#so now it’s just like starting from scratch basically and i don’t make much original content so idk how to get more into it

[basilbones]

i keep forgetting there’s stuff on tumblr i haven’t looked into yet or i had it on my old accs and never found em again or the blogs got deleted or something and idk what to look for that’s similar

[ryuichirou]

please share crewel x deuce headcanons, they’ve infected my brain thanks to your kofi

Anon! They’ve infected our brains as well lol

I thought I’d write more replies today, but got a bit overwhelmed with these two. Surprisingly I have a lot of thoughts and ideas for them, and a lot of them weren’t mentioned in this post because I don’t want to write more than 10 hcs per post. I’ll use it as motivation to draw them more in the future! There is at least one drawing we plan to do soon… god, some of them are better off being comics. Why are these two so good

I am very happy you enjoy this ship. I hope you enjoy the hcs too… I don’t know what I ended up writing, it’s a blur lol They’re spicy though!

Even before their “affair” Deuce had weird dreams about Crewel a couple of times. He complained about it to Ace once, and Ace made fun of him: why are you dreaming about him, Deuce? Do you have a crush or something?? Deuce got embarrassed, and the fact that Ace started saying that Deuce is out there having sex dreams about their teacher didn’t help. The dream wasn’t even horny, but I guess Ace cursed him that day lol

Despite what someone might think, Crewel didn’t really have any serious plans for Deuce or any other student, for that matter. Not because it’s inappropriate, but because the students, while being undisciplined pups, aren’t usually interesting enough for his sophisticated palate. Deuce, however, somehow fit right into his type: he tries to be a good boy, but he isn’t boring – he is perfectly corruptible and responsive, but also eager to please and kinkier that he’d like to be. He is also needy, but knows his place… and he can take much more than Crewel originally anticipated! Frankly, Deuce keeps surprising Crewel and enabling him to put him through a wringer.

And yet he spent quite a lot of time mentally edging Deuce and creating tension with subtle touches, subtle flirting, punishments that felt way too horny even for such an eccentric teacher, all of this. Whenever they were left alone, Crewel metaphorically threw a bone to Deuce, and instead of being uncomfortable, Deuce felt allured and wanting more. And being super confused about this – why can’t he stop thinking about his teacher scratching his nape and squeezing it a little bit while calling him a good boy??

The intrigue ended one day when Crewel basically squeezed Deuce’s cheeks and fucked Deuce’s mouth with his pointer while maintaining eye contact and explaining some principles of potionology that Deuce couldn’t understand. Deuce’s tongue and cheeks felt so tingly and his dick got so hard… It was clear now: Crewel is into him sexually. And Deuce should probably feel bad about it and tell someone, but…

While it feels like a classical “suck my dick to get an A” scenario, Crewel is very strict that even if Deuce sucks his dick very well, he won’t give him an A unless he deserved it. Deuce got super embarrassed when Crewel told him that – he wasn’t planning on… he wanted to get an A with his brain, he really did… Still, his grades got much better because he remembers things well when he sucks dick while listening to Crewel!

At first Deuce never knew what to expect from Crewel and if they were going to do anything at all. Sometimes he would ask him to stay after the class just to wash the chalkboard (he loves it when Deuce anticipates and never gets what he wants), sometimes he spanks him for his bad performance (Deuce shakes and tries not to whine when it happens…), sometimes he steps on his dick or makes Deuce rub against his leg like a horny dog (Deuce turns his brains off when he does that). Sometimes he makes him get a boner and leaves… Whenever Deuce gets to suck him off, for some reason Deuce always feels like it’s a reward. He is extremely embarrassed and confused about himself acting this way.

After a couple of months of this whole thing, one day Crewel rewarded Deuce with a finger up his butt. Deuce was so horribly embarrassed and even though he had to be told when to cum, he couldn’t help it and came almost immediately. They didn’t do anything for a couple of weeks after that, and Deuce was terrified that he ruined it, but couldn’t even tell anyone about what happened. So when one day Crewel looked at him and invitingly patted his lap, Deuce was so happy he looked like he’d wag his tail if he had one. Crewel was satisfied – the pup was acting absolutely brainless and ready for anything he’d to with him.

And this is where the real fun began. Hidden collars, hidden collars down there, butt plugs, vibrating toys, cute underwear – pretty much every day Deuce has a new “game” from Crewel and gets evaluated and either punished or rewarded depending on how he did. The toys and stuff are actually just pretense because what Crewel loves the most is when Deuce is sobbing because he couldn’t keep it together during classes and whined a couple of times because his dick and butt felt to overstimulated. When he gets to mercilessly spank Deuce because his voice was way too shaky during the class and his butt buzzed too loudly, Crewel has the most fun.

Crewel took his sweet-ass time before actually fucking Deuce with his dick because he wanted it to feel like the ultimate reward for Deuce. He never actually told Deuce about this condition, but he decided that he would fuck Deuce if he gets more than 90 for his final test. He worked hard and got rewarded!! At some point while Crewel was fucking him, Deuce thought about his life basically having a porn plot, but before he could get ashamed of it, Crewel pulled his hair and told him that if he keeps daydreaming he will make him walk on all fours in front of the entire class and sit on the floor by his side naked…

Deuce was very anxious about their possible first kiss, but when it actually happened, he was barely “there” mentally: he came 5 times beforehand, cried to the point of gulping down his tears and hiccupping and was convulsing with his whole body because of the overstimulation and pleasure. His eyes were empty, he barely felt it, and only remembered that he got kissed the next morning. He blushed so hard!

[queenhunter102]

part 13

Part 12 Part 14

Johnny sighed as he slumped into a chair next to Simon. “How are we still without a mission?” he grumbled, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Tell me about it,” Gaz says, slouching his arms onto his thighs, his shoulders slumping forward, a bottle of water hanging between his thighs. “I can feel my Alpha become shifty,” he says as he watches you enter the room.

“Is this not normal?” you ask as you sit beside Gaz. “Hardly. We’re usually on a mission by now,” Simon says, his knuckles going white from grabbing the arm of the chair. John sighed as he leaned against the wall of the standard room.

“Hardly, Wells may not have sway over us as a team, but he does have sway with who gets what missions and when,” John grumbled, scratching his beard. Ven, "How’s your sleep since staying in our barracks?” Johnny asked. You froze a little. 'How had you slept? Better than normal, that’s for sure,’ you shrugged.

