazing opportunity, almost too good to be true. But if there was even a chance… I nodded before speaking again.

“I’d like to try and see how this first day goes.” I replied, and Sybil gave me a firm pat on the shoulder.

“Atta girl, you’re a brave one Ms. Haven! Let’s get going.”

             The ride there went without a hitch, Sybil asking small questions and I asking small questions in return. Ones like “how was your day? what was college like? Man, the weather outside is too hot isn’t it?” It was almost like I wasn’t sitting next to a vampire leech. It wasn’t long before we pulled up outside of a residential house, a cookie cutter house that looked like the ones surrounding it, save for the tacky flamingo lawn ornaments outside. Sybil reached into the backseat, pulling out a bird mask before fishing out what looked like a gas mask. She measured the band between her fingers, looking from it, to me, before handing it over.

“Here. It’s good practice to have your face covered, and for a human like you, its best for creatures like these to not be able to recognize you later.”

I was about to ask, but she put her mask on and opened the car door, and I just went along with it. It fit fairly smug over my mouth and nose, my eyes the only thing really visible. I followed tentatively behind after Sybil retrieved a bag from the trunk. She knocked on the door, and I could hear the sound of multiple locks being slid open before it opened. A face of a man peeked out from the door, looking the two of us over before opening the door completely. He looked to be in his 50s, haggard, his T shirt drenched in sweat down the collar and pits. I shoot a glance to Sybil before she clears her throat.

“Good evening, Mr. Paisley, I take it Mrs. Paisley still isn’t feeling well?” She asked, a lilt of concern in her voice.

“Feeling well? She’s torn up the whole basement, she looks like a fucking nightmare!” He snapped, a tremble in his voice. Sybil lifted a hand.

“Language, sir. That’s why me and my assistant are here. Did you mix the sleeping medicine into her food like we discussed?”

“Y…yes… she fell asleep twenty minutes ago. She actually looked peaceful, and…” He trailed off, swallowing the knot in his throat before continuing. “Please help her, Doctor. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Sybil nodded, walking past him as I followed after.

“So, what it sounds like is a possession, but not the usual demon kind. From what it sounds like, something implanted into her, maybe she ate something, on their last camping trip that’s been driving her to animalistic tendencies. My thoughts are that whatever it is, it’s using her like a skin suit. Its not too late to save her, though.” Sybil explained as we walked down the hallway, to the staircase that lead to the basement. She stopped, looking to me as I had very obviously paled at the thought. “Your job, quite simply, is to assist me in this surgery. Be alert: this is a live creature, and you’ll have me by your side. And this.”

She stepped down a couple steps, grabbing a baseball bat leaning on the stone wall and handing it to me. “your resume said you were quick on your feet, Ms. Haven, we’re putting that to the test.”

My stomach churned as I thought of turning back, but I felt I couldn’t just leave, not after entering this house. I followed after Sybil, closing the door behind me. The lights in the basement were dim, torn up cardboard boxes and the contents inside were strewn around the room, the stench of rotting meat mixed with the musty smell of the basement and made me gag. In the middle of the room was a woman, lying on her side. Red liquid was dried on her face, and her fingers looked caked in pieces of ground meat. Sybil pointed me to a knocked over ping pong table in the corner, and as quietly as I could I set it back upright. Sybil set the woman on the table, handing me plastic gloves, and putting on ones of her own. I swore I could see movement under the woman’s skin.

“Alright, lets start with the scalpel.”

For a bit, I was simply helping Sybil with tools, watching as blood pooled, cuts were cauterized, flesh was moved away, and her chest cavity revealed. Except, there wasn’t natural.

If you’ve never seen a teratoma before, it looks like a lump of flesh with teeth, eyes, but is ultimately benign. This, however, looked more like a large bone growth. I wouldn’t have thought it was alive if it didn’t have eyes that immediately snapped to me. It was nestled just below the ribs, the woman’s’ organs pushed out of the way enough to accommodate the boney mass as tendrils of flesh twisted into each other and were trailed out to keep it anchored in the body. It clicked and writhed in the light, making the woman’s skin undulate in different areas. I couldn’t see Sybils face, but I could hear a steely resolve in her voice.

“Be ready.” Is all she said, before grabbing the pair of forceps she had laying on the table and clamping it around the creature. There was a loud wail, muffled but still audible, as it tried desperately to get its hosts’ arms to move. One of its tendrils ripped through the skin of her forearm, bringing muscle with it before letting it fall back and shooting out at me on its own. It wrapped around the front of the gas mask with surprising force, pulling me forward and making me stumble nearly face first into the wound. I clawed at it as I started to coil around my neck, trying to get a grip on it but the mixture of blood and whatever other fluids it secreted made it hard to get any sort of hold. I looked to Sybil for help, but she was too busy dealing with the creature herself, fighting against a few of the tendrils as she pulled the creature with the forceps. As my vision started to get fuzzy, I spotted a scalpel on the table. I snatched it, using the last of my strength to plunge the blade into the creature. Another muffled shriek escaped the core as I stabbed, it pulled tighter around my neck until I sawed through the flesh, an off-white ooze bursting from the middle and smelling distinctly of sulfur and rotting flesh.

“Get the bat!” Sybil yelled, yanking the forceps back and falling flat on her back as the creature was pulled from the body with sickening pops and squelches. It wriggled, the full length of its tendrils finally on display, tall enough to easily pull away from Sybil. I could see now why the screeches were so muffled: teeth clattered on the top of its form, stained red from having been buried in the flesh surrounding it for so long. It attacked Sybil head on, ripping into her now held up arm to protect her face and mask. Quick as I could I wound up with the bat, smacking it hard enough to launch it across the room. The force of the hit and how hard it slammed into the wall caused it to crack open, grey brain matter oozing with that same off-white fluid pouring onto the floor. It twitched and gurgled, still trying to crawl towards us before the extent of its injuries finally caught up to it, curling into itself and going still.

“good work, Ms. Haven.” Sybil panted, a rivulet of blood staining her sleeve. “Take this jar and this solution, scoop some of that creature into the jar and whatever else is there, dissolve it in the solution. I’m going to fix Mrs. Paisley up.”

How she was so nonchalant about what just happened, I don’t know, but the rest of that procedure was a blur. I vaguely remember scooping the remains into the jar, tightening the lid, and cleaning up the excess. My body felt shaky with adrenaline, and I remember Sybil telling me to take the bag and jar to the car while she discussed payment with Mr. Paisley. I heard the front door open after what felt like hours, but what could have only been a few minutes, with Sybil walking out to the car while Mr. Paisley waved, looking relieved and less haggard than before. I couldn’t help but stare at the wound on his shoulder, ringed teeth marks threatening to bleed again until Sybil blocked my view by leaning on my door.

“Ms. Haven, hand me the gauze, I didn’t even realize I was bleeding until now.”

I nodded, reaching into the back, and grabbing the gauze, passing it through the window. She wrapped her arm as she walked to the driver’s side, sliding in, and tearing the gauze with her fingernails before tucking the excess in.

“M…my name is Ms. Havis.” Was the only thing I could think to blurt out.

“Oh. Do you mind if I call you Haven? It rolls off the tongue a little better.” She smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but notice the red tint. I nodded and sat back in my seat. “You did wonderful, by the way. You’re stronger than I thought! You handled it like a professional, so I guess college is good for something!” She laughed. “Listen, you’re going to see and deal with a lot of dangerous things working with me, but on the bright side, we got 4,000 for that arrangement. So, 2,000 in one day isn’t so bad, right?”

I nod, smiling a little up at her as she started the car, taking off her face mask. I pulled mine off as well, feeling how sore my throat was after that ordeal. It felt like that surgery should have taken the whole night, but it was only an hour and a half tops. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but it was just as exciting as it was frightening, and the money was great already.

“I think I would like to work with you again, Doctor.” I said, and Sybil cracked a genuine smile.

“I’d hope so! Let’s get some booze, and some food in you, and we can discuss if you want it in cash or not.”

An odd start, for sure, but I was starting to get used to strangeness already.

[onepdumpsterfire]

Summary: Usopp moves to the city after a year since his mom died in a way to feel closer to her. There he looks for a roommate and finds none other than Zoro himself. what fate has in store for them is left for a later date lol

Roommates

Usopp . Zoro

It’s been almost a year since my mom died. She’s been sick for a long time, so I knew this was coming for some time now.

Even so, knowing didn’t stop it from hurting just as much.

Since her funeral, all I’ve done is coop myself up in our house. I’d probably turn into a hermit if it weren’t for my neighbor, Kaya. She came around whenever she had the chance.

That was nice of her considering what she has been going through…

But the more she worried about me, the guiltier I felt.

I know that she can't help but take care of people. Hell, It's why she’s been studying pharmaceutics, but I also know she can do so much more with her life. She could be some big-city doctor or researching to cure cancer!

Wouldn’t that be so much cooler than being stuck in a no-name city, too small to even afford more than the one clinic it has?

In any event, that’s only one of the reasons why I’ve decided to move away for a while. I think some time out of this house would do me some good.

The city that I’m moving to isn’t all that big and a bit further than I’d like it to be, but that’s the point of moving, right?

One way or another, I chose this city because my mom fell in love with it. She used to tell me about how, when she was young, she used to travel all over! She’d seen it all. Every tourist attraction and big-name city, but there was something about this city that just took her breath away. She told me that this place managed to calm her need to be constantly moving. This is also where she got pregnant with me then later she moved back to where she was raised and had me.

As much as she loved it there, she wanted me to go out on my own and find a place that would ‘sate my most wild urges and fuel my deepest desires,’ as cheese-ly as she put it.

At first, I thought she was joking.

I thought that she only liked that place because it’s where she met dad… It’s also why I hated this city.

My father was a coward that ran away as soon as my mom got sick. Though, she never blamed him for it. I never got to as her why, though. Years later, I did ask her if I was right. That she only romanticized this place because she fell in love there. However, she told me that he was only part of the reason why she loved this city so much, and that if I didn’t believe her then I should go find the depth of this city for myself.

I debated with myself for the longest time. Whether this was the right choice, or if I was ready to set foot in the place I used to loath so much. But being here now, I feel so much smaller than I thought I was. I’m nowhere near the heart of the city, but the sheer enormity for this place makes it feel like it’s trying to swallow me whole.

Sure, back home we had a lot of open fields and the horizon was always noticeable, but here the buildings towered over everything. It felt like a tsunami that threatened impact but never collided. The horizon was replaced by millions of stars that fell from the sky and sat just out of reach so that if you got too close thy’d turn into someone else’s day. Someone’s life.

There are so many people here that It almost made it feel lonely. Being surrounded by so many lives yet being so far from them. A mirage in a desert, one could call it. It promises life, but the closer you get the more you realize you could never get close enough.

I guess I was too much of a coward to be as alone as I felt when I first stepped foot here, though, I’ll keep telling myself it’s because the apartments here are too pricey and I only managed to land a job as a gas station attendant. Nevertheless now I’m sitting on the first floor of a fully furnished two-bedroom apartment checking a roommate wanted ad I posted earlier this week.

So far there have been only two people who wanted to move around this area, but one ghosted me after a few messages and the other ended up creeping me out so much that I had to report his account! I just hope the last person that answered my ad isn’t as much of a weirdo as the previous two.

They seem to be a bit curt, but I shouldn’t get too picky. Rent for next month is gonna be due soon, and there is barely anyone who wants to live near this area as is!

I’m sure that they’re nicer in person! I shouldn’t worry. It’s just two days.

Two days.

-2 days later. Thursday 2:30 pm -

When I arrive at the coffee shop, I walk straight to the back of the line. It isn’t that long and I’ve got here thirty minutes early, so I should have time for a drink before they get here.

Should I get something for them too? No, that’d be weird, and it would probably get cold by the time they get here.

The person in front of the line leaves and we all step forward.

Shit.

Someone arrives and lines up behind me.

I didn’t ask for their name! I don’t even know if they’re a boy or a girl!

The next person leaves and we take another step forward.

Is it too late to ask? Would it be weird if I did?

Another step forward

What if they’re a girl? Would they feel uncomfortable living with a guy?

“-ir?”

I did put on the ad I was a dude though…

“-cuse me, sir?”

“Huh?” The barista’s voice brings me back to earth. “Oh, sorry!”

“It’s okay!” her chipper voice rung out, “could you repeat your order? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“O-oh, sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk out loud. I was lost in thought, I guess... haha ...” I looked up to their hanging menu, more so to look away from her than to figure out what I wanted.

After putting in my order I take a seat at the very back.

Ten minutes later my drink was ready and my anxiety was rising again.

What if they don’t come?

Five minutes later and I sent them a message to let them know I’m here.

Maybe I could’ve phrased it better?

That sounded weird…?

God, is that a typo?

five minutes later

They haven’t answered, but that’s okay! It’s only been five minutes. Can’t expect them to be by their phone 24/7 right?

I’ll play some games on my phone to distract myself. Yeah, that’ll be fine. It’s fine.

I take a big gulp from my drink

I downloaded that new game. My hopes aren’t high for it, though. I found it via a random Facebook ad. Hopefully, it’s not one of those scams that say 90% of people can’t pass level five, but it’s only ‘cus no one lasts long enough to get to level five.

Hmmm… it seems plays well. A bit of a lag but the graphics are awesome! The old-style, pixelated art and bright, neon, solid colors give it a very retro vibe. The ads between levels kind of ruin the experience, though.

Guess they gotta make money somehow, right?

I wonder if they’ll go away if I turn off my data and Wi-Fi.

I shouldn’t just in case the person I’m meeting tries to reach me.

Could be fine for a round or two, though, I’d anxiously suffer through all of it.

I shouldn’t just in-

A sudden scraping sound from the chair opposite of me jolts me from my hypnotic state. “Hey,” a green-haired man in front of me mutteres before taking the seat he pulled out.

Taking in his form as he makes himself comfortable, my mind begins to race. Green dyed hair with roots of black hair showing. Fitted, sleeveless Nike shirt and black basketball shorts paired with a white pair of sneakers.

Oh, god. What’s with the green hair? He looks super buffed. Am I about to be mugged? No, that’s stupid. He wouldn’t have sat- in a cafe, really?

I quickly glance down at my phone for the time.

Exactly 3. Is he super punctual? More than likely a fluke, but impressive nonetheless. What if he’s a perfectionist?

My thoughts continue to swarm around my head, buzzing in an insatiable mob until a humming silence washes over me. Like one of those box televisions from back in the day. Not broadcasting anything in particular, stuck on a blue screen, droning on in silence.

The sudden stillness in my thoughts came so abruptly that it almost gave me whiplash. That aside, I need to focus now and answer him.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t ask for your name-” I left my statement open so that he could fill in the blank“-Zoro”

“R-right, Zoro. My name’s Usopp,” I waved my hands like the gesticulation would somehow help my words form into a coherent sentence, “but you probably already knew that from my ad... Hah..” I gave a quick huff before pushing through my awkward inexperience with ‘interviews’. “I was thinking we could talk and get to know each other before I take you to see the apartment.”

“That’s fine by me,” Zoro relaxed further in his seat. “What do you wanna know?”

Right at home, ain’t he.

~Do you smoke? “No”

~Are you a messy person? “I don't have a lot of things other than clothes.”

Doesn't quite answer the question but ill take it.

~Do you have friends over often? “No”

~What do you do for a living? “I’m a bouncer at a bar near here.”

Explains the muscle.

~Can you pay rent on time? “Yes, actually I brought the first month’s with me. Your ad said that split cost between the both of us plus the utilities would be $487 right?” Zoro dug around his pocket before pulling out a folded wad of cash and handing it to me.