“Fine, how have your Alphas been with an Omega in the room?” you say, deflecting away from you. It was a fair question. They took turns staying awake over the last few nights, making sure Captain Wells or any of his boys tried anything.

Simon shrugged. “I haven’t had any problems” Gaz and Johnny nodded, agreeing with them, but Alejandro pursed his lips. “It’s not a problem per se, but more of a want to smother you in my scent,” he said, flicking Gaz’s shoulder and hand out for the water bottle.

Gaz grumbled as he passed the bottle to Alejandro. You nodded your head as you tilted your head up to the ceiling. “I’ll take that over being bred any day of the week,” you said. Alejandro nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ll take it over the need to rut,” he said, shivering a little.

“So is no one going to ask why Captain Wells knew they were from MI5, or are we just going to skate past it?” Simon said, cracking his neck. The room turned silent as their eyes flicked from you to Simon and then to John, rinse and repeat.

“That is a damn fine question,” Gaz said as he now turned his full attention to John, “Do you know?” he asked; John shrugged as he preached on the arm of the couch next to Johnny, “I don’t know, Like I said he decides who gets what missions and when so maybe he got a hold of their file before I did?” John offered.

You shook your head. “No one should have been able to see my file unless I was going to be under their command”, you say, your face scrunching as you tried to think; Alejandro tilted his head side to side. “Maybe you were originally supposed to go with his team?” he said, sipping the water bottle. You nodded your head in agreement. “Possibly, but I don’t get why that would stick out, you know," you said; what you really wanted to know was whether he had your NBOC file and your MI5 file.

You could practically hear Johnny’s teeth grate together. “I don’t like the fact he knows so much about them,” he says, his shoulder tensing. Gaz’s eyebrows lifted briefly in agreement.

You let your eyes drift around the common room, wondering of a way to get them to stop talking about you, when Johnny’s dog tag came into your head, the bright orange and blue vivid in your head, “Johnny, how did you get what every company it was to send you custom tags” you ask quickly hoping to distract them.

The boys collectively groaned as Johnny turned to you with a shit-eating grin, “Well, Ven, it all started in Basic Training”, he said…..

You regretted ever asking Johnny about his stupid tags. As you listened to him ramble on about how he got those custom tags, you blinked slowly, trying to keep yourself awake. You had brought this torture upon yourself, and you were going to see it through.

You could hear Simon softly snoring away on the couch, his head resting on his arms, while Gaz had his eyes closed, lightly banging his head off the back of the couch while Alejandro lightly thumped his fist on his leg while trying to be anywhere else in his own head and John, the Captain, YOUR Captain, well he was stood behind Johnny sending you a hate-filled look that said ‘you JUST had to ask didn’t you.’

[nino-rox]

ANOMALY PART 1

STILES STILINSKI x MALE READER | O

Warnings : None, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Original Male Character, Teen Wolf SPOILER ALERT

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

Author’s Note : the car in the picture below is Y/N’s new car

“Y/N, I’m leaving for work. Make sure you don’t get late for school, and drive safe, honey!” You heard your mom say as you packed your back for your first day of school, “Okay, Mom! Have a great day at work,” You responded.

You had just moved to Beacon Hills with your mom a day ago because of her new job at a hospital here. The school was about 20 minutes from your house, and you’d only visited once before for admission.

You made your way to the main door, manoeuvring between the still unpacked cartons. Your new house wasn’t particularly big, it was a small 2 Bedroom, 3 Bathroom apartment on the 1st floor. It wasn’t fancy, but you liked how the windows opened into an amazing view of the town.

You sat into your new car; it was by far the thing you were the most excited about, after all… that’s how your mom managed to bribe you when you said you didn’t want to move to some small town and leave Los Angeles. Your new car was a Black 5-seat Volvo XC40 Hybrid. It was as beautiful as they come - the best breaks, sexy design, brand new release, Electric + Gas - And it felt amazing to drive.

With those thoughts in mind, you drove off to school.

Your mom had given you strict instructions that if you got caught skipping school, she would ground you until the next semester and take the keys to the car. As you reached the school, reality began to set in. You were in some faraway town, away from home, away from your only close friend, and didn’t know anyone. But at this point, it was nothing new to you. Your mom was a famous double board-certified general surgeon, and thanks to that title, her job always made her move around the country.

Perhaps this was why you looked down at your new school - Beacon Hills High School - it wasn’t as big, pretty, or well-known as your previous one. Still, on the upside, you had heard interesting stories about the place and how “weird” things kept happening, so you at least hoped you’d run into Bigfoot or something on one of your regular late-night walks. ( A/N: LMAO HE ABOUT TO REGRET THAT- Sorry)

As you parked your car, a chill went up your spine. You really had no idea what to expect. You took in your surroundings as you got down; the grass was long and wild, the buildings were old, and everyone was … well… they didn’t have the same flair as people in LA.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. It was a message from your best friend that said, “Hey, listen, Y/N, I’m super late for class right now. I wish you all the best for the first day at Beacon Hills. Oh, and don’t be a judgmental bitch, please. It is a town, not LA, but I’m sure you’ll survive. Don’t worry, stay safe and DO NOT GO LOOKING FOR DANGER…also, let me know if there are any hot guys. Maybe I can come over then.”

It was crazy how she basically knew what you were thinking, so you sent her a message saying, “No hot guys in sight … not one,” to which she replied, “STFU and get to class bitch.”

And as you walked towards the school entrance, you decided it was time to start working on becoming a bit more social and meet some friends here… or not, because who cares…right…?

As you locked your car and began walking to the entrance, you saw a blue Jeep parked next to it; it looked pretty banged up as if a lion had scratched it. You just hoped they didn’t accidentally scrape your car.

Two boys were getting out of the jeep. One was tall and athletic, the other an inch shorter and much skinnier. They looked around your age and looked like they were talking about something serious.

You continued walking in. Your first class of the day was AP (advanced placement) Biology. As you walked in, you prayed the teacher wouldn’t make you introduce yourself; you weren’t in the mood… but oh well.

The teacher spoke as you walked in, greeting and asking you to introduce yourself to the class.

“Hey everyone, my name’s Y/N Shepherd. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you!” You said as you saw a beautiful redhead who later introduced herself as Lydia Martin smile and wave at you, signalling for you to sit with her.

You welcomed the friendly gesture, smiling back and walking over to her before taking a seat.