“U-uh yeah,” tentatively I reach over to take the money. “Yeah...” I doubt I can find someone else by the end of the month. Zoro’s my safest bet at getting a roommate before next rent's due. He doesn’t seem so bad, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.

...I guess this means there’s only one more question to ask.

“Do you wanna see the apartment?”

[knicole0527]

How Did I Fall For Unwritten History?

So I’m in a whole relationship right? Like a whole fat ass relationship. Like me plus her equals nobody else . Its kinda dope and kinda like coccaine . If she was a drug I’d take it . She grounds me . She makes love to my mind , heart , and then my body . Her way of words sometimes makes me feel stupid because she uses words I cant imagine using . My vocabulary aint that big . But ask me about math or science ? I’m definitely ya girl . She was my missing piece . If that makes any sense at all . We definitely have our rollercoasters but I’ll killl anyone over her and I stand on that . Best part its with who I chose and not who my parents chose or approved of. I actually dont care whether they approve of me or not. Mom didnt want kids anyways. As she put it, she likes “ a return to sender kid “ I know she used to joke about it but I later found it to be true. So at this point either you like my happiness or you dont. But anyways, So we met the first time at work, Afni Call Center to be exact. She was a bet. By bet I mean with green money with coworkers. So I bet that I would get smashed by this girl and they would each owe me 50 bucks. I mean who can turn down money. Plus she was kinda cute and I know she was watching my little booty when I would walk away . I was 80 pounds lighter when we first met .

But here lately things have gone to shit . I can admit I fucked up . Well in the beginning . I cheated . She found out . But I was honestly gone tell her everything but she found out I broke her heart all that and then some . Since I put all my business out there . Only reason why I cheated was because I wanted a kid . I wanted her for sure but I wanted a kid . As time passed us by I realized she doesn’t want kids at all . So I had to make a decision , kids or stick around for my one true love in my adult life . So I looked her in the face , I probably had tears In my eyes and told her I chose her . She looked at me with confusion for a little and I dont think she anted me to flat out give up kids. But I was gone doe what I had to do to keep her by my side .

Now before we get to me cheating . I had an apartment on Old Morgantown Road . I loved that damn space man . Hard wood flooring . Storage unit . I had a w/d hook up . I had a good apartment and I could afford it and be able to live my best life . Rent was 475 a month . Utilities and water ran me about 80 . So I was well within my budget . But my dumb ass got involved with this man who I thought I could change . I was trying to hear from nobody about nothing . I wasnt trying to hear that he was cheating because I felt like I gave him no reason to cheat . I was giving him everything and then some . Hell I let his stupid ass cousin stay on my couch . So they were living rent free right , I know stupid Kendra always doing dumb shit . I should have opened my eyes but I didn’t .

Well he and I are definitely no longer together . He got my little cousin pregnant . I dont know whats worse . That she knew he was still living with me . That she knew we was kin . That he knew we was still together , fucking and living together and I never ask for a dollar . Or that my bosses had to call me in the office with another one of my cousins and sit me down to tell and show me that he was cheating and she was pregnant . It even shocked me that she tried to question me about my niggas car . Like girl he and I live together so yes maam I’m gone drive his car . and she was in shock to see me in the drivers seat . huh . Aint that funny how it all played out though ? But you know , karma got took his dick for a minute . He got the worst news of his life . His heart was just as shattered as mine . His trust was screwed if not worse than mine . He found out that while he was too busy cheating on me , she was getting knocked down by his cousin . LMFAO SERIOUSLY . He did all that cheating and got that girl pregnant and ended up getting played himself . So while I was his woman , he had a side bitch who had a side nigga , but THE SIDE NIGGA HAD A SIDE BITCH . I hadnt had sex with him in a while because things started getting to me and I was becoming very suspicious so I was still going to get checked anyways . But yea . What a fckd up love hexagon . Crazy how we all worked together . But when I reached my snapping point . I became a little on the ratchet side and called his mom and told her come get her sons belongings because he was homeless again . My cousin didnt have her own spot so somebody had to come take care of him because by that time I was done pretending .

Shit got bad for me mentally . I had me fckd up . I lost my job and went broke because I drank and popped it away . I know definitely wasn’t the right thing but I just wanted to feel numb to everything . I didnt really care how I got high just as long as I as high I was okay and at peace .

Alot of time went by and my past came back . She made me feel safe . And she saw me ; like the actual me . She knew something was up . Hell I gained 50 pounds since the last time we seen each other . But when she came back . I dont know if I was more so excited to see her or trying to fuck her right there on the floor at work . I walked in the door and the moment I seen her ... I didnt care who I was talking to , I think Wanda , I’m sorry boo but I seen my old boo and just had to do it . I could not help myself I had to hug her before I did anything else . I had a little more weight on me too because during our last encounter , hmm hmm , I was a bit smaller and hadnt grown boobs yet . So when she seen me running 90 mph to her ; baby girl was in for a shock .

Time went by and we started seeing each other a little more outside of work . Then she started to spend the night . But when she started doing that , I think I made things a little complicated for her at her moms . I had no intentions of doing so but it kinda got weird because she wasnt coming home very much any more . But yall , when I had her all to myself . Do you know how many times I undressed this girl with my eyes . I mean she standing there fully clothed and I seen EVERY INCH of her thru them clothes . It was bad yall . lol . She kinda eventually sorda moved in ; even though I thought she had already moved in . Time went by and things were okay ya know . We were just in the “ talking “ phase and just filling each other out . She started to grow on me a little more than I planned . and then I wanna say it was my birthday or after ? Baby girl was so drunk . She , our mutual friend , and I went to go grab food and drinks . Weeellllllll , I trapped her into drinking and drinking and drinking . We got home ? and she drank and and got funnier as the night went on . I remember that day like it was yesterday and the videos I have are absolutely the funniest videos I have ever recorded . “ butt clouds “ and the car honk that about gave her a damn heart attack .

Anywho times have went on . We decided to go to hilltop and live there . Who would have thought we would live together because I was stern on not wanting to live with her . It was weird living there . Always wondering if or when we were going to get a roommate . Then ? Thats the first time I ever broke a heart . See , she was always wanting to like distinguish a title. Meanwhile I am petrified of titles and labels and shit . Plus I have labeled myself for so long I didnt want to put a label on she and I . So I waited and waited and waited and decided to test waters . By testing waters meaning , I caught baby fever BAD . LIKE BAD BAD . I wanted a kid so bad I didnt think about talking to her first , I was just hoping one day I could be like , surprise baby we are having a baby ; butttttt I was gonna tell her how I got pregnant IF if actually happened . But she kinda beat me to it . She seen the messages on her tablet and as you know it went to shit from there . I broke her heart . I wasnt sure if or when she would or could ever forgive me . ( its JAn232021 ) and I know she still hasn’t forgiven me for anything . Not sure if she will ever get past it enough to love me love me .

We made it official , May 2019. By that time the only things that mattered to me were building a life with her. Come August 2020 . We got a place together and as time went on, I knew something was wrong but I would rather ignore it than have to go to the doctor because that just aint my cup of tea. I hate doctors.. they always wanna diagnose people with shit. I just didn’t wanna be one of those people so I held out as long as I could before it got to the point of being unbearable . I lost yet another good job . At first they thought it was covid and it wasnt . I tested negative for covid . Then I had like 5 appointments that following week . I was put on all types of stuff . I was throwing up everything . I was crying non stop . I was doing things not in my normal regimen . Thats when things fell harder on her . Harder as in bills , and stress and everything . I became that burden . I became the thing in the relationship that puts everything on the line . I became the complete failure in the relationship .

I wasn’t able to help like I planned . in fact my checks were so small that every pay day because I had all my bills and people I owed money to on auto pay and I kept making promises, put me in the negatives . I was in the negatives for 3 to 4 months . So imagine being the one in the relationship who didnt feel welcome . Who didnt feel like I deserved the love and things like that . All I wanted to do was help out and I couldn’t . Made me want to pack up and wait until I knew she was gone so I could leave . I didn’t know what to do . But I knew I was pretty much of no use . I knew that she resented me . I knew it pushed things back so far it may never come back to normal .

But now , Im better than I was still struggling though .  But I have this amazing job . I have a job where I can do my part and not hurt . I have a job where I can finally help out now . But its not enough . I’m not enough . The love is not enough anymore . I have became disposable . I have become the one who broke and shattered her heart and trust in her adult love life . How do I come back from it ? How do I rescue something that may have already died ? Am I worth it ? Am I better off without ? Do I deserve her ? She deserves the world and I want to give it to her I do .

But idk , maybe my mom was right . just maybe the only things I’m good at are singing and laying on my back . Havent accomplished shit yet . Got banned from a job because I tried to put my hands on someone . Got fired from 3 good fucking jobs because of my health .

Im crashing at this point . My future is on edge . I am on edge . this is not cool dude . But I will play the hand I’m dealt . Maybe I will win and marry the woMAN of my dreams . Or maybe I will just fck it up once again . We Will See .

[movingfoward291]

I have Depression. It’s a slow eating disease that affects the mind that also brings about anxiety and restlessness. I struggle with anxiety almost on a daily basis. I wanted to bring about a new dawn in my life by writing my thoughts somewhere, where I hope that more and more people can gaze upon it and realize they are not the only ones going through the motions. The current pandemic and in light of certain situations has cause a large influx of people to realize this, or not and I want to share. The other reason I want to right these blogs is due to self-reflection and my recent toxic relationship with who I thought was the one for me. I guess we can start there and get his blog post going. 

 I was 17 when I met my baby mama. She was 17 as well, and she lived two towns over, and we were infatuated with each other. We constantly talked through text message and always hung out whenever we could. I didn’t have a good relationship with my parents and we constantly fought. Looking back at it, I don’t think I was looking for the right things. As a 17-year-old boy the only thing on your mind at that time, is to have sex. But I mixed two feelings, wanting sex and affection that I never received when I was in my own house. Things went by in our toxic relationship and low and behold we broke up a year after our son was born. That was when I started realizing that I started feeling more and more depressed. I was looking for once was a part of our relationship, I started wanting to be in another relationship and wanted to fix what happened. I started dating and seeing other people during a time when I should have been focusing on myself. I dropped out of school the year prior which meant I had more time to focus on the things that made me happy. Which for that time was video games, cars and women. It didn’t help me at all. I, then, met another girl that I started dating around that time. Let’s call her Del. 

Del and I met a year after my baby mama and I broke up. We met off of Tinder and it was mostly a bunch of flirting and sex talk. We met during that time while she was up here from SoCal for work. We met at a local hotel at the time, because, I was flat broke and didn’t have a place to stay and was living back at my parents. It was suppose to be a one night stand and we ended up staying the night together and seeing each other multiple times after that. We moved way to fast. She decided to stay up here after her job tried to send her back and moved into a room for rent. Shortly there after I was kicked out my house and started hanging out with my cousins and living in my car. I would go to her house for weeks on end, and stay in my car some nights. What I didn’t know, is that my anxiety started to show along with my depression. I never wanted to do anything for her. I would show affection but only when I wanted to. I started to vape heavily and constantly wanted to drink. Looking back on that relationship, I know now that it was toxic. I was using her for my own benefit to feel better about myself but the other thing that I never noticed was that I was in a relationship for one of the wrong reasons. I was looking to fix her.

           When Del and I broke up, it was a nasty. We had an argument the night before and we had been in each others faces. But the first indication that the relationship was bad and or worse was when I tried to salvage things. I wanted to go out and vape and cool off. She wouldn’t let me and told me if I was going to go out and do that, that she was done. And that was the first moment that I stood up for myself and stepped out. In my anxiety of leaving Del I was force by myself to come back asking for forgiveness just to stay in the comfort of being in my depression, and having a roof over my head. When I came back, she wouldn’t say anything and I later met her at the local mall for her to drop off all of my stuff into a tight little 90’s SUV.

           It was shortly after this that I had bump on my head. I’m the type of person that only changes when something happens that destroys me inside. About three months after we broke up, I started vaping more and drinking. This was mostly because of my depression and the fact that I didn’t know how to cope with myself. One day though my friend that I was super close with and helped me deal with a previous break up helped me get motivation to better myself. I found anime. When I was growing up, Dragonball Z was all the rage and kids from the school yard would always talk about. It was on in the evening right after school and it was amazing! For a kid that didn’t know how to express themselves by talking, watching a listening to people talk helped. This show taught me to deal with bullies in the only natural way: by fighting back. But that was 7-12 year old me that dealt with stuff like that. How is that beneficial for a man that is 26 years old and has a child. You can’t scream and yell all the time. It was much more than that a surface level. When I started watching the show again, I was realizing something that ignited a fire in my soul. Why do I keep attracting people that are overweight and unhappy with themselves or had really bad situations or home life. Why does everyone that I come into contact to likes me even though I’m not that hot. I’m over weight and always have been. Late one night, my cousin and my friend decided to call me up and ask me to

Head to the gym with them. That night lit a fire in my soul that made me focus on myself. I started working out. I pushed myself, I pushed myself to loose some weight and focusing on bodybuilding. I wanted to be like Arnold, and just be bigger. And then the Dragonball Super made my focus even grander. I wanted to go beyond myself to have a body like the guys on DragonBall, I grew into that fashion of getting up early and heading to the gym and getting bigger and pushing myself harder. And I was loving it. I was working at auto dealership and I was making better money than what I was the year before. I pushed myself to the maximum and made excellent gains as the bodybuilder call it. I felt better for once with my depression even though I was still dealing with a lot of that. I was dealing with a crappy home life situation with my extended family.

 Then once again, I was out on the street. I was depressed and turned to tinder for that dopamine affect. I need companion ship and didn’t have the friends that were around the time that would help. However, the gym took a back burner and was only used to shower every day which should have been my main source of a crutch. As a famous philosopher once said, Hindsight is 20/20. Once things at work started to ramp up, I caught a lot of overtime. I would push myself to stay at work till the late evenings clean and doing things to work on my car. I felt like I was getting nowhere. Then I met Danni who was another one of my ex-girlfriends. Now Danni was completely different than most of the girls that I date (or so I thought).

Let me tell you guys that my two other exes were okay but Danni was drop dead gorgeous. I was infatuated the first night her and I met on Tinder (wow tinder should be paying for this). She was funny and good listener, and everything that Del was not. And things went well the first night that we met. Shortly thereafter, there was something that was not right and popped a red flag. She was very independent which in my mind was cool, but she was very very independent. She didn’t want to ever hangout because of her schedule but for someone who was infatuated, she didn’t want to spend time with someone that gave her the time of day. Which someone for me was something that I like to do. I want to get to know people and for me that level of attachment is a turn off for people. But for me I pushed those thoughts down and continued our relationship. That was the turn point again. We thankfully didn’t live together, and this was probably the shortest relationship in this entire story. But this had the biggest impact, I didn’t want another girlfriend that was like her. We dated, she needed space, and then wanted to date. She was very indecisive and didn’t want the same thing as me, and that she said things I felt were to make me happy.

 We broke things off in August of 2018 and that was final straw that broke the camels back. I stopped going the gym and felt on hard times. I got a new car and wanted to slam that thing into a pole. Things were bad and I felt like there was nothing that could make things. Then my most recent ex came into the picture. For once this was someone that was local, and that was amazing. I was homeless still and this was the perfect opportunity to move in and get on the rent that was already made. This time, however, I fell in love for the wrong reasons. But this time it took forever to realize what was wrong this time. I gained more insight on the relationship. She was very head strong but terrible with money, she was bad with doing things such as working out for herself. She always started a workout plan that would end with in her running to fast food. She would go back to being mopey and sitting around. Then things were made worse once the pandemic hit. I gained weight and had my anxiety and depression get worse. I didn’t see a way out. 8 months into 2020, she thought our relationship was toxic and choose herself and I think in my own mind, I knew we were done way before 2020 started. She wasn’t good enough to be around my son and I force myself into a relationship and caused it me more heartbreak. But this is where my epiphany started to happen. When we broke up, I didn’t cry. I didn’t get angry or do anything that would cause me to be toxic. Something in me that I haven’t felt since pre 2020 that would happen. I started school and focused on that for once. I pushed myself for one week to start running. I pushed myself to finish my runs every day. And this fire pushed me to realized that my hinderance with people is not with the people themselves. Its my own fault that I keep getting into relationships that do not work for me. I get into relationships where I find a person that seems broken and attract towards them. They aren’t relationships but me trying to fix things. That, couple with my depression lash outs and anxiety, make a tornado of shit that doesn’t work for anyone. And I think there is a correlation between me and my body type attracting people who are lazy and don’t want to work on themselves. But once again, I need to find myself and learn to love my self too. Dealing with depression and anxiety has caused me to learn that things in myself needs to change. Not only in my mind but physically. There are things that needs to be worked on and things that are coming in the following weeks related to thing as I’m still living with my ex that correlated with me. I hope that someone realizes that their situations differ, but we suffer from the same, disease and have to handle things in a different way.

Anyways guys take care and be safe. Treat each other well. Even though things are bad right now, things could be worse. Way worse. 

[mysmestuff]

Ice Cream Delight: Part IV

 A/N:  yes ik I haven’t been active rip really sorry, I stopped going on tumblr and kinda forgot abt it but HERE I AM AGAIN ples enjoy c:

You blended in with the crowd of people boarding the ship, casually bumping into someone, slipping something into their pocket quickly and raising your hands up, apologizing when they turned around. After that, you sneak into the other crowd who were disembarking the ship, successfully completing your plan. You stop by a stand, then headed towards Saeyoung’s car.

Once you got in the car, Saeran was basically fretting over you, mostly with his eyes. You could feel his gaze asking multiple times, “Are you okay? are you alright? did anything happen?” Before he could even say anything, you handed him a blue -almost mint- cotton candy answering his unspoken questions, “Yes, Saeran, I’m perfectly fine, it went smoothly, were you underestimating me?”

While you gave Saeyoung a pink cotton candy, Saeran replied, “No, It’s a fact that you’re obviously a pro, but worrying isn’t logical, it’s emotional.” You raised an eyebrow, “That is true..” 

Saeyoung suddenly took the blue cotton candy out of Saeran’s hands and replaced it with the pink one. “Hey! I gave that to Saeran for a reason! It’s the better flavor!” You narrowed your eyes at Saeyoung while he nervously smiles, “It’s for personal reasons sorry.. Trust me, the pink is better for Saeran. Also, original always wins. PINK VANILLA ALL THE WAY!!” 

You gasped as if you were offended, “Saeran, isn’t raspberry blue the champion?? Back me up on this.” 

Saeran replied after chewing a piece of the cotton candy, “Sorry but I do agree with her, raspberry blue is better, hyung. On to more important matters, were you able to get rid of the card?” 

You nodded your head as Saeyoung started the car after devouring the cotton candy, “Yep, but now I have to find some sort of job for money since I got rid of the card, but it shouldn’t involve my skills because then I’ll be found easily.”

Saeran looked puzzled, “Weren’t you planning on just working with me?”

“Huh? But I might be found out..”

“You can work with me, but not signing up to work for the agency or anything. Just help with the work I get.” 

Suddenly, the car halted to a stop and you saw that Saeyoung parked the car on the side of the road with the emergency lights turned on, “Woah woah, she’s working with me. You need that money to help pay for my babies.” 

“Why should I?” Saeran scoffs, “Only time I’m ever ‘using’ *air quotes* your so-called babies, is when I’m a passenger.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sibling banter, drawing their attention to you.

Saeran then turns back to Saeyoung, remembering the reason for their banter, “Anyway, she’ll be working with me because I said so. My jobs are more harder and long-term so deadlines aren’t stressful. You take up a lot of normal short-term jobs and tend to pile them up to get money faster. I don’t wanna stress her out.”

You had no complaints but still had questions so you coughed to grab their attention again, “Okay, I’m fine with that, I prefer difficult work and challenges than easy stuff, but why can’t I just have my own work by joining the agen-”

The brothers simultaneously yelled, “No way!”

You held up your hands, taken aback by their response, “Okay? Um, why not?”

Saeran and Saeyoung looked at each other then at you, “It’s not worth it.”

You guessed it was because of certain agency requirements as many of them tried to recruit you before, so you just shrugged, “Alright. Then, how do you suppose I earn the money?”

Saeran explains, “I know you’re better than me so I’m going to leave most of the work to you. I don’t really need to earn money-” Saeyoung huffs loudly, “-but I’ll help here and there at first so you can get used to the procedures and expectations. We’ll split it 70-30 but later on it might be 90-10 when you get used to everything.”

You raised an eyebrow, “I’m basically taking your job then, Why keep working when you don’t even want to anymore?”

“It isn’t that simple to leave.. especially for this agency,” Saeran sighed.

You understood the gist of it so you decided not to pry, “Mmkay. I’m fine with the under the table method, makes it more rebellious,” you joked, earning a laugh from Saeyoung and a slight smile from Saeran. Saeyoung started the car again, heading to your townhouse.

Saeran quickly caught your attention, “Oh yeah! When is your rent due?”

You were surprised he remembered, “Uh, next week actually,” you saw Saeran nod his head before adding, “But the lady is really nice, so I can stay for a month more if I have to.”

Saeyoung stopped the car announcing, “We’re heereee~” You were about to open the door but Saeran grabbed your arm, “Why not live with us?”

You were beyond shock and your reaction was voiced out by his brother, “WHAT?! I have no problem with it since I ship you guys, but where the hell is she gonna stay? People need their privacy you know, it wouldn’t be healthy if she stays with you in your room.”

Saeran rolls his eyes at his brother’s scolding before saying, “I know that you idiot. I’ll clean out that guest room and stay there while she takes my room.”

Saeyoung widened his eyes, “The room that was basically turned into a storage room? With an insane amount of stuff? You know how long that’s going to take for you to clean? Lil bro, it’s going to take decades-”

Saeran hushes him through his glare.

You frowned, “Saeran, I don’t want you to bother and go through all that. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

You smiled but heard him mutter, “Well, I wouldn’t be.”

You blinked, believing you heard wrong, “Wait, what?”

You felt your face heat up when Saeran boldly says, “I’ll never be fine unless you’re right next to me. I can’t help but worry about something happening to you, especially since Mint Eye still exists.”

You tried to assure him, “I’m not that far though, I’m a drive away.”

Saeran stares at his hands that were on his lap after letting go of your arm, mumbling, “It’s not the same..”

You were slightly confused Iamconfusion until Saeyoung yells out, “I think what he meant to say was! He loves you too much to leave you by yourself.”

You and Saeran looked at each other, and you decided that it was only right that you should take the courage to express yourself like Saeran, “Oh.. Well, same here, I’ll take you up on that offer then! I feel really safe when I’m with Saeran,” you scrambled out of the car, followed by a squeal, “The ship is sailing!!!” And then a cry of pain after you entered the front door, “OW! What was that for? I helped you!”

You plop yourself down on the couch and the rev of an engine indicated that the twins left. “You know, I really think bewitching someone should be listed under your many talents,” he smirked at you from the couch across.

You scoff, “Bewitching?” and stare at him, “How can you be so sure I already have him hooked? Once you think everything is going your way, that is the exact moment it doesn’t.”

Smiling, he looks back at you, “Because, sweetheart, if you don’t have him bewitched, that would be a problem,” he pauses, “Hmm, a problem for your sister that is.”

“It’s only been 6 months,” your voice hardens, “The results you’re after is going to take time. Much more time.”

“I’m well aware, babe,” he rests his chin on his hand, “I just want to remind you of your mission, you wouldn’t want another cleansing, right?”

Clenching your fists, you grit out, “I’ll be living with them soon, so I can’t contact anyone-”

“I know, but if you think I still can’t keep an eye on you, you’re mistaken,” he grins, “If you even think of betraying us and crying to them for help.. Well, you already know what’ll happen. Oh, and great job on the delivery on the ship, it not only took care of something but also helped you into making them believe you can’t pay anymore.” You just huffed in response, the “side mission” not fazing you at all.

Without saying anything more, he gets up to leave.

You stare at the palms of your hands and sigh, “He’s still affected by it.”

Anon stops and raises his brow in question.

You hesitated, but why were you hesitating? You don’t care about these boys. You’re doing this for one person, and one person only. Keeping that in mind, you spit out, “The elixir. Even though it might not be the exact color, colors that might be related to mint, like blues.. He avoids it. I-” you clench your fists again, “I do the same, so I would know. It’ll be easy to have him under control again. Just give me time.”

Anon, obviously delighted, walks over and pats your head, “How lucky for you! But I’ve been wondering..” He hums, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked about the significance of those boys especially with your ever-so-caring heart.”

Honestly? You never felt great about deceiving others, but you don’t have the luxury to worry about that. All you need to strive for is the protection of your sister. You look up to meet his gaze, chanting, “Do as you’re told, don’t ask meaningless questions-”

“-and paradise will welcome you,” Anon finishes it along with you, grins like a madman, and pats your head one more time.

“Have fun! MC and I will be waiting,” the door clicks as he leaves.

[xylune]

HAHAHA x infinity:

The crazed bitch I escaped from in Oregon is now apparently telling people I left because I couldn’t get down her pants!?!?

Oh. My.

Never mind the fact that I was giving them 90 percent of my income, they were using my car without paying any of the insurance or basic maintenance, she treated me like a slave, her dogs constantly ate my cat’s food (seriously, my poor cat lost weight at an unhealthy rate because her their three spoiled mutts stole her food unless I stood over it like a gargoyle), she blatantly told me she was looking for a “sister wife” while her husband constantly made passes at me and talked about WHEN—not IF—he and I had sex and groped me a few times without even CONSIDERING asking consent, not to mention that fat fucking human manatee of their son that did absolutely nothing except eat, sleep, play video games, steal food and expect everyone else to clean up after him...

*takes a breath*

But no, she thinks I packed my shit and skated out of there because I wanted to get into her big Karen redneck bipolar panties, somehow.

Let me assure you folks, I have higher standards than that. One kiss on the cheek during Mardi Gras does not equal “hey I want to sleep with you.”

What actually hammered the final nail in that coffin of a toxic living situation for me was when they came home after driving my fucking car all over town again and left trash in it. I politely asked that they not make a mess of my car when using it and she started screaming at me, threatening me and told me to start looking for another place when I got paid again.

I didn’t bother waiting that long. When someone threatens to bash my teeth in, calls me selfish for wanting access to my own belongings, expects me to sleep on the floor, cook and clean for them, give them my car, starve my cat, give over most of my income and apparently sleep with their husband, it’s a pretty obvious sign they consider me subhuman and will be my final downfall.

I started grabbing everything I could while the three of them were out getting treats with their friend. I had already enrolled for summer classes at the local community college. I dropped all of them and started packing my belongings into my car.

They came back while I was doing this, and as soon as cray woman realized I was really leaving, she started in with the threats and yelling. At one point as I was taking more of my things out the door, she challenged me with: “You could have stayed and taken advantage of the opportunity we tried to give you.”

Classic abuser move: when threats fail, play on guilt.

I looked her in the eye and flatly replied: “I think you’ve abused me enough.”

Oh, that really pissed her off.

“Oh sure, it’s all about YOU!”

Well yes. In that instant, it really was all about me and how I would rather become a homeless vagrant than their house slave and a fuck hole for her emotionally neglected husband—who by the way was now in the beginning stages of heart failure thanks to years of being worked to death by her and her lazy piece of shit entitled son. Like I was going to stick around and be their next victim.

So I did my best to keep calm and avoid the physical confrontation she was clearly trying to instigate. Kept packing, noticed they had locked both storage sheds so I couldn’t get to the rest of my things, and got me and my cat the fuck out of there.

I could have and probably should have called the police so that I could safely get everything. She tried to take my copy of the house key before I was done, and I told her she would get it after I had everything loaded into my car. No way was I going to risk being locked out until I had my kitty.

I made a judgment call. I had a little over three hundred dollars in my bank account; which I almost didn’t have because I had intended to give them half of it before shit hit the fan. Glad I listened to my instincts in that respect and waited. Part of me saw this coming. I ignored my gut about calling the police because I know what a conniving and evil cunt this person can be and decided it would only hinder things. She was looking for a reason to call the cops on me and She knows how to play the victim.

Got out a little after 10:30pm and hit the road. I had no phone reception for a while due to being in the mountains and was driving in the dark on an endless, lightless winding road with no gas stations in sight. Thank Odin I gassed up before leaving town because I think I really would have run out of fuel before finding a place to stop, otherwise. My cat was so traumatized from all the screaming and hasty exit that she got sick on our way out.

So we (kitty and me) drove all the way from Klamath Falls Oregon to Louisiana in two days. I drove nearly 20 hours on the first stretch because I was so desperate to put as much distance between me and those lunatics as possible. Slept in the car at a rest stop the first night, then a truck stop in Texas the second night. Some friends put us up at a hotel for a few days of rest when we made it to Louisiana, and now I’m figuring out my next move.

Oh, and the crazy bitch also tried to use extortion on me after I gave her the key. Forgot to mention that. Didn’t matter that I had given her most of my money; she wanted more. She asked when she could expect a check from me, and I told her I had already given all I could. The deal of them getting most of my income only pertained to while I was living with them, which was clearly no longer the arrangement. She threatened to sue me if I didn’t send more money, presumably for the added moving cost of bringing me with them.

I wished her luck with that. Considering I paid more than my share of rent, did hard labor for them, let them use my car for free and they kept half my shit locked up so I couldn’t get to it, I think I have a better chance of suing THEM. Not to mention sexual harassment and emotional trauma.

So there’s the story of what happened in Oregon and why I’m now even more manic depressive than ever. Finding out through a mutual friend that this bitch is telling people I used them and left because I wanted to sleep with her just cements my conclusion that she is completely delusional and fucking insane.

Oh and apparently I stole her diabetic pressure stockings too. Yeah. Like, why? Where would I even hide them with no privacy or access to my things? Up my ass?

It just keeps getting better. I really may write a book about this. I’ll call it “To Hell With Dignity”.

[ivyveil]

Have Yourself a Harry Christmas Part 1

the one where Harry and Y/N don't talk but do, and there's nail polish

A/N: This was my most popular series and I’ve decided to re-upload it! :) Check here for the masterlist.

He was sat out front, on one of the plastic-y black chairs with handles that rounded on the sides. 

His arms were resting against those, his back slouched as he looked at his phone. His right foot bounced as he waited. A newsboy cap covered the majority of his curls, only a sparse few peeking out, and Y/N could see the ends of his sunglasses over his ears. He looked completely ordinary -- another boy waiting outside a coffee shop for his friend, dimples poking against his cheeks as he smiled at something on his phone.

He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves ending at his elbow, which did little to hide the cluster of tattoos running along his forearm. He had gone with normal jeans this time, foregoing the skinny style (Y/N had texted him for a proper month with articles expressing health concerns for men who wore too tight a fit) with his pair of Vans. Overall, a normal dude enjoying life, it seemed, yet Y/N wondered how no one had stopped by the glow that almost surrounded him, or if they were simply pretending not to see.

The streets were humming with the general commotion of a Saturday morning in LA. Tourists gathered around various street corners that had been captured by cameras so long ago, and business-people, flustered as ever, passed them in the nooks and crannies of empty space. No one took notice that one of the most famous people at that time sat a few feet away, with no security detail or even a remote attempt at hiding himself.