“So, pretty boy, where are you coming from ?” Lydia asked. “LA, and thanks, you’re quite beautiful yourself,” you said, winking at her, which made her blush slightly.

You were always good at this part, faking a smile, being all friendly, sweet and social when really you never cared.”

Before Lydia could continue interrogating you, the class started.

Over the next hour and a half, the lecture went by.

After the lecture ended, Lydia told you that she would go find out where your locker was. She also gave you some tips on the teachers she thought would be easy and hard and things like that and warned you to not step out too late in the night in Beacon Hills. She mentioned that sometimes people hung out together outside of school and invited you along.

“Thanks! This will definitely help me fit in better,” you smiled.

Lydia smiled and walked off after showing you to your locker. As you began to open your locker, two boys suddenly ran up to you and held the locker door shut. You turned around, ready to rid anyone of the false notion that they could even try to bully you, but your gaze softened a bit when you saw the two boys from the jeep next to your car,

“Heyyy, man, sorry I kinda put some stuff … uh … in there and forgot to take it out last semester. Could you just give us a bit so we can take it out?” The shorter, skinnier one said, almost suspiciously, as if there was a dead body in there. “So? Take it out now. I need to put my stuff in,” you said, opening the locker as you noticed the taller boy sigh in defeat. Suddenly, your eyes went wide; the moment you opened the lock, a huge, maybe 10-foot iron chain began to fall out; the loud sound even made teachers step out to see what was happening. The skinny boy spoke up, “Yeah …. About that … uh.. we can explain … um, it was,” “Don’t bother, I don’t really care, just get it out before you make me late for class”, you interrupted, visibly mad that the whole school probably thinks “you” were the psycho who had iron chains in his locker - when that really wasn’t the case. “We’re really sorry about this,” the taller boy said, grabbing the chains and leaving you in peace. You were judging…you were really judging them. You didn’t care about the chains, but the fact that everyone’s gonna think it was you.

You made your way to your economics class, and to your most unpleasant surprise, both those boys were in your class. As if it wasn’t bad enough already, only one seat was left, and it was right beside them. You chuckled at the irony of the situation - You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or strangle them, so you decided to ignore them and keep it cool.

The class was easy; you already knew everything, so you couldn’t help but get bored. As you began observing the classroom, the skinny boy passed you a chit - you took it hesitantly - it read, “SO SORRY - Stiles.” And had a smiley face drawn next to “stiles,” which made you think. What the hell is a stiles?

You glance back at the boy only to see him grinning at you; at that moment, you feel something - confusion - before you can do anything, you hear the teacher call you to solve a question on the board.

While solving the problem, you kept glancing at the two boys - you could feel their stares burning through your skin. The teacher seemed impressed when you finished solving the question and said, “You see that, Greenberg? That’s how it’s done.” Damn, this man really hates this Greenberg dude, what’d he do? You thought to yourself as you returned to your seat.

You could still feel the two boys staring holes into you; you were beginning to get irritated. You needed to finish some work, and these boys clearly weren’t helping you concentrate.

As you tried to return to your book, the taller boy mumbled something and pointed his finger at you. You were really starting to lose it, but the two boys suddenly got up, telling the teacher they had to go and ran out of the class - what the fuck is wrong with those two, you thought to yourself.

A while later, you were finally done with classes for the day. So far, it had gone well. The teachers liked you, and your classmates did too. The only issue was the whole corridor thing with those two boys, but as long as you stayed away from them, you’d be fine, you thought.

You received a message from Lydia asking you to come to the benches outside the cafeteria. That’s where she was hanging out with her friends after school. You texted back, letting her know you’d arrive in 5 minutes. You were in the mood for a walk and wanted to get some fresh air after that awkward morning.

As you reached the benches, you were absolutely fucking appalled; how is it that wherever you went, you’d run into those two boys - they were sitting next to Lydia - you sighed, taking a deep breath as you walked over, putting on your best smile.

[blackangelism]

Born to Die

hey, so, basically, i was writing this fanfiction called born to die based upon kurt cobain and an original character called nirvana lacey anhedönia and, well, i never finished it and i think i’ve lost the inspiration to. but, i still want it to see the light of day because i think it’s beautiful (sort of). so, here we are.

Gibson Girl.

1480 words.

July 6, 1981.

Aberdeen.

Washington.

[ You wanna… ]

Lovelace.

That’s what I’m fucking carving into my arm. With that oh-so-American size of the knife, the cut was deep and my handwriting as unhinged as it could be, probably and possibly worse than the cruel (upon me!) variety of forms it takes; like it was in my journal (I’ve always adored the copulation of the words probably and possibly as it tends so well to my seeming lack of sincerity and existential confusion), but worse, worse. Tingling all over I was in not an aroused, sexual way—but in the way it tingles when the high becomes scary, when the swirly faces start to scratch at you and when your belly feels scarily pregnant (everyone whom I know wants children; I wonder, am I sociopathic or a prophetess? Probably both, they’re primarily synonymous anyway). I knew so damnéd well I was addicted to this shit, the little, translucent, hallucinatory blotters (I prefer ’em trippy on both the outside and in, and pink; but I’m an addict! I’ll take whatever anyways) I get by shaking my ass to the guy whose name I do not wish to have my married brain clouded with. He still cut into my head like the knife that was working with all it’s effort and my inputs carving that v on my plump, ripe forearm. I was addicted as fuck; and I fucking loved it. At the very fucking least, I was pumping out poems like a heroine of the fifties. It’s what it was: the fifties had Sylvia Plath and the eighties had me. Downright iconic. The blood by now—I felt like a lamb, but I knew I was the dragon—was flooding my lap on which that forearm of mine was settled. I apologise if my writing, grammer, thoughts, anything else is fucked up in this or don’t make sense—I’m drugged up into Cloud Nineteen (ten blotters, two packs of Marlboro Reds over this evening).

I know I sound fucking insane and I probably am, and I treat myself to pain Virgin Mary couldn’t have dreamt off—but, I promise I’m not mean. Just a hard, excessive exterior and a tight, eager posterior in this dollhood of mine. Does that even make sense…? I don’t fucking know shit… “Ah, fuck…” I whispered with the most disappointing one I could muster when I fucked up the second l of Lovelace.

Lovelace, Lovelace… Great, I have to recall him.

The fucker who got me into this.