And Harry was looking equally as unimpressed with the situation as the pedestrians were, that he was Harry motherfucking Styles in front of local business Myrtle’s Coffee. Not that Harry ever found himself to be a big deal (when he wasn’t on stage soaking up praise, anyway) but it was still a smidge unnerving for Y/N to see him in person.

The majority of their friendship had been formed over text and phone call. So, when Y/N saw Harry, it was via fan photos, pap shots, or the occasional blurry FaceTime, as he donned a green face mask and black nose strip. Seeing him in person made her stop in her tracks for a second, reminding herself that this was Harry, not Harry Styles, but one of her best friends, and that was all. He could be both, surely, but the Harry Styles title held more expectation than the ordinary man could provide daily, so it was important to Y/N that she not get swept away by his celebrity status.

Harry had told Y/N that he thought disguises made everything more obvious, like he was shrouded with a layer of suspicion in addition to the heavy-set jumper/coat/sunglasses/hat combination. That if he were to stroll up in street clothing, and make no apologies for his fame, everything still had the potential of being calm. She had agreed, especially since the LA population rarely had their attention held by anything that seemed ordinary. Even the tourists’ eyes didn’t stop over him, they skimmed by as they walked back towards their bus.

She broke out in a warm smile as she walked closer, her hand reaching out to steady her purse from thumping against her side, because he was really here and he was dressed comfortably, which also meant he was Harry now and not the Harry Styles that he had become out on stage, all sparkly and shiny.

In the back of her mind, Y/N could recall the night in his kitchen, all that time ago, when Harry had explained his take on himself. His eyes had been so unsure, looking back at her as if worried he had rambled too much, and the awkward hesitation between them was very much prevalent back then, before it had the chance to grow into such a great friendship. It was only now that Y/N could appreciate how honest Harry had been from the start, understanding now that he typically wasn’t so open to a stranger. It just made the night more meaningful to her, in retrospect.

They had come so far since then, pushing past awkward silences to realizing that they could both work together like that, with quiet lulls in-between stupid jokes and deep conversation. Sure, their friendship had almost veered off into dangerous territory, but they had rightened themselves out.

After her movie night, when Harry hadn’t responded to her text and Nick plotted to set Harry up with Marie, Y/N had felt that horrendous seed of regret take root in the pit of her stomach. Like she had done something wrong, like she had lost a dear friend and everything had become awkward and ugly. Exhaustion had taken her away from staring at her phone screen, and the next morning didn’t feel any better.

Thankfully, things did improve eventually. That following night, Harry texted Y/N the name of the wine, with a “sorry love, got distracted. Have fun getting drunk off $90 wine” and she had sent back a “fuck off, that’s way too much” text, and just like that, everything was fine. They spent the next few weeks hanging out as friends, getting to know one another in the setting of clubs, more movie nights, and various other outings.

She had heard, via Nick, that Harry thought Marie was really cute, and had promised that he would take her out on a date soon. Y/N had been a bit heartbroken, held onto her sorrow for a few days, before accepting that she had simply let her feelings attach themselves to an imaginary moment. Which was fine, and over time, she was able to view the situation realistically and move on. Harry was a charming guy, and their personalities clicked well, but they hadn’t known each other well enough for her to dive into puppy-love.

The memories faded and then Spencer came into Y/N’s life. It soon became easier than ever to forget how gentle Harry’s lips were, how good he smelled, how his eyes would darken a shade and a half after he broke away from a kiss, etc. With Spencer in the picture, things were easier when it came to Harry. Especially since Y/N genuinely liked Spencer, really was into him. And in the giddy haze of Spencer’s rumbling laugh and his one-dimple, she soon let go of the fantasy that had been Harry Styles.

Spencer didn’t mind that Y/N was going to see Harry in public that morning, even acknowledged that there was a chance his girlfriend would be papped with another man, and that rumors would generate. He understood that Y/N was best friends with Nick, and that came with the opportunity to meet a lot of celebrities. Spencer just thought that was cool, and the conversation had ended there. A breath of relief for Y/N, since she hated the look of jealousy on people, and wouldn’t give up a friendship for anyone, even a boyfriend.

Spencer had just asked Y/N to try and get Justin Timberlake’s autograph if they crossed paths, which she swore she would. He had waved her off that morning from his perch on the couch, with a muffled, “Tell Haz I liked the fruit song, it’s a vibe” as he continued munching on his cereal.

There was nothing complicated about Spencer, everything was clear and he said pretty much exactly what he felt. That sense of clarity had made the decision to say yes when he asked her out, and of course when he asked if they could be official, so easy for Y/N. She hadn’t realized people could be so straight forward, it was really something else.

“Hey, stranger,” Y/N slid into the chair next to Harry, walking around his shoulder as she spoke. Harry first turned to the right, before whipping around to look to the left, before realizing it was her. He seemed a bit startled, but he broke out into a large smile, turning off his phone and shifting up to slide it into his back pocket.

Harry leaned over to give her a one-armed hug, mumbling an “Almost gave me a heart attack, love” to which she laughed against his neck, hugging him back before settling down into the seat.

They took a few seconds to look at each other, perhaps equally acknowledging that it was a bit weird to see each other in person, that they were usually only hearing the other’s voice or reading texts, not noticing the freckles scattered on the other’s skin, or how their eyes had a fleck of gold in them. Smiles lingered on their lips, small laughs bubbling up the longer the silence lasted, but neither of them could move to speak.

“Did you order yet?” she finally asked, gesturing with a vague hand towards the coffee shop’s door, and Harry shook his head.

“Didn’t want to order yeh the wrong thing. Is it still dark roast, two sugars?” and a hint of a smirk grew on his lips, as if he weren’t sure that Y/N would remember what he was alluding to.

She did, though, scrunching up her face at Harry in disapproval as she stood up from her seat. He followed, his smirk growing wider as he slipped past her to hold open the front door.

Harry had a long history of buying every meal that he, Nick, and Y/N had together. It was meant neither romantically nor as a flashy show of his generosity, but had started when Harry invited the pair to a new restaurant in the area. It had been a very nice place, the type with a dress code and someone outside to check people’s dress, and so Y/N wasn’t entirely sure why she was surprised, but the prices almost made her cry.

“A House Salad, for $32?” she had whisper-stressed to Nick over the side of the small menu, when Harry had gone to the restroom. Nick took a double-take at the list as well, his mouth gaping with similar disbelief, before leaning forward to quickly find the nearest exit. The pair of them had dashed plenty of times on other friends, when the LA crowd got to be too bougie for even Nicholas, but this time was unfortunately not one of those. Harry was already on his way back, so the two of them decided to stay. Maybe not pay their rent for the month, but stay.

Somehow, Nick had alerted Harry to their concerns. Y/N wasn’t sure entirely how, but when Harry casually began to explain that the dinner would be his treat, Nick was suddenly focused purely on his nail-beds, missing Y/N’s questioning glance over.

Y/N had her suspicions confirmed later that week, when Harry offered to pay for her overly-priced coffee and she snapped, asking him if he was trying to get punched. It had been quite out of the blue, if Harry’s shocked face was anything to go by, and his stutter of, “Uh, no? I-I-I just thought tha-it would be nice to-uh...”

She was disgruntled by him spending of money on her, as if she couldn’t afford a $18 burrito or a $12 smoothie every now and again. Sure, the prices were inflated beyond what the restaurant owners needed for a profit, but it was also LA and Y/N had a sturdy job, thanks very much. She could make it work. After all, she wasn’t at the dinner for the food, she was there for Harry and his company.

He had still insisted on paying when they were in a group, but it had been an on going battle between the two of them to pay for Y/N’s food when they were alone. It had been interrupted when Harry left for tour, and even Y/N was a bit surprised he had remembered.

“My order’s still the same,” she acknowledged with a grunt, moving to the side to let some people slip by as Harry held open the door.

The shop wasn’t crowded, but definitely had a cluster of usuals around the bar and against the cloth couches. A bookcase of local poetry and photography magazines was against the dark green wall on the right, as the counter and chalk menu greeted the two on the left. Potted plants adorned the space around them as light acoustic music played overhead.

“But I’m paying for my own, thanks. Got that promotion,” she grinned, and Harry reached out to mess up her hair, grinning as she squealed and ducked away.

“Congratulations, Y/N! Knew yeh’d get it, didn’t I say tha’?” he teased, and with their comfortable silence, they both turned to glance over the menu. It was more for formality’s sake, since their orders were firm in their mind, but the cashier was busy wiping down the counter. So, they took those few seconds to feign interest in the chalky variety of LA coffees. Finally, the cashier smiled gratefully and nodded forward.

“I can take you right here, if you’re ready.”

“I’ll take a dark roast, two sugars,” Y/N stepped up to the counter, smiling kindly at the woman, who nodded and began writing on the recyclable cup. Harry hummed behind Y/N as she held out a handful of bills, clearly a bit peeved that she wouldn’t let him pay. At that, however, Y/N dug through her wallet again and held out another bill.

“I’ll also take whatever this guy wants,” she gestured behind her, ignoring the shocked “No yeh won’t” as the woman giggled, turning to Harry with another cup in her hand.

“What can I get for you today, sir?”

Grumpily, Harry mumbled out his order, which was identical to Y/N’s without the sugars, and glared at Y/N as the woman set out on making the drinks. It was mostly playful, but Y/N remembered how she had been ranting to Harry about her rent two weeks ago, and figured he was still worried about her finances. Not that it was any of his business.

“If I can’t treat yeh, then yeh can’t treat me,” he said decidedly, as the pair of them made their way over to the pick-up counter. A stack of books littered the area around the straws and cup sleeves, a miniature library of take a book, leave a book that consisted mostly of local authors attempting to get their name out there. Y/N picked up one at random, skimming over the back as she blatantly ignored Harry, who was still looking at her, waiting for a response.

“Fine, fine. We each pay for our own now on, yeah?” she rolled her eyes as Harry nodded, satisfied.

She missed how his eyes stayed on her as she reached forward to accept her drink, flashing a smile at the barista. And how he blushed when she groaned after her first sip, her eyes flashing up to the ceiling as if thanking God for coffee. And she missed how he smiled a bit at that, a tiny grin with his eyes unfocused on her, his mind stuck on a night two months ago, when things had just seemed simpler.

“Now, what should we go do?”

Her words broke him out of his reverie, and Harry hurriedly moved to pick up his drink from the counter, snapping himself back to the present. He took a drink from his cup too quickly, trying to fill some time before he gave Y/N an answer, but managed to burn his tongue in the process. Y/N gave him a sympathetic look as he twisted his mouth in slight pain, as the two of them headed back towards the door, moving past LA hipsters and coffee experts along the way.

“I was thinkin’ that we go and get Nick’s Christmas presents? His party’s soon. It’d be a fun time to give them to him.” Harry explained, and Y/N nodded quickly as she practically inhaled more coffee. They seem to be synced up in the motions of their day, with even their steps synchronized.

“I found a London artist that I think he’d like,” she began, pausing to check the street before crossing, “Name’s Tom Cox, he’s a painter. Offered to send a piece out for Nick’s place here.”

Harry pursed his lips, nodding a bit before confessing, “I was just gonna get him a nice dog bed, ‘f I’m honest. Pig and Blob keep him up late nowadays, thought he could use it.”

“Okay, so we’ll hit the pet store out on Lakewood and then on to the studio?” Y/N asked, reaching in her back pocket to check her phone. It was still fairly early in the morning, but she felt confident that most stores would be open, even the more lax LA ones with owners who didn’t believe in store hours.

“Sounds good,” Harry murmured, thinking over the map of the city in his head, before noticing her attention was caught by something on her phone. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” she mumbled, her thumb moving across the screen as she typed. She took a sip of her coffee with her other hand before she explained, “Spencer didn’t know where the paper towels were.”

They fell quiet as they made their way back to Harry’s car (Y/N gave up driving responsibilities when she could, and Harry had control issues about others driving him places, so it worked).

Harry was unsure of how to approach the topic of Spencer, because he had yet to know the full story. Nick just snorted when he brought Spencer up, with that type of look that read I don’t know what she’s doing, but she’s happy, so…

“Things goin’ well?” he finally spoke up, glancing over at Y/N as she slid her phone back into her purse. She tilted her head at him, clearly not within the same train of thought, so he clarified with a, “With Spencer, I mean.”

“Oh!” And wasn’t it something, how her eyes seemed to sparkle, that type of sappy grin on her face that made Harry’s stomach loop and his smile tighten. “Yeah, things are going great. He’s been so nice to me ‘n stuff.”

“How did...how did yeh two get together?” the question came out somewhat as a lump, although Harry didn’t exactly know why. They both side-stepped a tumble of broken Christmas lights on the sidewalk as they neared his car, his hand going into his pocket to tap his keys.

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Y/N began, and Harry made a small grunt that meant sure-it-is.

“You know how my office is down the street from a bicycle shop?” Harry shook his head and Y/N huffed, waving her hand to signal that it didn’t really matter and it was down the street from a bicycle shop, so that was that.

Harry’s car beeped off in the distance and her eyes flew to it, a giggle bursting through her lips as it tended to do, when she spotted his insanely expensive and vintage cars. Harry found himself staring at her and quickly looked away, dodging a bump in the sidewalk almost too late. She didn’t notice, though, already in the midst of her story.

“About a month ago, this random guy runs into my office, flowers in one hand, a card in the other, demanding that I give him another chance. I’m just shocked, right, because I don’t know this guy, I don’t know how he made it passed security or anything. And when he takes a proper look around, he realizes that I’m not his ex-girlfriend. But, H, when he blushes, it makes the tip of his nose go a bit pink. It’s one of the first things I remember about him, it’s adorable. Anyway, Spencer starts apologizing profusely. Even gives me the flowers. Turns out, his ex owns the bicycle shop and he was gonna try to stop by, try to win her back.”

She and Harry were settled in the car by this point, Y/N speaking animatedly with her hands to gesture where she and Spencer were located in the general whisk of the air, as she settled her cup of coffee in the cup holder and managed to get her seat belt on.

Harry had been nodding a little, but at that point raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

“How’d he not realize the juicing company wasn’t a bicycle shop?”

“He got the 2 and the 5 mixed up in the address, happens to the best of us. Anyway, he felt really bad about busting into my office. Offered to buy me some lunch, and I didn’t want to be drinking cayenne pepper for a meal again, so I said yes...and here we are, a month later.”

Harry wasn’t sure where to begin with that, or how to process the information, just nodded some more and looked out at the dashboard. His fingers drummed on the wheel as the car started up, some rock song coming through the speakers, which helped his shoulders settle considerably, the stress that had tightened his face loosening somewhat. Y/N was back on her phone again, but finished more quickly this time, tossing it into her purse and reaching out to lower the music a bit.

“How’s Marie?”

“Hm?”

He started working on getting the car out of the parallel spot, twisting around to look behind him and putting his hand on the back of Y/N’s seat. To be fair, he hadn’t paid attention to her question and only registered she had said something when he caught her staring at him.

“Marie? The girl you’ve been seeing?”

“Oh. Yeah, she’s been lovely. Haven’t gotten to see her much, though, with all the travel ‘n whatnot.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes carefully trained on the car in front of them. She felt sure that one of these days, Harry would completely smash another vehicle to pieces with his somewhat reckless driving, but each time he managed to get out of spots without harming anything. Truly a Christmas miracle.

With a brief cheer as Harry swerved out of the lot, congratulating him on another successful ‘pull-out’ (and a giggle insinuating other, dirtier connotations of the word), the pair of them left the awkward conversation behind, opting to turn up the music and sing along to the parts they knew.

As they shopped and drove around through horrible traffic, the pair rotated through Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, before hopping onto a more modern station for Fifth Harmony, Sam Smith, and cranking up the radio as loud as it could go for Niall Horan.

Soon, Harry’s backseat had a large bag with a special-made dog bed (and a cluster of dog toys Harry felt Nick would appreciate, all made organically of course) and Y/N had a small delivery slip in her palm, with a promise from Cox himself that the painting would be delivered two days before Nick’s party. Enough time to figure out where to hang it before the guests arrived, she figured. It was a beautiful painting of Old Compton Street at night, with purples and blues swirled against lively yellows and reds. Harry had agreed it was a nice gift, and Y/N caught his eyes lingering on it even as they were walking out.

Y/N had a brief moment while in the art gallery. With Harry standing next to her, his fingers gently reaching out to touch her elbow to get her attention, pointing out some art piece he wanted her to see, wanted her opinion of. She just had a moment, was really all she could say.

It was hard to describe. Sort of like she finally felt what air tasted like, sort of like the world made more sense in a flash of light. And it was because of Harry’s searching eyes into the art, how his eyebrows would slope the tiniest bit as he tried to focus. It was a second, how she was looking at the side of his face and suddenly felt imaginary ice running down her spine. With a shiver, she had turned back towards the paintings, and the moment had been gone.

It didn’t really have anything to do with her, it was just the side of Harry’s face, so Y/N wasn’t sure why she was so affected. At the end of the day, it was likely that it was the fact that she hadn’t seen Harry much since his tour began.

Those small details were a bit lost on her, like the way he would rub his nose twice when he got distracted. Or how his smile was typically more lop-sided when he was with friends, and his eyes would look for Y/N’s smile before he properly started giggling. Or how he would wait a second after the salesperson stopped talking, as if to make sure they were truly finished, before he began negotiating prices for Y/N (she was notoriously bad at it, and he had said he wasn’t going to watch a robbery take place, so he would do what he could.)

The moment was brief, and then it was over.

They were back in the car, windows rolled down as a jazz song played out on the radio. Y/N had an arm out of the car, her fingers dangling against the sides as her face was partially stuck out. The wind felt nice against the heat of the sun, and her large-framed sunglasses kept her from having to squint too much. With a grunted sigh, Y/N turned to Harry.

“Why can’t we just have a Christmas here in LA? With snow and actual winter weather?”

Harry had on his sunglasses too, although he was keeping his eyes on the road, and only tilted his head towards Y/N to indicate he was listening, against the music and the beat of the wind. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’ve got enough snow in London, love, don’t need it here.”

“OH,” Y/N gasped, clapping her hands together and swiveling to look more directly at Harry, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were perfectly taken care of. I guess all my snow needs are just – whoosh – gone and solved, because you’ve got snow in London.”

Harry nodded, playing along with the face-value of her words as if they were genuine fact, and Y/N smirked, shaking her head.

“You’re such bullshit, Harry Styles.”

Giggles bursted from his lips as he was able to inch the car forward, incredibly close to their exit yet far enough that he couldn’t pass by the other cars. They held their breath collectively, until the two of them were going comfortably over 10 mph and were coasting along the road towards Harry’s place. It was normal for her to end up at Harry’s, or Nick’s, or any friend’s place after spending the day together, so she texted Spencer an update, letting him know she wouldn’t be back for lunch.  

His flat smelled the same, as Y/N crossed the threshold and set her purse down on a purple-clothed chair by the door. She had only visited his LA apartment a handful of times since they had become friends, mostly because Harry wasn’t known to hold a lot of parties in his own home. He said it was because cleaning up always took so long, and he would be more likely to get it all done if he were at a venue of some sort, or if he had co-hosted with another friend at their house.

It smelled, somehow, like a scent Y/N had begun associating with Harry since the second week of their friendship. It had a depth to it, like the air had steeped in her lungs and made the home seem more earthy. There were elements of cinnamon, Y/N could tell that much, but the rest was a conglomeration of various spices and something that reminded her of men.

She chose to keep these thoughts to herself, as Harry kicked off his shoes, holding onto the doorframe to his laundry-room for support.

“Tea?” he offered, once his shoes finally came all of the way off, and he had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head.

“Peppermint, if you’ve got it.”

With a quick nod, Harry headed towards the kitchen, not bothering to flick on any lights because his windows had let in so much sun. It was another warm morning, bright and cheerful, and Y/N could tell Harry had a special spring in his step because of it.

Y/N began her walk over to the kitchen, stopping on the way to look over his shelf of photos. The same one that she had seen the first time she was over, as Harry explained he liked to put up pictures of the small moments, the special times in his life with family and friends. There was a new one she hadn’t noticed, tucked behind the one of Nick eating a burger.

It was of Harry and her, done in a selfie-style with Harry’s out-stretched arm along the edge of the shot.

She remembered that night. They were sat out on his balcony, waiting for Nick to bring over the Indian food. All three of them had just gathered back after a night clubbing, and it was one of the rare times that the Crash Pad was Harry’s apartment.

Y/N only barely remembered how she had begged Harry for something to wear, insisting that she wanted to take her bra off, but her shirt would then really not leave much to the imagination. She remembered how, earlier that night, she had insisted that she’d be the one to stay sober, but the night had ended with Harry taking care of her. And how warm that had made her feel, like she was wrapped in a dozen cozy blankets next to a fire.

Harry had sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he looked away towards the glass patio door, before back at Y/N, and amused smile on his face.

“I’ve got a sweatshirt yeh can borrow., but I want ‘t back before I leave,” was all he had said, because he was set to take off the next week and was still sorting through his packing list. Y/N had nodded, holding out her pinky, which Harry tucked his against, curling them up against one another as he got up. He kept his bashful smile to himself as he walked back inside.

So, in the photo, she was wearing Harry’s sweatshirt. One of his merch ones; she could see the faint outline of his name in the crease. In the pic, Y/N had her arms around Harry’s neck, cheeks smushed together as they both smiled widely at the camera.

Their eyes were a bit unfocused, obviously still feeling the effects of the night out, but Y/N clearly remembered how she wanted to kiss his cheek as the photo was taken. She had thought it would be funny, but right before she had moved, Harry had taken the photo and then was waiting for it to show up on the white rectangle. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask for another picture, she had simply cuddled further up against his body and asked him to tell her fairy tales.

“Do you take it with milk or sugar?” Harry called out from the kitchen, and Y/N was brought back to the present, realizing she had picked up the photo to get a better look at it. Her fingertips had curled against the edge of the photo, her thumb moving across the textured picture.

“Neither,” she replied, before setting it back on the shelf. Her eyes quickly scanned over the rest of the photos, noting to herself that there were no other new ones. With a smug sort of grin, Y/N realized that meant that she had made the shelf, and Marie hadn’t.

Her stomach flipped. Similar to how it had the previous night, when she was lost in her feelings about Harry, all throughout Spencer’s TV show and her nightly routine.

Y/N wondered why her mind did this to her. Why random thoughts would form, puncturing through the reality of herself that she was perfectly fine pretending was her actual self. She didn’t need to see Marie as ‘competition’, because 1) it was wrong for women to put each other down and also 2) it was never a competition to begin with. Harry liked Marie, Y/N liked Spencer, Harry was seeing Marie, and Y/N was dating Spencer. There was nothing inherently wrong with any of that.

She was fine with Marie, Y/N reckoned, because Marie seemed like the type of woman who had her life together. Granted, Y/N knew absolutely nothing about Marie except for her existence on this planet, but if Harry liked her – well, fuck, Y/N could learn to like her, too.

“So, you said it’s going well with Marie?” Y/N found the question leaving her lips before her mind could catch up, causing her eyes to widen and her lips to shut tightly together as she entered the kitchen. Thankfully, Harry only heard the question and didn’t see her follow-up face, his back turned towards her as he poured the teas into his mugs. She noticed he had black socks on, tiny anklet ones. She smiled.

“Uh, yeah. Here-” he turned around, holding out a steaming cup with two hands carefully, making sure Y/N had a good grip on it before reaching for his own.

“Yeah? Is that all, is there nothing else to say about it?” she couldn’t stop now, because the rock had started moving down the hill and now it was an avalanche. And why there was a rock to begin with, Y/N didn’t know, but she knew the prickly feeling in the back of her throat very well, and found herself taking a too-large sip of tea to compensate.

Harry’s eyebrows rose, his fingers curling around his mug as he leaned back against his counter, watching her.

“Was there somethin’ yeh wanted to know?” His words were slow, as if carefully chosen. Y/N wondered if he was remembering that night in her kitchen, or if he just thought she was being nosy. Most likely (and very hopefully) the latter.

She shrugged, taking extra care not to look in his eyes as she replied, “Just didn’t know how serious it was, she seems like a lovely girl.”

Harry chuckled at that, one hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck. He leaned off from the counter, glancing towards his kitchen table and looking at Y/N with his head tilted towards the side. She nodded, and he led the way over to the chairs, replying as he walked.

“Yeh and my mum both seem to think that...I dunno, she’s fine-” he set his cup of tea down, pulling one of the chairs back and gesturing for Y/N to sit down in it “-it’s really not tha’ serious. She’s just nice, I guess.”

Y/N sat in the chair, nodding her thanks. She looked down at the swirling steam rising from her cup as she thought his response over. When she glanced up, she saw Harry’s eyes carefully on her face, almost hazy as if he were zoned out, but a thread of concern grounded them, kept him there. And when he noticed she was looking back, he flashed a grin, his eyebrows stopped their furrowing, and he took another sip of tea.

“Hey,” he started, “-as long as you’re here, could yeh paint my nails? Just need some help on my right hand, can’t get it...right,” Harry grinned at his own joke, and despite his sense of humor, Y/N could tell it was meant as an abrupt change of subject.

The kitchen table was small – small to a normal person, even, not a millionaire such as Harry – and Harry had sat right next to her. The wood was a light stain, with darkened knots and lines running along the surface, pink placemats laid down before each seat, and it was on this cloth that Harry put down his hand, showing off his chipped polish.

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed softly, putting her mug to the side.

Just as quickly as Y/N felt she had ruined it, the atmosphere between them was nice again.

Harry had never pressured her to say anything before in their friendship, simply took her as she presented herself to be. She had tried to do him the same justice, but had obviously fallen a bit short that morning, with all her questions. She also appreciated how, when she did choose to speak, he would give her  all his attention to what she had to say, even remembering small details later on.

Of course, Harry did that for all of his friends, so when Y/N was on the journey of Getting Over Styles, Harry (so it spelled GOSH in her head, she felt it was clever) it was crucial to distinguish Harry’s platonic sense of caring from when he had been flirting. The former Y/N knew very well, while the latter still seemed to be indistinguishable from his normal personality.

Frankly, she had only known that he had been flirting when his lips had met hers.

“Alright, love, gonna go get the bottle. Do you want yours done, too?” he offered, rising up to go into his room. Y/N shook her head, letting her smile drop as Harry vanished around the corner.

In a move that was very reflective of the late-night Lifetime films she had found herself watching more and more of recently, Y/N had a mini freak-out at Harry’s table. Mouthing the words “what the fuck” at herself and general hand-waving did nothing to ease her nerves, however, which further cemented in her mind that rom-coms were not realistic in the slightest. She had know solution to exactly why she had been acting so weird, or why Harry was putting up with her odd questions.

In reality, she knew her questions weren’t odd. She had asked Nick all the time about his dates for crying out loud, but it seemed simply different when it came to Harry.

Because she never made out with Nick, never ‘forgot’ to bring his clothing back so she could fall asleep in it for one more night, never worried about double-texting him, never had a miniature heart attack when Nick’s mum liked her Instagram photos.

So, it was different. Some questions felt off-limits, which also made them more enticing to ask. Parts of her wanted to catch him off-guard, prove how okay she was with merely being friends, but being overly-friends. If that made sense, Y/N herself wasn’t entirely sure and often had talked herself into backing off any topic related to dating when it came to Harry, in fear of being too much.

It was just one fucking kiss. One kiss. She clearly needed to get over that fully, or God help her soul.

Sooner than Y/N would’ve hoped, Harry was back. He had been playing with his hair in his room. It was obvious, because his part was different and the curls fell equally against his forehead, a straight part going down the middle for some time before veering off into scattered directions. He seemed younger, softer, when he was just being Harry. A warm pal, with black polish in his hand and a shy look in his eye.

He set the bottle gently on the table, claiming his seat again and laying his hands palms-down upon the pink cloth, waiting patiently for Y/N to start.

It was the first time Y/N ever painted his nails, but it wasn’t really an out-of-the-blue thing for him to ask. They had chatted on the phone plenty of times as Harry retouched his manicure, Y/N listening to him complain about cuticles and how Mitch bought him gel polish that he wasn’t going to use. Because gel made his nails look too shiny, and Harry just wanted it to be more of a matte finish, of course.

“Is this the shade I picked?” Y/N asked, remembering vaguely that he had sent her a list of black polishes, asking for her opinion. Harry furrowed his brow, looking at the bottle as if it would tell him the answer, before nodding slowly.

“Uh, yeah. Yup, think it is.”

“Well, good choice then. It’s the best one, if I picked it.”

The kitchen felt like a church, with a sacred kind of quiet that felt unbreakable as she began painting. It was more quiet than it usually would’ve been, because Harry typically couldn’t stand hearing ‘nothing’ and would opt to have any sort of music filter into his home before he would ever sit in silence.

But Y/N made it ‘quiet’, not silence; it was a more gentle sway of calm, rather than an awkward stilt in conversation. Over time, the two of them had perfected it, established it as their own. Phone calls could mostly be made up of just them breathing, it seemed, and Harry wouldn’t feel robbed in the slightest. They’d talk when they were ready, when they had something to say, he felt.

“So, this promotion…?” Harry began, as Y/N lifted up the brush and ran it along the bottle’s rim, taking off the excess.

She hummed in acknowledgment, reaching her left hand over to the right side of her face to draw back her hair behind her ear, before leaning forward over Harry’s hand. Her fingers steadied his nails, the brush started just below his cuticle.

“You excited?” he prompted, lowering his head a bit to try and catch her eye. She kept focused on his nails, though, moving his pinky a bit to the left in order to get the small strip of nail she missed the first time.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, you know...things have been a bit rough lately,” she admitted as she turned back to the bottle to get some more, and it was true – she had often talked to Harry about the frustrations of her job, because he was so far away and seemed like a good target to rant to, “’But hopefully things’ll get better.”

“Is there anythin’ else yeh’d wanna be doing?” Harry knew that Y/N had other ambitions, but each time they had managed to approach a talent or interest she had, something that could lead her away from how unhappy she was at her current job, Y/N would suddenly draw back into her uncertainty. Claim that she simply didn’t know where to begin, but that she would look into it when she got home.

Y/N sighed, and Harry hoped she would give him something else to work with, this time. Anything he could do to help, really.

“I dunno. I could use networking events to try and find other businesses that need my help, but I just can’t get stuck in some shit corporation again. I can’t even say the word anymore, I just call it the J-word.”

Harry grinned, muttering the word, “Juice”, which made Y/N recoil slightly and shudder.

“See? Can’t stand it. They’ve been completely ruined for me.”

“Think they were ruined by nature, love. Not very good, are they?” and to that, Y/N shook her head in agreement, before almost seeming to remember that she was in charge of their marketing.

“They’re great and you should buy one,” she gave a fake smile and Harry giggled a bit, peeking down at his nails to see the progress. It was both a check and a distraction, because words had been itching at his throat all day long, and he wasn’t sure how to be so honest without a drink or two in him beforehand. It had been a while since he had been in LA, and while many things felt like home, it had also been a bit intimidating to come back and have to catch up on everything his friends had been up to. Even if he and Y/N spoke often, there were obviously things they forgot, or simply didn’t, discuss.