Norwegian trucker in India who was friends with my greaser pa, Norman Anhedönia, called Gibson Lovelace. The chap had forty years worth of oxygen wasted in his shallow breathing (he always breathed shallow, even when he came; I had noticed), a nine-incher monster of a dick, pedophilia, a drunkard wife and an obsession with me. I’d always been what Nabokovian terms would term nymphet, and I do say I’m split on it. I’m a shit daughter and a demon child, or am I? Maybe I’m just depressed and suicidal, or I’m fucking divine and the reincarnation of Eve meant to meet her Adam through a senseless act of violence upon myself (I didn’t know at the time, but I was fucking foreshadowing; go me.). Every girl needs a senseless act of violence properly upon herself but rarely upon the other to discover her one and only cult leader.

Anywho, Gibson led me into his truck away from my father who was too busy cleaning his shades listening to Elvis on the records: January of ’77, I was seven going to turn eight in the November of that year. He fucked me raw, smashed my head so hard into the steering wheel that I bled (I was questioning too much), kissed my cuts and made me promise I wouldn’t pick up a knife again but didn’t do shit about what I actually felt; he told me to stick my tongue out and placed this thin translucent sheet of pink from a little booklet he kept in his glovebox. And I decided that I loved it. I’m at fault, I’m at fault… Fuck Waheguru.

I’m finished. I squeezed my arm as hard as I could, the blood spraying over the marble floor (I had tucked the rug away; I can’t let Mumma see). My incisors with the utmost force to keep my vocal chords at bay dug into my chapped bottom lip and drew blood there too. It trickled down to my chin and came to nirvana at my lap resting amongst the other red molecules; it left a ferric taste on the tip of my tongue, slightly bitter and quite sweet. Bittersweet. Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood… Blood, everywhere. Gibson would’ve rubbed it all over my nipples and told me to lick it up like it was his sperm all over my asscheeks or, well, just cheeks. I did have quite big tits for an almost twelve-year-old, I must admit… I’ve always had more estrogen and my estrogen was also more sensitive: susceptible. Susceptible to manipulation, fuckery, religion, what not… Finally, I could fucking feel something except for the stimuli of my g-spot and the irritation in my nostrils that still blossomed when I chainsmoked indoors or that itching feeling in me when I go too much time without my LSD. I have this delusion that I only pump men good or pump out good stuff when I’m pumped on those little squares: He said that LSD would be good for me when I told him that I write; I’ve been pumpin’ poetry for my baby ever since. I hate children, and I sincerely wish that all babies die alongside their parents and the doctors and the nurses and the medical’s parents and me…

My disorders kicked in (Borderline Personality Disorder, majorly untreated) and I fucking panicked. After so much shit, I fucking panicked. Panicked. Jumping up almost to slam my head to the sink I was cutting up like ham under, I had to hold onto the sink to make myself stand actually. I slowly experienced my hand creep up to switch on the faucet (like Gibby did to the faucet in my eyes everytime he crossed my neurocircuitry) and my other arm (I’m right-handed) creep to wash the blood from Lovelace off. Thankfully, I had a few bottles of peroxide, a pack of Reds, a babydoll dress all set up, razor and men’s shaving cream, my skincare, makeup—all of that set up, and the shower prepped as well. Today, I was to die.

The same year as Gibson’s arrival to me, I spiralled and ended up flinging my curvy body down the roof of some pretentious hotel in Seattle. I didn’t die, unfortunately. Then, well, I was transferred to a crazy people place for four years until I got out in March of ’81 (this year!) equally, if not more, fucked up. I had glowed so much surrounded by my little hellspawns, my creatures... My paradise is dying in the arms of nobody. But, I couldn’t care when the blotters kicked in and helped my cerebrum in distorting so fucking shittily my face into some eldritch horror that passed the likes of werewolves mid-transformation and golems. I giggled manically at the twistings of my eyes into the hair and my ears into halo, my mouth stretched through the giggle was transmuted to the petrified image of a dog and a lady and what fucking not. Oh, I need my pen… Pen, pen, pen, pen,... pen!

The lad

I tried to write into the journal page I had kept open on the small settee of my bathroom that I had also made sure to drip some of my essence onto (not like that, pervs; the blood, I’m saying) but my mouth wouldn’t co-operate with my cerebellum or my cerebrum. The giggles just wouldn’t stop and they just got more and more distorted like guitars fitted into amps and amps and shredding. I fell back on the ground, it cushioned by my ass, and held my head in my arms, shaking my head as if to curate outside of my all the fogginess and to shake out of my trip. I wanted to write, write! Not whatever the fuck this was. My eyes were squeezed so hard, I was crying. And, I couldn’t fucking stop laughing like a shitshow.

“Oh, God, stop, stop, stop, just fucking stop…!” Hadn’t even realised I was sobbing but in that moment that epiphany hit me like a freight train (whatever the fuck a freight train is; I just picked up on the writing tool from whatever I read using this). My arm was still bleeding, smearing blood over my cheeks; my lip was still cut from my teeth, bleeding the smaller bits too; I was shaking like a fucking banyan leaf in the rainstorms of Wash.

• • •

Strangers.

5010 words.

July 6, 1981.

Aberdeen.

Washington.

[ Don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love ]

Even the isolation, deprave, and mesophilia of our fucked-up, Lacey, crazies hospital was better than this drenched, little town. What was better than any of those two fucking disasters, though, was my stance on the railway tracks. Sittin’ there like teke-teke, waitin’ for my gorgeous guts to be smashed over, destroyed, violated, clawed out by the grinders of the train. I’d never seen starry nights—the ladies at Lacey would never have enough testicles to let me watch a shooting star and hope that it crash into me, the fuckin’ meteorite. My years at Cawnpore already were quite less in number, and it eternally was too polluted for us to see something more than the dhruv star and a few other killers; I’d never seen starry nights. According to this astronomical magazine I picked up while the nurses took us out to the local stores of Lacey for us teenage girls to detoxify our battlefields for minds, today was a meteor shower and I was thoroughly intrigued by blazing space rocks in the skies, so I bluffed and fucked my way out of the hospital. My egg and sperm donors did not believe for a major nanosecond that I was cured. At two years of pained age, I was standing in the middle of the gray-like-me roads, conscious of the act; at four, I burnt my pierced earlobe on purpose, using the steam-fuelled iron to; at six, any blade I pranced upon would find it’s metallic way to scent the room in the aroma of my equally metally blood, I only wished for one to kiss those marks and draw about them, to be what the lyre was to Apollo; at eight, this curvy brain of mine finally snapped into her hemispheres and told me to fling my curvy body down the highest story of our hotel. At eight, my suppliers abandoned their Catholic mistake of a dolly into a mental hospital in my Americana birthplace, Lacey.