It was easier to ask a cell phone these sorts of questions, not so much to Y/N’s actual face.

They were quiet, again, each grappling with the situation at hand, perhaps both wondering why life had gone the way it had. Why the other had found someone, how someone else had fulfilled the role of Being Enough that they had failed to do themselves. The weird feeling came over them, yet each was entirely convinced that it was solely them who was dealing with that pain. So, awkwardness prevailed in the short length of their eye contact, and Y/N became all too aware of how she was holding Harry’s fingers, painting each nail so carefully to feign that her focus was entirely on them.

“Who’d yeh spend Thanksgiving with? Don’t think I asked before,” Harry began, figuring this was the best segue into the conversation. He had really meant to ask about Spencer, in hopes of getting Y/N to open up more about what he was like.

Harry knew very well that she had spent Thanksgiving with her boyfriend, because Spencer had posted on Instagram and Harry had found it that night, as he was cyber-stalking Y/N’s new love after getting off the phone with her. She hadn’t mentioned much about “Spence”, but the relationship was still new (according to Nick) and Harry could understand why she wouldn’t tell him.

Especially since he never really talked about Marie to her.

Harry might’ve been okay with Spencer under different circumstances; his dislike for the man didn’t stem from the fact that he was Y/N’s, but rather, the nature of the Instagram left a bad taste in Harry’s mouth. It was like being back in school again, with those types of guys.

Harry tried not to take his celebrity status for granted, but if there was one thing about being around Hollywood people all the time, it was that he had become used to a more progressive type of person. And it didn’t seem like Spencer was quite that type of LA person.

The Instagram photo was of a dining table, clearly not Y/N’s, stuffed full with all types of food, and Harry recognized most of the plates as being meat-based. Turkeys, stuffings, meat plates with small bites of cheese next to them, and other dishes with recognizable bits of bacon (when Harry zoomed in, at least, but he felt pretty sure that’s what they were).

But Y/N was a vegetarian.

Of course, Harry wasn’t there to know if Y/N had been okay with it or not, but he couldn’t help but reflect on how much Y/N had liked his cooking. Said he could make tofu taste like anything in the world (although Harry was hesitant about the soy content, did read his articles about tofu, thank you very much)  and Harry knew damn well he could’ve made Y/N a full feast, the size of three of those tables, without even needing to look at a recipe card.

It was more the caption that bothered Harry, because in small black letters Spencer had consciously typed out “Y/N didn’t step into the kitchen but that’s okay, I still like her. #wcw #makemeasandwich”

It hadn’t even been a Wednesday.

“Spencer.” Y/N’s response was short, clipped.

“Are yeh two serious by now?”

“What constitutes being serious?” Y/N bounced back with another question. It felt like one thing to ignore it to herself, to brush over the question with I really like him and leave it at that, but with Harry - as his eyes bored into hers as she finished the polish on his last pinky – it would be more difficult.

“Yeh only see each other, not dating anyone else, I dunno. Different with everyone.”

Y/N tilted her head to the side, looking over at Harry’s piano against his wall, letting her eyes be distracted briefly from the intensity of the man sitting next to her. It was a smaller piano, with a short bench tucked beneath it, and Y/N wondered if he had written any songs on it yet.

“What do you consider to be serious?” she asked, and it helped ease the small questions bugging her mind, because maybe along the way she could figure out what she had been to him, at least in the beginning.

It was something she couldn’t let go of, even after a few months, and although Harry’s questions were fairly normal, and hers in response seemed casual enough, her heart had picked up in speed, a small bit.

She wanted to know if there was even still a thought or two in his mind about her being his, about how he had kissed her and found a sense of summer in the winter, about how they had danced along the line of seduction for weeks before he had left. She wanted to know what that made her to him.

Harry was quiet.

He was conflicted, silently asking with lifted eyebrows if Y/N had wanted him to answer. As if she would back down or something, as if she would suddenly offer a safer question. But, when the question was out there, it was out there – and he had to answer. This wasn’t a Hollywood interview, he couldn’t dodge this one.

Although, the more Y/N thought about it, she realized he rarely avoided questions when it came to them. He almost always gave her a clear answer, sometimes even expanding on it for a couple minutes. They had spoken about love during late nights before, but never what they had experienced together.

“When I ask her out, I suppose.”

“Were we not serious?” Her response was quick, almost as if she had planned it before his response had crossed his lips, yet her eyes widened similarly to his in shock.

She was asking about their feelings and the potential that had collected like a lake at their feet, but one they had never waded into. In that horrible After-Moment, she realized Harry might have only thought of the one kiss and of nothing more, that perhaps it was only a moment for him, before he reached the conclusion that they were better off as friends. One moment of desire overlapped by reality, a memo titled “Don’t Go For It” that she had missed.

Harry stared at her. His expression was unreadable. His hands had stilled on the table, despite Y/N having bottled up the rest of the polish. The bottle was next to his tea mug, which was going cold.

Y/N found herself waiting, not interrupting the silence that she almost felt compelled to drown in, waiting for the black hole to form on the floor to suck her in. Because, surely, Harry hadn’t thought much about them. Perhaps he had even forgotten the kiss, and he was trying to remember how they had even approached the concept of ‘serious’. He wasn’t the womanizer the media made him out to be, Y/N knew that very well, but he also just came back from a worldwide tour and it was likely that events before had been fudged a bit in his mind.

“You’re Nick’s friend.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. Not possibly. Because two people who talk every day, at least once, and stay on the phone for 5-6 hours when they call – those people are friends within themselves. Not through others, not because of convenience.

Did Harry not even see her as a friend?

“Is that really all I am?” She didn’t want to sound choked up, but the prickles in her throat had come back at full force, waves of salty regret lumping against her throat, near the back of her tongue. Her eyes had managed to stay dry for the time being, still processing exactly what was going on.

Harry was still staring at her, his mouth slightly open.

He had taken their unspoken ‘thing’ for granted, that they could’ve continued on with not mentioning the almost-kiss, the actual kiss, or any of the other moments where he had felt compelled to do something more. What that something was exactly, he wasn’t sure, because he hadn’t really known Y/N well before he left for tour, and now that he did know her better, he couldn’t remember how he had spent his days without texting her, without seeing their bottle of wine in restaurants and thinking of her, without searching through his luggage for his hat before realizing it was still stuck on her gnome.

Harry supposed she was looking for closure, some words he could say to her so they could properly glaze over that period in their lives. Because she was happy with Spencer, because she had helped to set Harry up with another woman, because she didn’t need someone who didn’t know how to trust someone with everything yet, because Harry had a lot of ‘becauses’ and all those reasons piled up in his mental scale, weighing down the side of Deny Everything.

“No, I mean-” his hand moved up to rake through his curls, but Y/N’s arm shot out, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as she looked pointedly at his wet nails.

He froze, perhaps expecting her to say something, before realizing why she had reached out, and nodded, putting his hand back on the table. With his usual habit taken away, he took to moving restlessly, his eyes flickering against all points of the room and his tongue licking his lips as he thought.

“I mean, yeh and I are friends. I-I wasn’t thinking, that night. The kiss, it was...I just thought...I mean, you set me up with Marie. I don’t, I don’t know how I saw you.”

Denying everything was harder than he had thought.

Every word was wracked with confusion, underlying meaning, and dissatisfaction. They were holding back from saying everything on their minds, because their brains were so clouded with overwhelming emotion; there was no way they could muddle through it right then. Harry wasn’t sure how to answer the questions Y/N hadn’t asked, and Y/N wasn’t sure how to interpret Harry’s words that answered nothing.

“Did you see me as...” she trailed off, losing the nerve to speak as the end of the question came nearer.

They both had leaned in slightly at the table during the conversation, their shoulders huddled in a similar manner and their eyes sweeping over the wood on the table, over Harry’s drying nails, coming back to the other’s eyes, before continuing the pattern. Y/N felt less like crying then, as if she had stabilized somewhat, but the mortification of her honesty had begun to creep in. Which had led to her cutting herself off.

“As wha’?” Harry asked. His voice was low, as if they had a reason to be quiet, as if a voice above a whisper would break something more than just their hearts.

“As you see Marie now?”

The thought of that being true would have the potential of breaking Y/N, battering through the dam to let the river crash against the rocks. Harry had seemingly been dismissive of Marie, for whatever reason, and while Y/N acknowledged that all they had genuinely done was kiss once, imagining him being so flippant over their moment with his other friends made her want to crawl under a rock and die.

It felt like more, it had to have meant more.

“I dunno, Y/N,” Harry sighed, his fingers testing the polish and once seeing that it was mostly dry, he ran his fingers through his hair, obviously relieved that he could tug against his roots as a distraction. “I’ve gone on dates with her, y’know? You and I...it was one kiss, love, and you’re Nick’s fri-I mean, we’re friends.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes stuck on the edge of the table. For a woman who hated the After Moments, she was currently drowning in nothing but that draining feeling of having been vulnerable, with nothing to show for it.

“So, we weren’t anything?”

Harry was thinking she needed closure. He would swear up and down that if he knew how she would react, he would’ve never spoken up. But once the word was out there, all he could do was watch everything unravel before him. The feeling that he should know what to say, like the lines had been fed to him by his heart moments ago but his lips forgot how to speak. The confusion clung to his chest, sinking claws into his lungs and he wasn’t sure if he could look her in the eye.

But he eventually did, and the word came out.

“No.”

Y/N thought he looked a bit apologetic, as if he were about to say sorry love, and reach out for her hand, blinking those Bambi eyes at her as he watched her deflate into nothingness.

She kept her eyes on the table, letting out a “hm” through pursed lips. They weren’t really pursed though, just pressed together firmly with her teeth clenched to keep herself from crying at his kitchen table. Because Harry never asked for this, he truly never led her on. It was one kiss and one of the best friendships she had ever had – and she felt like she had properly fucked it up by asking exactly what wasn’t supposed to be spoken.

“Did yeh...think...we had been something?” he asked, low, his heart thudding.

Like it had the chance to redeem itself, like all of their words could be swept under the rug if she would confess to what he hadn’t. Forgetting, briefly, of Spencer, and Marie, and Nick, and his tour, and everything that had complicated how he saw her thus far. As if, with a brief word, Y/N could change all that and make their lives easy.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” the words came out like a gasp, and her eyes flooded quickly to the brim, yet hovering over the brink. She coughed slightly to cover up her sniffle, her fingers coming together to play with her nails as a distraction. Y/N felt as though she looked rather pathetic, especially since Harry’s eyes had remained dry and he seemed more confused than anything.

“I just don’t think it meant anything, yeah? Just a kiss between friends, could’ve happened to anyone. And now yeh’re with Spencer, so there’s no reason to worry about this, love,” Harry murmured, a hand reaching out to gently graze over her cheek, catching one of the tears that had slipped out.

It had occurred to Y/N that she might’ve been too emotionally connected to Harry while she was dating Spencer. To her credit, though, this idea hadn’t taken full form until Harry’s email the previous night, with the note that he was coming back to town. Things became a lot more real, then.

Phones had a way of distancing people; Y/N was finding it a lot harder to hold back when she was so close to him. When she could smell his cologne again, when she remembered the sweatshirt nights and the morning they woke up, limbs tangled, feeling that light type of happiness that she hadn’t, yet, with Spencer.

It was the question of whether she was giving Spencer enough of a chance, that lingered in her mind. Whether she saw a possibility in Harry Styles and had clung to that, or if she had genuinely developed feelings over events that Harry obviously hadn’t attributed too much value to.

“It didn’t mean anything to you?” she questioned, turning to look at him.

Harry sighed and glanced away, his hand reaching up to cover his eyes as he took a deep breath. It all seemed very clear, at that moment, how adult they both were. It was strange, how Y/N suddenly realized it, that this was a grown man sitting next to her, and she was a grown woman. It made her a bit sadder, that she felt so out of place and childish, confronting this man when she was dating another.

“Why’re yeh dating Spencer?” Harry turned the question on her, not answering the one she had asked, his face still hidden by his hand so the words came out mumbled. She was unable to tell from where he was coming from with the question, whether it was judgment or an attempt at reflecting the conversation into something more casual.

“I don’t kn-He’s nice. Really nice. And he’s got a good heart, and he listens to me when I talk.”

“Is tha’ all?” and Harry didn’t mean for it to sound rude, he truly didn’t.

Because overstepping the line was something he had tried to avoid all morning, but the words slipped out and they were true. Harry felt he qualified in those areas, as well, and yet Y/N wasn’t with him. He kissed her, and that night, she set him up with another girl. And, yet, there she was, brought to tears at his kitchen table, asking him questions he didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know what she needed to hear, and he would’ve readily told her anything if he just had an inkling of what she wanted.

“No, that’s not it. I don’t know-” she sniffed again, her fingers reaching up to pat under her eyes, making sure her mascara hadn’t been too ruined.

“Is he who you want to be with?”

The question was loaded, even if Y/N didn’t see it at first. Harry had lowered his hand, staring at Y/N’s profile as she stared ahead, waiting for her to say the words. He needed to hear them, needed to know.

“Yeah. Of course, I m-mean, I’m dating him, aren’t I?” she stuttered, but it sounded more like a question to herself than anything else, and Harry fell silent. She spoke up again, with a syncopated break in the rhythm of her voice.

“Is there something you don’t like about him, am I missing something?” and if there was a slight tilt of offense to the end of her words, it went completely over Harry’s head.

“I just...he doesn’t seem...to be that great, ‘f I’m honest.” Harry’s hands fell into his lap, as his elbows rested on his knees, his eyes not focusing on anything in particular.

“You haven’t even met him, how would you know?”

“I’m just saying, I think yeh could do better.”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N threw her hands in the air, her eyes scrunching together and then glaring at him, “One minute it’s that we weren’t anything, and now you’re telling me my boyfriend isn’t good enough?”

Harry seemed to realize that he might’ve spoken incorrectly, flown past the line he had previously feared putting a toe against. His hands went back up to yank through his hair, causing his curls to fall at random angles. He was blinking, as if trying to get the confusion out of his eyes, as his hands went out in front of him, clasping together.

“As a friend, I’m trying to-”

“Fuckin’ bullshit you’re ‘as a friend’,” Y/N shook her head, shooting a glance at him to say ‘don’t be ridiculous’, “Just tell me what you fucking mean for fucking once.”

She paused. And then,

“At least Spencer can actually use his words.”

The thing that surprised Harry the most, was how she stuck with the last sentence. No regret flashed through her eyes, she seemed as confident going into it as she had at the end.

He responded just the same, a cold look on his face as he stared at her.

“At least I don’t settle for the bare minimum.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Y/N felt her shoulders tighten as she became more defensive; she knew most of her friends didn’t like Spencer, and Y/N herself couldn’t imagine a wedding with him or anything, but he was nice and gave her butterflies, and he was safe to be vulnerable to.

“It means I’m actually doing something with my job. With my life. With who I let in it.” Each word was punctuated, emphasized, his brows set as he scowled at her.

“What, all those cheap supermodels on speed dial? They adding meaning to your life, Styles?”

The silence was going to kill them both.

Harry’s nose flared as he stared at her, an expression she had never seen before set in his eyes. The two of them sat, defenses up and their faces turned down a bit, equally hurt and vexed by the other. Neither of them moved or spoke for a moment, seething with the anger that had built up so quickly.

It was a surprise when Harry shot up, standing up quickly as his chair rattled against the floor. She blinked, jumping at his sudden movements.

His arm pointed towards the door.

“I want yeh out,” he paused, taking a long breath through his nose before adding, “I’ll call the fuckin’ cab.”

He stalked out, leaving Y/N reeling with what just happened. Her veins were still thundering with adrenaline, her heart both breaking and pumping like crazy, as a few tears fought their battles and rolled down her cheeks. She felt like she was waiting for him to come back, so they could talk it out. But, equally, she wanted to go. She wanted to leave, she couldn’t look at his face any longer.

Harry didn’t seem to notice that she was crying when he came back into the kitchen, or he simply chose to ignore her wiping the tears away as he spoke on the phone.

It was a horrendous silence between them, stretching out as Harry muttered his thanks into the phone and put it on the table. It wasn’t an angry motion by any stretch of the imagination, but Y/N still jumped again, wincing slightly at how he refused to look at her.

“It’ll be here in five.” was all he said, directed at the table before his hand let go of his phone, before he walked back towards his room.

The door slammed shut.

In the living room, a few of the photographs fell off the shelf.

“Where to, miss?”

It seemed weird, that the sky outside was still so bright and lively. The warmth felt cold on her skin, and her goosebumps seemed to be permanently on her arms for the time being. The Sun felt like a betrayal on her face. Y/N was still piecing together what had gone on, as she walked out of his house and towards the yellow car. She hadn’t reached a conclusion yet, before the driver had asked for her end location.

She gave the cab driver her address, before pausing, and shaking her head.

“Know what? Never mind,” and then she promptly gave over Nick’s address, toying the idea over in her head more and more. She really needed her best friend right now. Nick had always been there for her, they were each other’s #1. Even had those fancy best friend necklaces.

Despite Nick also being friends with Harry, she knew that he would help her. Take care of her, briefly, because she could see the breakdown on the horizon and really didn’t want Spencer to have to deal with her wracking sobs and incoherent moans.

As Y/N texted Nick, quickly inviting herself over (and smiling against the tears when he readily accepted without a single question), she saw the stack of texts between her and Harry. It was near the top, of course, because they texted each other constantly. It had just been another stable part of her daily life, checking every so often to see if Harry had messaged her, from whatever time zone he had been in at the time.

And now, it turned her stomach to even see his name. It had been so long ago now, it seemed, that she found herself in a group chat with a strange number and Nick. She tapped on his contact info, swallowing against the lump in her throat as the cab driver turned on Despacito on the radio.

‘XXX My Ass’ alongside a photo of Harry, a meme she had dug up from 2013.

A few minutes later, Y/N tossed her phone back in her purse without a second glance. She settled back into the taxi cab seat, watching the mansions pass by her window, feeling the bitterness swell against her throat and root in her stomach.

Against her wallet, in the depths of her purse, her phone glowed with the new contact screen.

‘XXX My Ass’ contact has been renamed to Harry.

Contact photo removed.

[bodytoflame-ao3]

move with the tide

me? following a prompt without going on a 3k word tangent? unlikely! here’s very domestic fem!percabeth and a proposal :^)

Read on AO3

don't be lonely

i'm right here by your side

hold on to me

you won't drown you will survive

tide ..//.. bearings

The crisp summer night comes in through the window. There's still a few boxes to unpack, but most of their things are fully settled in.

“I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I still don’t know how I did it.” Percy somehow managed to graduate a year early, luckily New Rome was pretty accommodating with the whole “I spent practically half my life saving the world” thing. Don’t get it wrong: she still worked her ass off. It was all worth it though, since it let them end up here; a stupid tiny apartment in Lower Manhattan that was theirs (at least as long as they paid their rent).

For as much as she hated being away from Percy so much the past three years, it was good to spend some time as her own person. Especially with how protective they’d both become. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss her — quite the opposite. Being away from Percy manifested in the nightmares slipping into her subconscious as she slept; the panic of her heart skipping a beat whenever she saw a girl with short black hair.

College was also their first real fight. It was one thing that Annabeth applied to NYU, but being accepted (as if she wouldn’t be) made it that much more real. It wasn’t an easy decision at all, but it was the closest thing she had to a childhood dream and she’d be damned if she didn’t follow through with it.

While NYU wasn’t as understanding of “I need to visit my demigod girlfriend because we both have severe trauma from that time we went through the underworld”, Percy was able to sneak away from New Rome for a bit without too much trouble, every once in a while. They never went more than a month without seeing each other — that was Percy’s promise to her.

She wouldn’t lie, it was hard. Really, really hard. They talked most nights, and when Percy came to visit, sometimes they did little more than hold each other. But it was good for her: she was learning how to lead a somewhat normal life. She knew she would always be able to find her way back to Percy. And they always had summer.

“The important part is you’re here,” Annabeth sighs, exhausted, melting into the couch. Her legs hook over the armrest and she lies her head in Percy’s lap, who twists a curl around her finger, just as tired.

Percy’s hand finds hers, interlocking their fingers like second-nature. “I am.”

“You always have been.” A beat. “You were there for me when my family wasn’t.”

“I told you, we’d make our own family. And we did. All of us.”

If camp was a family, Percy was home.

“Yeah. I guess I’m just… I’m just glad it’s you that’s here with me now.” She squeezes Percy’s hand. She’s gotten a little closer to her relatives over the years. The past was past, and there was nothing the Chase family wanted more than some peace. Even so, she often had trouble reconciling the events of her childhood with her emotions about it.

“Hey,” Percy tucks away the lone curl that’s fallen into her face. “Together, okay?”

“Mhm,” she hums, guiding Percy’s hand to fall across her waist, “together.”

Percy’s about to speak up, and say they should get some rest after all that heavy lifting, when Annabeth, almost nonchalantly, asks, “Do you want kids?” She doesn’t even look up.

“I…” The question throws Percy for a loop.

She’s rambling: “Because I do. Like, a lot. Not a lot of kids. One. Or two. But I do want…” She trails off, hoping she hasn’t scared Percy.

“I didn’t think you did.” Her response is quiet. She clarifies, “Uh, yeah. I do, but do you mean like… when?” She hasn’t really thought about it, but the moment Annabeth asks her, and the idea plays out in her mind, she knows she'd like nothing more.

“Eventually?” Annabeth responds, a question asked just as the word escapes her throat. “I want a real house, not an apartment, and my degree, and a job, one that pays me more than minimum wage, and… I also think I have to marry you first.”

“Is that a proposal?” It doesn’t phase her. They’ve been dancing around it for a while, both waiting for the time to feel right.

“You wish. I’m gonna get you when you least expect it.” She reaches up and taps Percy’s nose.

“Not if I beat you to it.”

Percy’s smirk sets off something in her. “And I mean a proper proposal.” She sits up and swivels to face Percy, pointing a finger into her sternum; she means business. “With a ring, and some big romantic speech.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Annabeth sees the mischievous look in her eyes the instant before she takes off running into their room. There’s a clamor of drawers being slung open on their tracks, and the shuffling of papers falling to the ground.

“The f— where did I—?” It sounds like she’s tearing the bedside table apart. She barrels down the hallway once she finds what she’s looking forward to, sliding into the plush carpet in front of the couch.

Her knees burn, and her heart pounds. She takes Annabeth’s hand, shaking her head, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She didn’t expect this yet, but she can feel the adrenaline pumping through her body and she can’t stop now.

“Um. I can’t think of anyone else who’d put up with me for eternity.” She’s sitting on the floor. Shouldn’t she be on one knee or something? “We’re a team. Always have been. You are the toughest, smartest, most passionate person I know, and I admire everything you’ve become.” The words keep coming out. “Annabeth Chase, will you marry me?”

Annabeth’s voice stays low and quiet. “Percy, are you serious?” She’s afraid to move lest she breaks the spell that's keeping Percy looking into her eyes.

Percy shows her the ring in the palm of her hand, “Yeah, I… was waiting for the right moment and… you gave it to me.”

It’s classic — a simple gold band with a single, modest diamond in the middle — but undeniably beautiful.

“Holy shit.”

“So is that a…”

Annabeth leans down, grabbing her face and pulling her into a deep kiss. “Yes. Absolutely. Give me that ring, Seaweed Brain.” She lets Percy slide it onto her finger, admiring the way the stone shines back as the light from their lone lamp hits it. She laughs, “This doesn’t feel real.”

“Is this stupid?” Percy asks, dragging Annabeth off the couch and into her lap.

“We’ve done a lot of stupid things. This is most certainly not one of them.” She’s too engrossed in admiring the ring to even look up (or, less the ring itself, more what it signifies).

No one their age is getting married, not really. They’re all too focused on passing their classes. She really did want to marry Annabeth, but it nagged at the back of her mind. “But you don’t think we’re too young or—?”

She thinks back on the past few years. It isn’t like they’re exactly normal. That surely gives them the right to rush by traditional standards. “I think that stopped being relevant a long time ago.”

Annabeth’s right; it soothes her worries. “Good. Because I don’t want to wait.” She kisses Annabeth’s shoulder. She’d marry her tomorrow if she could.

“Do you know how excited your mom’s going to be?” Annabeth can’t even imagine what Sally’s reaction will be. She’s extremely in-tune to her daughter and— she probably already knows Percy was planning this, doesn’t she?

“Well, I told her I was thinking about… Yeah. She was thrilled.”

Of course. She should’ve seen it coming. That girl tells her mother everything. Poor Sally’s probably already heard enough of Percy’s troubles for several lifetimes. “What’s my mother going to think?” Annabeth laughs. So, your daughter is marrying the daughter of your sworn enemy! It sounds cheesy enough to be the setup to a 90's sitcom.

“I,” Percy starts, “I actually asked her for permission.” It was terrifying, but Annabeth doesn’t need to know that she almost cried right before she asked. “And she said if anyone deserved her daughter it was the girl who went through Tartarus for her.”

The words go right through to her heart. Both Percy’s, and her mother’s. “Oh. You really thought about this.”

It’s true. She’s been dreaming up the perfect proposal for months — which meant talking to Annabeth’s parents: her mom, her dad, even her stepmom; and talking to her own parents. It meant picking out the perfect ring and planning the perfect way to ask her, and practicing her speech in front of the mirror.

“I actually talked to your dad too.” Their relationship wasn’t perfect, nor would it ever be, but Percy thought he had the right to be asked for his only daughter’s hand.

It means a lot to her, the fact that Percy made the effort to talk to her father. It seems like a thing he would consider important — the whole traditional engagement deal (though they’re anything but) — and she’s trying to include him in her life. “Thank you.”

They’re still for a while, relishing in each other’s company. Percy tries to reconcile the past few minutes in her brain, but only comes up with her head spinning in a buzz. “I can’t believe I’m gonna marry you,” She murmurs against her neck.

“I thought of something.” Annabeth smiles, sidetracking the conversation for what she hopes is an amusing tangent.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe now you won’t have to angrily glare at as many boys. If they see this they might leave me alone.” She laughs, gesturing to the ring and thinking back on the times a very unlucky man dared to even glance her way, gods forbid try to buy her a drink or swing a sleazy arm around her shoulder.

“I don’t glare angri—”

Annabeth raises her eyebrows.

In her defense, there’s only so many _“hey, is your friend single”_s she can take, even after the word girlfriend’s been said at least once. It wasn’t her fault most men were imbeciles.

She tried to make it clear that Annabeth wasn’t just her ‘girlfriend’, for all the connotations of the word’s worth: A subtle trail traced up her spine; a hand in her pocket; an ironclad grip on her thigh, or one time, her butt (and she’s still not forgiven for how she made Annabeth blush); a swift motion pulling her onto her lap and into a kiss. And how could she forget the time she settled the score with one of Annabeth’s flirty classmates, spelling it out like she was talking to a child: “She’s my girlfriend. We are dating. Sometimes we even kiss.”

“So maybe I do.” Percy laughs.

People hit on Percy too (not at New Rome, no, they knew better), boys and girls — she’s reconciled with the fact that she gives off some kind of vibe (is it the haircut? it’s definitely the haircut). She‘s usually perfectly happy to let her actions show she’s spoken for; only rarely did Annabeth feel the need to intervene (and always, men, even though Percy joked she would be offended if they didn’t chase after her).

“You do what you have to,” she smiles. Annabeth was clingy too — it was hard not to be after everything — but not like that. It‘s in the way she looks at Percy with all the love the world could give, the trust in falling asleep on her shoulder in the library, the audacity to hold her hand every second she’s given the chance, and make people know she’s hers.

“And if they don’t take the hint?”

“Then you can tell them you’re my fiancée.” She emphasizes the new word, knowing it’ll drive Percy crazy. “I do think it says a lot more than ‘girlfriend’.”

Right. Girls had ‘girlfriends’, like guys had their ‘dudes’ and ‘bros’. Fiancée was decidedly unambiguous. “I like that idea.”

Annabeth stands up, grabbing Percy’s hands and pulling her to stand face to face. “You should call your mom. She’ll be upset if you wait until tomorrow to tell her.”

She’s absolutely right, and as they both predicted, she’s never been happier (perhaps even more so than her own wedding).

Once they finish talking to sally, Annabeth finds her way back into Percy’s arms, standing by the phone. Percy rests her head on Annabeth’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around her from behind. Annabeth doesn’t think she’s ever felt a peace quite like this in her entire life. There’s an inherent quiet against the bustling noise of the streets of Manhattan — it all fades into the sidelines for the sound of Percy’s breathing.

“I wish I could marry you right now.”

She turns to face her, Percy's arms still draped over her shoulders, and laughs, knowing she’ll hate the truth: “Weddings take planning. You’ve gotta give me at least a year.”

“So, next summer?”

“If you’re that desperate, yeah, sure, next summer,” she jokes, although she’d be hard-pressed to admit she feels the same. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume we’re having a beach wedding?”

“I was actually thinking,” she rolls a thumb across the bead on Annabeth’s necklace from the summer they met, “The lake. At camp?” We’ll be safe there, sticks in her mind, unspoken.

She can’t resist planting a kiss on Percy’s cheek. That’s pretty much her dream. “Keep going.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me more. You seem to have big plans.”

“The biggest. I learned from the best,” she smiles. “So… summer. Sunset. All of our friends are there. And our families. Your mom and my dad manage to set aside their differences for a few hours.”

She honestly couldn’t ask for anything better. “We have a giant chocolate cake.”

“With blue frosting.”

“Deal,” she obliges (who is she to say no?), “I’m wearing a gown… with flowers, and lace, all the way down to the floor and then some, and a deep neckline, so you’re staring at me all night, and—” She puts on a thinking face, ignoring Percy’s finger tracing a line down from her necklace. “Wait. Can we both wear a dress?”

“I don’t see why not?” Percy isn’t exactly one for formalwear; she rarely has the need to. The most she’s ever gotten dressed up in recent years was for her mom’s wedding — she wore a button up shirt with plain black pants and flats. While her closet’s split pretty evenly between men’s and women’s clothing, she can’t exactly see herself in a suit, and typical wedding dresses were so… much. But oh; can she imagine Annabeth in that dress. “I thought you hated dresses like that.”

She leans in close. “Oh, I think they’re gorgeous, I just hate it when boys stare. I love it when you do.”

Percy blushes; she should’ve seen that coming. “Ah.” She doesn’t think she’ll ever get over how much of a tease Annabeth can be.

“You‘re wearing a simple dress.”

“Good.”

“It’s plain, smooth satin, with a wide neck, and a low back, and don’t you dare say a word... You know I’m right.”

Percy isn’t the kind for such a stylized dress, but she imagines Annabeth’s hands on her former Achilles spot, pulling her into a kiss, and she’s instantly sold. Actually, scratch that, she’s pretty sure she’s going to lose her mind.

“Yeah,” Annabeth smirks, “I thought so.”

“I think my brain just short-circuited.”

She laughs. “So what’s next?”