There, I morphed myself like the blesséd Phoenix, curse, profanity I am into The Mother. Mother Lace, Mother Nirvana, Messiah of thee, and the literary combo of Three. One of the only times I shall ever cherish are my years with those six girls… My girls: my loves, only ones who would ever succeed in enveloping me with so much heat that the outward exterior, the exoskeleton of middle fingers and catty hisses, melts into a puddle of rot beneath me and the inner delicacy of my wretched fragility and mortality is on display for all those mental fuckers to eat.

Needless to say…, I missed my bundle of little women, my packets of compressed, oppressed joy. So, I lay there longing with my arms stretched onward craving hiraeth in the Heavens—now that I look back, it never was hiraeth. I knew exactly what my home was: the browned mental hospital where I spent four formative years of my Jim Morrison's life in. I longed for the hug of my collected daughters, their soft digits brushing my hair as they softly inquired escape from the hellhole I promised to save them from. My girls... I loved them, like the mother they never received. I had promised, I had promised… I was a betrayer. What mother to those girls…

On instinct I experienced my hands reach to the crown of my head, relief coursing through my blood the moment a thorn stung me. Their entity had crafted for me a crown of thorns to relish me as their Lady and Saviour. I did feel blood seep from the pinch, but I stuck my finger between my lips and thrashed my tongue around, gazing at the dying glows of the starry night.

I pretended to be Jesus.

I am Judas, or am I?

I don’t even know what I’m writing. You’re hallucinating while interpreting strange symbols written left-to-right in lead and antimony compounds upon thin, delicate tablet-like structures made of tree sap, so I guess we two are never too far apart in our crazy.

Well, to them (my girls: Laine Jean Ray, Bonita Ana Dios, Aurora May-Belle Long, Theresa Midge Check, Verbena de Baïa Voisin, Margaret Sarah Check), I still remain Yeshua. Yet, I feel a wolf in lamb’s skin as myself; a panther in the throes of the night sky that I stare emptily, tearily, upon. I fake it so real, I am beyond fake (translation: you people are fucking dumb).

In my convulsing tubule of thoughts birthed by my cerebral quality, I failed in my life to notice movement, possibly a metre from me. I was laid over the railway track like a corpse, eyes empty yet body warm for no reason at all. It truly seems bizarre how the movement noticed me neither—maybe dissolved so much in the grief were they that they were as heady as me, as crazy as I! Trapped inside the fever dream of their own thoughts, vowed to never spit it out, bit tongues and summertimes spent in clawing bedsheets and clamping hands over the own lips so as to refrain from the awareness that might spread. That might say…: I am iron. I am usable, extremely so. Exploit me, as if you have not already. Though, I might have not warneth thou… I rot as vigorously as I am used, keep me out in the world and I will break down and become ash of myself. In the velvet night, a puff of air as a sigh crawled out of me, liquid dripping down the corneas of I, ruining not the night (this was to be, I planned to die today for fuck’s sake) but my precious mascara and eyeliner. Oh, how I worked on that lining to accentuate my inherited, unwanted, auto-appreciated felinity. I’d be the prettiest girl in the morgue.

Someday you will ache like I ache.

Anyhow, the shower from the atmosphere had concluded a few minutes prior. And, well, finally, the train I was waiting for to scramble and crumble my guts into nothing but wasted potential, like I already was, had arrived… Only, it arrived wrong. It ran over the steel beside me, beside us (counting in the movement I am). A severe monsoon bummer filled my chest, the void in my heart had been concealed tightly and packed with Lyssa, Eris, what not. I craved to screech at the tyrant Father for his sin, for his fucking disruptive mercy on me—I did not want mercy! I needed death to fuck me like his personal, unpaid, loyal servant-girl; I needed it violent! So, as soon as all registered in my voluminous cerebrum, I recoiled in my pose, resorting to the protection of a foetal position as I screamed out my sobs and muffled them by staining my shaved thighs with my lipstick and drool smelling of minty chew-gum that I chewed last minute, tears of brown-black from my mascara and liner, hitting my head against my knees and punching the bloody rails that I was once moonbathing over until I experienced my knuckles burn and bruise, actual slivers of blood peek through the skin. I continued then too, but was too passionate in my quiet wailing to keep up the aggression.

And, thence, I swiped my tears with my bleeding knuckles, unrealising in my little girl’s misery of the fact, and smeared blood over my eyes and mascara over my blood. By some distance, I could hear some twigs crunching, maybe it was the movement I hadn’t noticed beforehand. When I did notice in that current moment, fear struck my gut like Cupid’s arrow when I had seen Priscilla Presley for the first time in forever. Naturally, a response occurred within the fatty mass of electric muscle in my head and I recoiled within myself, burying my face in my knees that I had pulled to my tits, only my eyes blinking up like a defensing cat—if I had been a cat, my pupils would have shrunken to that reptilian, creepy glare. I saw that the thing was lighting a cigarette, my cravings relit alongside (the appearance of the thing was half-revealed in the dim spark).

Stupidly as I ever could be, I murmured from my coil, “Do you have a light?” However softly I did speak, the boy did hear because it was the death of the night in wherever we were, the railroad was as quiet as could be with the crickets around chirping and inaudible bats may or may not be sauntering about. Dim moonlight that I somedays worshipped (as a witch, I did) proved herself, and I saw him. The first predicament was that he’s cute: blond, ice eyes, hopeless swagger, shaky legs. He paused himself in his trek, and slowly but mildly clumsily, turned to see my form. Perhaps cold moonlight proved her importance to hallucinatory pages of dead sap’s inkéd words of feel-good love. Wow, fuck, I went overboard on there. So, he scrutinised me for a moment, squinting to gaze at me carefully.

I’ll never forget what came out of my future husband’s mouth the first time he spoke a single thing to me…: You look very pretty when you’re crying; tears suit you. I don’t think that I can emphasise the moan that was nearly to escape me at that very moment, it was a shockwave of whatever down my spine to my ladyness. My knees dropped to become flat, just legs, and I did acknowledge the gashes in my doll heart bleeding so vigorously, it matched my swallowed drool.

“You don’t mean that, you’re drunk.”