“I graduate, and we get a plot of land in some stupid, nameless suburban town—”

“—And I draw up the plans and we build the damn house ourselves.” She quietly continues, “Then, maybe in a few years…”

Percy thinks for a bit. “I think I’d want to adopt. I mean if—” There’s no way in Hades she’d ever carry a child. The thought is terrifying and she’s almost positive Annabeth feels the same way. There’s too much to risk.

“—No. Yeah. I…” Annabeth is on the same page, for the most part, but there’s a little voice in the deepest part of her mind that yearns for little blonde curls or eyes like the ocean. A bold thought crosses her mind: she could ask Hera for the blessing of a child with parts of both of them. Stupid? Yes. She’d be crazy to say it didn’t intrigue her, though. She imagines muted green eyes, the sea cloaked in a storm, and it seems so right.

The rest of her thoughts are telling her she’d be insane to try to carry a child — what about monsters? What if she couldn’t protect them? Not many things scare her, but evidently, that‘s one of them. It sends her head into a tailspin. It’s a bridge she’ll have to cross when they get there, she supposes. For now… “The idea of giving a kid a family that loves them… a stable home that they wouldn’t otherwise have… that’s worth a lot.” She lets the silence hang over them for a minute, reflecting on where she thought she would be at this age. Dead, or worse. “I can’t say I know exactly what I want right now. All I hope is that I’m as good of a mom as Sally was to you. She clearly did something right.”

“You will.” Percy’s eyes light up, her voice so sure of the words she speaks. “And we’ll figure it out.”

She can’t resist cupping Percy’s face and pulling her into a deep kiss, holding onto her as if her life depends on it. Neither of them say a word — there’s no need. Everything they’re thinking has already been said before in a thousand different ways, and they both know it.

“Tell me more about our life, Annabeth.” Indulging this fantasy with her feels like a heavy, comforting warmth blanketing her soul.

“We have… two. A boy and girl. When they’re young, I tuck them in with bedtime stories of how a seaweed-brained hero saved the world.”

“What about the truth?” Percy cocks her head; shouldn’t they be aware of the chance of danger?

“When they’re old enough to keep it secret? Of course. And I want them to know they have biological parents somewhere out there. That’s important.”

Percy understands: she knows firsthand the importance of heritage. “Gods… this all just seems so…” she gestures vaguely.

“Domestic? It is.”

“I can’t believe you’ve turned me into a sap, Annabeth Chase.”

“Jackson-Chase,” she corrects. She could get used to that.

[mynamesmarji]

Become An Entrepreneur!

Recently, I’ve discovered the economy for what it really is. When I first met my friend Alea, who is a new entrepreneur, we both opened up to each other fairly quickly. We expressed each other’s opinions, talked about our lives – where we are currently employed, what our future plans are as far as the business world goes and so forth. I told her that I'm going to school to major in an entrepreneur and shortly after opening my own clothing boutique store. She saw passion and potential in me that day, enough of it to offer me her number to stay in contact with her because she wanted to open a door for me. Alea is currently being mentored by other entrepreneurs who are 26 years old retired millionaires. And shortly soon, Alea will be in the same position as those millionaires are. After this proposal, I hope to open your mind and eyes to a potentially better life for you! 

When Alea gave me her number, I texted her right away the next morning because I’ve never been given a chance before for anything. We decided to meet again at a local Starbucks. After our talk, she introduced me to a book called “The Business of the 21st Century.” I was told to read all 115 pages before I met up with her again, which was in four days! As soon as I got home, I started reading and I have learned that there is no such thing as job security anymore. Nowadays, employers can fire anyone for any means necessary. And if you’ve noticed how there are people who are 50 years old still working today. Retirement plans were first developed in 1875. because those retirement funds aren't enough for them to live off of now that people are living up to their 90s and even longer,  

Have you ever thought to yourself that the amount of time you take from out of your day should not be traded for money? Well, I thought so too and felt like I needed to start making a change.  I saw becoming an entrepreneur as my chance to have freedom, financially and the freedom to do things on my own time. I currently work in retail part-time and have to find a balance of work and school in order for me to be stable, pay my bills and provide for myself and my cat. And since I want to open up my own boutique store, I need flexible money in order to start it up but can't with the pay I'm currently at right now with everything else I'm paying for as well just to live. 

In today's society, taxes on products, services, and rent are only getting more expensive as the years go by. I work at a local department store and they are announcing that they are starting pay at $13 an hour, but the pay will go up in pay to $15 by next year yet even more taxes are deducted from my paycheck as well as other team members of mine. Plus, my employers are constantly hiring, people who are high school students who may seem more likely to stay working at the bottom of the ladder, only to think climbing up the ladder in a business is easy to do. High school students may also not have all of the knowledge there is to know how the business world really is like, especially from looking down the pyramid scheme. A pyramid scheme is your typical chain of steps, with the owner at the top of the ladder to the employees and salespeople at the bottom. Many people don’t see that they can flip that chart downwards where those who start – start with little to nothing and build onto the chain making the significance in those who are trained sellers because that’s how the money comes in. If you become an investor or a business owner, you should want to invest in yourself and your own business. Not buy off of other companies when it comes to essentials.

  Growing up in the 20th century, I have never put much thought into the business world until an entrepreneur shined a light on the real world. Everyone was taught by their peers to either get a good job with security or go to school, get good grades, earn a degree and so forth so that they can live a stress free life and not have to worry about debt – but I want to tell you that those two options aren't the only ones. The voice of my mom telling me to get good grades, study, earn a degree in something you’re most passionate about and start a career just gets played every now and then now in my head because my mom’s finances isn’t stable and lives on the countryside of Virginia yet she has a master's degree and psychology. Still, her finances aren’t stable because even with her degree, she’s been turned down by many employers.  

I have another friend named Afton who I met through my place of business, she's been working at the plant for 4 years now. She expressed to me how strongly she believes that school is not for her. Therefore she decided not to go back to college and to just work up a ladder in someone else's owned business. Afton is also really into modeling and makeup and proposed to me that she wants to become a YouTuber and make a living off of her videos someday. I told her that I loved the idea of her becoming a social influencer but that she shouldn’t depend on a job to support her. 

I don’t believe anyone can live off of a job’s pay. I see her wonder why her amazing work ethics, time and efforts aren't being recognized enough to the point where she can step up the ladder. Why is that? It's because those next steps are positions that are filled already or are given to those who are already on that level of experiences. Therefore, Afton has to wait her turn just like everyone before she did. It may take a lot of risks and hard work but no position in the business world is considered easy, but anyone can be an entrepreneur - does not require a degree to become one. All a person needs is a great mentorship from a person who has already gone through what it takes to be a successful entrepreneur, from finance issues to love life issues.

My heart is set on the idea of entrepreneurship because of its perks and to live comfortably knowing that I am security stable and that I will be able to take care of my family. If someone was to say ‘money does not make a person happy,’ reassure them that it does because if a person had debt - they would be able to pay it off and be worry-free. Therefore, become an entrepreneur, think like millionaires and do what millionaires do. Assets can be bought, a business can be created, especially with a team that will value to help people pursue their dreams. And once you have pursued them, teach others this same important informational process that I have told you in this paper! Do not start a business by yourself with no employees because that way, you won't be working for yourself, you’ll be working for your business – never have time to do things outside of work because the outcomes of self-employed will become a stressful life for you. I want everyone to have control over their own lives as well as their incoming money and to become an entrepreneur is the best path to go in. 

[littlewalken]

Spider-Man x Deadpool story starter

I start it, you finish it

Contains a hint of lemon

Spider-Man + Deadpool

“PNDB”

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Deadpool had to be smiling underneath his mask. He stood at the podium twiddling his thumbs, waiting. Peter Parker lifted his camera to his face and took a picture. There was still a good couple of minutes to stop this.

Being “the local leader” J3 Communications had been steadily building its footing with it’s independent television empire, and part of that included a local UHF channel which allowed anyone their fifteen minutes of public discourse-as long as it didn’t incite hatred, violence, or break any other FCC laws. 

So today it was the turn of the masked vigilante Deadpool to make his choice of chairs, tables, podiums, and fake plants and take to live air with a 90 delay. He had even left his weapons at security to show how serious he was about things. And he had to be serious because he hadn’t cracked a single joke. Well, he had, but they weren’t the zingers he was known for.

Even if Peter wasn’t the staff photographer required to get a few shots of everyone who appeared he would have been there n one form or another. Spider-Man’s presence might have set Deadpool off. At least he didn’t know who it was under the mask.

When it was time Deadpool took a deep a deep breath, “Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between and not. Fifteen years ago, last Valentine’s Day, that night exactly, I took your mother to pound town. Being the stupid idiots we were, we placed you for adoption in what was hopefully a loving family and not a Dickensian orphanage.

“Every Father’s Day that goes by, every Christmas, every one of your birthdays, I think about you,” Deadpool wiped a tear from his mask. “I think about all the things I’ve missed out on, teaching you to ride a bicycle, teaching you how to lob grenades, and all that macaroni art!

“So, if you’re the fruit of my loins please come to meet me this Saturday at noon on Fog Hill. And remember to spay and neuter your pets and strange relatives!” 

With that Deadpool left the podium. The control room would repeat his message two more times and pad the rest of the time with PSAs. 

“Hey! Shutterbug! I’m ready for my close-up!”

Peter knew better than to look through the view finder as sure enough, Deadpool had bent over and was mooning the camera with his bare ass. 

“Think I should have invited mom to come along too?” Deadpool wondered aloud. “Naw, she’ll probably hear about this any way.”

“Are you really looking for a child you gave up for adoption?” Asked an intern who was still fresh to the world.

“Nope, sorry, too old,” Deadpool dismissed them. 

“That’s front page…” 

“Nope nope nope,” Deadpool teased. “I doubt Babypool would read it anyway. I can see them now, one of those sword carrying Fedora tipping pony pokers, pajama wearing cat hoarding, do you think they’re in a relationship with a waifu pillow or a cardboard cut out? What if they’re normal? OMFG my child could be an accountant!”

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Peter Parker found his mind sent back in time, back to the April Fool’s Day after the Valentine’s Day Deadpool had spoken of. The day he had to make many adult decisions as the result of an adult choice he had made about six weeks previously. He would have to tell other people. 

Ned Leeds approached with a triumphant grin on his face as he held up his prize-a bag from a high priced jewelry store, even though it only had one handle and a mysterious stain. 

“Thanks, buddy,” Peter said as he took the bag and put it in his backpack.

“What do you need it for?” Ned asked in anticipation of being part of a great practical joke.

“Something… Something that I don’t think is that funny any more.” 

Ned could sense something wasn’t right with Peter. “Okay, but if it gets funny again please let me know. Or video it, okay?”

“You’ll know, everyone will know,” Peter said quietly. He could get one at the nurse’s office, she’d give him a pass for gym too. I’ll have to tell Mr Stark I can’t web sling for awhile. I’ll have to tell him. I’ll have to tell Aunt May.

Not wanting to tip anyone off Peter did his best to look green as he headed for the nurse’s office. The kid coming out made a comment asking if Peter had eaten a certain something at lunch too and he nodded. There were a few other queasy looking kids there. 

He had to write his request to the nurse on a note because he couldn’t dare say it aloud. Not that he didn’t already know. He just wanted a second opinion to know the first one was wrong.

It wasn’t wrong. 

And so, only a few months into being 18 and an adult, he had to figure out how to make it right. 

***

There was some stupid musical that had a song about taking away all the trappings of a magical evening and seeing things for what they really were in the daylight, and he was quite sure Joey McIntyre was involved with it. 

Deadpool had positioned himself on the roof of the park bathrooms in what he was sure was a sensual pose. After all the last time he and Spider-Man had been here things had gotten rather passionate. The poor kid had blubbered about his horrible Valentine’s Day, no tuxes left to rent in his size, melted chocolates, abandoned by his date, not wanting to intrude on friends who had gone off with theirs. 

It had taken longer to get through all the discouragement and consent then it took for the somewhat awkward masked sex. Please tell me there was at least one back of the car my parents are out for the evening something before this. 

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Deadpool asked when he thought he saw something moving on the roof. He’d already told two raccoons and what he hoped was a pigeon. 

This time it was a person dressed in a Spider-Man costume and holding a gift bag. 

“I got you something.”

“A present! For me!” Deadpool squealed as he hopped to his feet. “Oh, you shouldn’t have! What on earth could it be?”

Spider-Man held out the bag but he didn’t budge. Something was wrong.

“Is it a bomb, please tell me one of my arc enemies has forced you in to delivering a bomb to me or they’ll kill your parents!” 

Even that failed to get a reaction from Spider-Man. 

“Thank you,” Deadpool said as he took the bag. He looked inside, took out the object, turned it a bit to catch the yellow security light. “You Bedazzled it and everything.”

“I thought you’d find that funny,” Spider-Man said quietly.

“I love it,” Deadpool said in a soft tone. 

There was a silence waiting for the other to laugh and break the tension. 

“Do you think unplanned parenthood is still open?” Deadpool finally asked.

“It’s called Planned Parenthood,” Spider-Man said.

“I don’t think so, we definitely didn’t plan this. 

***

“Is it Ned?”

“It’s not Ned.”

“Is it Flash Thompson?”

“It’s no one from school.”

“Is it Tony Stark?”

“No.”

“Is it Dr Banner.”

“It isn’t an Avenger.”

“So it was someone worth laying down with but not worth bringing home and introducing to me.” Aunt May returned to her larb. Of course she’d find the box to the home pregnancy test Peter had taken. He should have thrown it out at school but the positive result had shocked the sense out of him. 

“We kept our masks on,” Peter admitted. “He’s never asked who I am.”

Clunk, May’s fork hit the floor. The waiter brought her a new one. 

“I was going to take a gap year any way,” Peter said, the waiter still being close enough to possibly hear. 

“Are you going to keep it?”

“I don’t know.”

***

Tony Stark was taking the news harder than Aunt May did. He got up from behind his desk and marched to be face to face with Deadpool.

“Hey hey hey, he told me he was 42!” Deadpool joked. 

“Spider-Man,” Tony heavily emphasized the second word. “Can make his own choices. I just want to make sure that you…”

“Have already told my amazing baby mama that I will support him in what ever choices he makes with our prom night dumpster baby because it’s his body!” Deadpool snapped. 

“Halloween,” Spider-Man said. “That’s about when it’s due.”

“My bad math,” Deadpool said. 

Tony Stark still looked mad. 

***

Peter Parker looked at his phone, he was purposefully ignoring all of Tony Stark’s messages. All these years later, even after arranging the adoption, the subject of the Spider-Pool baby still pissed him off. He looked around at everyone who had gathered at Fog Hill in Central Park like Deadpool had asked and quite a few of them looked way to old. 

It was hard to pay attention to everything in general with the crowd, even Peter’s Spider-sense seemed to be going a bit crazy trying to sort its self out. When Deadpool finally arrived the crowd went wild. He climbed up on a rock and scanned the crowd.

Looking for a better line of sight the spider part of Peter’s brain directed him to a near by jungle gym. A couple of people who had been sitting there had gotten off to get closer to Deadpool but one kid remained. They were wearing a grey hoodie with goat ears and well worn sneakers. 

“Hey,” Peter said.

“Hey,” goat hoodie replied. 

His spider sense had never felt this way before. 

***

“It’s always fun and games until someone loses an eye.”

Spider-Man just shook his head. He had climbed up the sky scraper to think and Deadpool had followed.

“Do you think Tony Stark will tell you who it is?”

Spider-Man shook his head. 

“Because if either of our identities are compromised the bad guys could go after our kid and learn the identity of the other and all hell would break loose?”

Spider-Man nodded.

“Do you think our kid was even there?” Deadpool asked.

“Yes.”