His honeyed voice, sort of scratchy as I observed he was pubescent and hormonal in his blue jeans, white striped shirt—walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn!—and black-y jacket he kept open, pushed me to experience the yayo-type, giggly joy of his chuckle, he shook his head in amuséd denial of his drunkenness. He was poetic, he had a slur, he had his thin lips wrapped around a cigarette—shit, I needed them wrapped around mine… And, I loved it. Why the fuck was I enamoured? “You’re a hypocrite,” He paused for a moment, maintaining that smile. Two distinct holes, punctures in muscle, were noticed by thee truly, myself, at that very moment; I felt my ribcaged heart palpitate. “You’re bawling your eyes out here like Virgin Mary.”

“Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful.” The moan that was slowly and gradually, steadily and irresistibly, mountaineering up my throat finally escaped in the form of this: *Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful*. Which, I did mean—how could I not mean *this*? I’m not Lisa Rowe, you buzz (although I wish to be—have you not read the sheer charisma produced from the description Kaysen emits of her? She was definitely the prettiest girl in the morgue!).

Hands of his extended to mine, both, and I took them, shakingly wobbling from my psych-out. I felt drunk. As terror-inducin’ it seems, drugs had exhilarated me, no cock of a man who had money this nymphet had onlooked had been left out, I was such a La Lolita for my crazy desires—but I had never had a swig before. Smelling the booze off my falling, twisted guy as he pulled me up from my literal and mental death—I only knew that my heart was hitting at my sinews, she felt a depraved wanderlust. Some wanderlust it was to, like a man in a Prime Minister pose, mark that free, angel Earth mine with maybe a flag (a tattoo) or a hole (a lovebite), something, somewhat. I held onto his shoulders for both metaphorical and literal support, he held onto the curve of the lower back I possessed, though the fabric of his jackie didn’t benefit friction and he kept slipping his arm off accidentally because, one, he adorned too much weight on; two, the fabircs intermingled like our forms, the cheap satin and whatever the fuck his jacket was made of. “Why am I a hypocrite, though?” I finally asked this little blond dude what had been pestering me (I am not to blame for this worthy-of-disdain obsessiveness, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I am Cool Girl: I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive) for how millennium long. His ocean eyes matched mine for a moment, and he seemed to think through for a momento before he permitted the giggle of a hyena break out of him: Because you’re pretty when you cry, and I’m not.

“Yes, you are.” No hesitation was laced through me, none of that unaware uncertainty that I usually experienced leaking through my tune when I comforted one of my girls—my girls...—and instead was there an ignorant stubbornness. I was always stubborn, but what the fuck? I, having registered in my still plush cerebrum that my crown of thorns (gifted to me by Laine specifically, although all the girls worked on it) had fallen like my Lucifer when I had risen, thence I bent to grab my status, injuring my already injured hand thus further as the thorns pierced and pricked into my skin. And, I didn’t even cry…

He recoiled almost physically at my olden compliment (remember the first dialogue of the previous paragraphed rambling?) and I was due a breakdown of my psyche in that very singular fraction of a minute when my man suddenly perked up, “I only have this cig,”, changing the subject. Yahweh, my knuckles burnt. I ohed a tiny bit, and chuckled, extending one of my quivering, weak limbs and bending to wrap my lipstickéd lips on the ass of that cigarette, same one he took a drag from not fifteen seconds ago. His Atlantic eyes widened for a twiddling momentous, and, possibly and probably in drunken stupor and marijuana heights of his death wish, he giggled—I physically felt my pupils dilate, what the fuck? Maybe it was the nicotine, maybe it was the aftershocks of my tiny-teeny mental breakdown on the rail, maybe it was hisself… Damn, I think I understood Grant so well in that miniscule moment: Heaven is a place on Earth with you.

The world was built for two.

Delusional, I was convinced that it was us two the moment he grabbed the cigarette from me for his chance, and he examined the matte, messy mark of my lip stamped on it.

With the dumbest smile he could muster in my damnéd opinion, this little, blond, territorial, underdeveloped man adjusted his lips on the exact place I had left my shine, suckling it like it was some part of me. He knew what he was doing, I could pluck it from the glitter in his pretty orbs that told me shit he’d never be able to spit out in our tragic, magic relationship of some thirteen years. We kissed in death like we kissed in that moment, he blew smoke into my mouth and I giggled, almost extracting the alcohol of his from the roof of his mouth as my tongue felt her way around. We parted for perhaps, well, a second (I don’t remember the details, I’m writing this after our wedding sex, 1988. We’re in our flight back to Olympia from Honolulu, and he’s sleeping on my tits), and rejoint as I adjusted the angle to kiss-fuck this virginal Cherub better. “Darling, is this your first?”, he nodded, responsive—to be frank, that was adorable...! I’m pretty sure I squeaked out of sheer kiddy excitement, squeezing the sides of his face (cheeks). My grip migrated to around his neck, form bent for he was teenier than I. I didn’t even know his name and we were kissing in the blue dark…

Parting, I only gazed into his oceanic gaze and breathlessly giggled, “Oh, wow, fuck,... That was…, yeah.” A grand total of seven partners (three females, four males) I had engaged in before this merman, and I had never felt myself stolen of breathe ever in my existence after a mere kiss. Possibly was it the intoxication, the nicotine fucking over my senses so that my taste buds tickled with the enriching experience of his glazed cavern, but was it not thrilling, oh Mary! I had enchanted outward the sweetest giggle, and he in his still stupor snuggled his head inside the curve of my shoulder and chest; he was only that much tall. I was not lanky in any aspect, neither I am still—on the flipside, truth is that my mother repeatedly insisted upon me to not drown in my head and force her to onlook, rather to go outside, soak some tan (I am racially brown, thence I don’t require a tan) and run some. I decline profusely, tangling in blankets again and writing what, if discovered, would have positively filed me into the South Sound Behavioral Hospital yet again for a term not of four years now but of God-knows-how-long.

Eventually, I figured: some other day, this nymph may or may not have only prolonged my life now, and I told myself it. By the railway roads were grasses uncared for (like most daughters were; the human was their mother and the stain’d, tall grasses were the lost), we decided unconsciously to sit by those and talk the dimlight of the night off the clouds, to dawn we conversed. As unbelievable as it may sound considering the turbulence not even Athena might have dreamt of that had plagued the twisty courses of my lifetime, I had not sipped upon the liver eater yet: alcohol! With my newfound darling, that was precisely what I did.

We were dwelling inside uncanny synchronisation with our acts: we looked around at the same time, fixated on the same piece of cement, reached to gasp one another’s hands the same moment. I didn’t flinch, neither did the blond darling. Which..., was quite, well, it was especially choking as I... Usually froze at contact of the physique from someone whom I loved. Around this time, with my drink-induced lover, it felt good.

We curled up by grass, against a gray boulder-like structure, perhaps a part of a rotten or demolished building of some sort, debris. There, I suckled upon the lengthy cancerstick and inquired like an owl: “Why were you here, anyway?” In a casual tone I did, as if it was something so normal that I was nonchalant. “Oh, y’know, to kill myself.” The answer delivered by this sweetness would dwelling in me a day or so afterward (take that very literally) was just as nonchalant, confirming the suspicion conjured by my despaired subconscious that he was just as heady as me, as crazy as me, someone who would rot along me like iron all the while fearing the rot, hiding from something murmuring within thyself and teetering about; aura as a nymphic call and melancholia as the default ring of the mood. GOD is a teenaged girl of grunge and glitter, and I am a doll (soulless, empty, pretty with no matter on the inside yet pretty from the back—it matched!).

“No, no, like, why?” I repeated with an accentuated tone and my regular gestures of hand and eye, “The reason you wanted to kill yourself. I don’t judge, promise.” I shrugged, chuckling a bit as I passed the miniature cancer to him for a drag. “Clearly.” He chuckled too, widening his eyes momentarily to allude to my appearance; as I remember it, that elicited out from me a little giggle. I mean, it was the factual; darling, not lying. A girl; a girl dressed in a pearly babydoll dress with lacy tights (opaque white-like, frilled, a bow on top of each, knee-high) and no footwear with mascara smeared down her face from a clear breakdown of her battlefield for mind, manic brown eyes with a grape-coloured lipstick on pouty heart-shaped lips, blood and dirt also staining her optic area due to her bleeding knuckles from which she punched the steel of the rails because the train did not run over her? Paired alongside the fresh wounds on display littered across that fatty arm of hers? Oh, she was a crazy chick—and I could tell that this little guy loved it. He loved my mania, he loved my blood, he loved my crazy, he loved everything that I loved about myself. Maybe it was his alcohol that urged him this way, but I loved him for he loved what he saw.

But is she pretty on the inside?

“Well,” I spaced back in with the thrill of his voice curling the air around us; I wish we were plunged into steel. Sound travels best in something like steel… What would his voice be in steel? The thought messaged down my spine a shiver. “’s mostly everything about my life. Wouldn’t say I’m addicted, but all I do these days is mope and get high, or drink. I’ve been this since last month. Last year, I saw this… This dead boy who hung himself in the woods. That really affected me, I think; I’ve got suicide genes.” He paused a bit, sighing as he was passed the smokestick again. I puckered up a bit and drew closer to his pretty face, rounding my lips out and pushing out a ring of cigarette smoke. On impulse, he stuck nose through the centre of the dissipating smoke ring which drew from me another giggle—he was just like me! I did that too! I’d never thought someone else would…? What the fuck is going on?

Taking a drag, he then resuméd: “My parents are divorced… I’m really embarrassed of that.” He added a bit hesitantly, I could gauge that he still felt the shame of it all; which perplexed me. A divorce is shameful? How so? It’s a fucking life decision… But, that’s okay because this little one was clearly less mature and emotionally developed than I, although that amount still was remarkable considering his physique and my presumé of his age (which I thought to be elder to me, but still not too much so). “Why?”

“I want my real family back. My dad promised me he wouldn’t remarry, and he fucking did; to a bitch nonetheless. I hate her and her children are so… Phoney…!” Humming at his hurt words, I was analysing him: eyes gliding over the pasty, smooth contours of his vanilla face; staring into the trench of his pupils surrounded by his ocean eyes as he passed back the almost dead cigarette to me. The guard he wore over his exterior again was forming as he read that I was reading him without contempt (he thought I was feeling that, but I was simply analysing him emotionlessly—as if he was a labrat and I was dissecting him to figure out the following: what the fuck is this little shit?). But, I got him before he leaned away or apologised: Don’t worry, go on. Say it. I hate my cousins too. He relaxed yet again, I could see his shoulders come down and he leaned into me again,. Our heads were almost leaning against each other’s, breathes intermixing with each intake and out. “Go on.” I repeated, tapping his knee to accentuate my point.

He snapped out of whatever daze (he was reading me too, perhaps; mentally dissecting my Barbie body too, perhaps) and his hand came to clasp mine. I bit back a giggle and a smile at the contact, he did notice the corner of my lips tilt upward so he took that as a positive for further lacing of his fingers with mine. I, now a bit assured in myself, squeezed his hand and nudged him again: go on.

“Right,” He chuckled, “So, well, I just feel… Alien. You know, when I was little, I used to look at the stars,” He pointed briefly to the stars that were shining above the both of us, “And imagine my real family because I just felt like I wasn’t from here, like I was from another planet. I think I like that feeling, I was homesick for a place that didn’t even exist. And, to be honest, you’re the only other alien I’ve met.” That made me giggle after I muttered hiraeth at the sentence spoken second to the last. I found in my nicotined mindscape that this… Theory, was almost verbatim of a theory I myself had gardened in my meadow for mind. “Y’know…! I felt like that too, still do actually. I just used different terms for it. I called whatever the fuck our species are Earth Angels, angels on Earth. I read somewhere once that a person with scars of cuts on their arms was called an angel by a kid, and I think I really internalised… That.”

He chuckled, “Your mind is divine, Pretty. Yeah, I think my family is also a reason in why… I want to kill myself, y’know?”

“Oh, absolutely. I love them so much so I do what they want and they hate me for every speck of originality; I don’t know if it’s my mental disorders or it’s my hormones, but every small inconvenience makes me wanna kill myself. I’m also a hater! I hate everything and I do nothing to change it which, admittedly, makes me an arsehole—but, fuck it.” We both had laughter crawling up our throats and I could tell it wasn’t actual laughter. Oh, no. It was mania, laughing not because it threatened to spill; laughing because you had nothing else to do. Like crazy people (I do think that I am insane, in some way, shape or form. But, I also think that I’m supersane. Who fucking knows? I think a lot, don’t I?).

The cigarette had gone out by now, I think I had stubbed it out by pressing to the moist ground after he had truly started opening the shells of himself, not wishing to be distracted by drugs when I had the most addictive and healthy sedative offering his lifestory to a little shit like me. “Well, what’s it for you? I haven’t ever seen… You around…” He slurred out as we jumped down from our maniacal, little, episodic bursts of sacrilege or insanity… Well, are they not synonyms?

“Ah, so, I just moved here about a… Maybe a few days ago? I think a week or so. I moved from Lacey, though I’m actually Indian. Well… It’s a fucked-up fairytale, really. My whole ancestry and family is the following: sexist, racist, extremist to Sikhism, religious, doomed, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, very, very Indian. It’s only my grandmother who acknowledges the sexism floating between our family; she dreamt high and was ambition incarnate but her marriage to this horrible fucking man led her to be so oppressed she couldn't speak a word of English without being thoroughly taunted for it.” His face clearly contorted into a gnarly grimace, and I felt my nose start to itch and burn again remembering all this up… Never had I ever trauma-puked this well or been so comfortable vomiting it out to someone I did not know.

“’s just… Fuckin’ Hell. I can’t translate it into words, I can only feel.” Shaking my head in a paternal sort of disappointment (no matter how much I despise the fact, I am my father’s daughter; his copy of carbon) at my inability, I felt myself pulled in again… How? How was he doing this shit? Being so fucking kind? It made me anxious, admittedly. Why was he so kind? What did the fucker want?

I’m being too cynical. I wanted to cry; instead I accepted his tentative comfort and shoved my face into the nook of his neck, breathing down it like a vampire in the night. I had the purely feminine, feline urge to wrap myself around him like Sarin and never let go to slowly dissolve into him even if maggots eat us out. Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why…? For a few minutes I think, we stayed in that exact position, in a sort of silence that neutered my turmoil. His arms were gel onto my wounds, and I, terrified, readily crept in like the Dutch beetle on the elm.

“Don’t.” I eventually muttered out into the tender, pale, untouched flesh of temptation on his neck; I don’t know why I did it, don’t decipher or discover the root at all. What is a girl to do when offered love on a silver spoon when she only possesses a forked tongue of venom caused from licking slivers of love off a parental knife? I was a black, not racially but spiritually. I was corrupt, disgust, free-use trash for swollen cocks with zero semblance of any soul and only a pretty body. It’s my pretty power which is my ugly. I am disgusting… I sometimes feel the scorching need to cleanse myself, to face redemption, to hurry to salvation; and other days I revel in the hellfire of lust that would surround me once I am liberated of this uséd body.

[devine-fem]

Just seeing the recent panels of Absolute Power #2… I just feel there’s unnecessary trauma dumping for Jon at this point.

Manchester Black was one thing, but Ultraman and now Lady Braniac & Amanda Waller is unnecessary… is this really the only way to keep Jon relevant and interesting????

I’m not denying there are fans of Jon even in his current rendition but the fact that most fans still to this day and even prior to Absolute Power or whenever DC “reboots” their comics… were hoping for the age-up to be erased or maybe even bring in a multiversal! version of younger Jon says a lot.

And for those fans arguing pre-ages up Jon fans only want him young due to his relationship to Damian…look I can somewhat sympathize.

I can’t speak for everyone one but yes I admit I was familiar with Jon due to the hype of Supersons. I’m sure most fans were probably aware of Jon because of SS but went back to check out his origins.

And as much as I adore Damian and Jon and their relationship with one another….I was complete ready for Jon to do his own thing separately from Damian.

I didn’t want Jon to be attached to the hip with Damian to stay revenant. Both deserve to figure out who they are as people and what type of hero they want to be (or if they want to)

We could have had Jon explore his Kyptonian heritage from his dad or Kara. Actually have a sibling/nephew(?) relationship with Kon.

Ground level stories of his interactions among the people of Metropolis or Hamilton (I guess Smallville even)

Dealing with the frustrations of hiding parts of him, the weight of being Superman…etc.

Maybe form a superhero team of his owe with Kathy or other space related hero’s (ex: Tai Pham) that deals with cosmic related stuff.

Basically Jon deserved better in terms of storytelling and we barely scratched the surface with DC deciding to crash course it.

Whoever you are… I love you.

I agree with absolutely all of this, my only thing is that I personally think that as long as DC is doing something interesting to Jon that makes his character nuanced then I don’t really care, they can throw in a bunch of ideas and see what sticks, it’s the only way with how much of a mess he is right now, we are still so early in his development that I don’t know what to expect.

But I can’t wait for his character to find some stable ground and get some themes in his stories that compel me like they once did. They were extremely close to ruining Jon Kent for me forever but… I can be won over I think. Absolute Power seems promising, I want to see what they do before I start judging.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

A Freak and A Basket Case (Like the Lord Intended)

“The Camping Episode”

You know how in anime there’s usually a beach or a camping episode? This is that episode.

Eddie Munson x OC

Tags: established relationship, original characters, sad Dustin, mentions of alcohol and drug use, general dirty talk shenanigans, mentions of period typical racism

****

“Good afternoon ma’am… um… is Dustin home…?”

Allie made sure she used her best ‘I am small and vulnerable’ voice as she fidgeted at the Henderson’s doorstep. First impressions weren’t her strong suit. Then again she was basically allergic to any event that required making a social call. Unlike the polished and put together girls in Hawkins, Allie resembled a small half drowned mouse— wet and frightened.Her forehead was drenched in sweat, her blow dried bangs sticking to her forehead. Like always, she refused to take her jacket off even in the face of Hawkins humidity. The quilted lining around her armpits worked overtime to absorb the sweat like a thirty wick, and she stood all hunched and chest heaving to catch her breath. A butterfly gold Pyrex dish with a cream color lid was held out before her as if an offering to a Pagan god. The aroma of fragrant green chile, cream of chicken, cheese, and corn tortilla slipped through the cracks of the lid.

Mrs. Perea always insisted time and time again that you didn’t just return a Pyrex empty, porque tenemos dignidad, cabroncita. You don’t just show up to a house empty handed. That was number 279 on the list of rude little nitpicks that Mom harped on. Allie hadn’t even put up a fuss when her mother pushed the warm dish into her daughter’s hands before she left — she had a mission for Dustin, and would be remiss to not show up at the Henderson house with a little tit for tat.

“Are you little Alexandra?” Claudia Henderson gushed, and Allie tried not to wince at the use of the overly anglicized name that the majority population of the United States had given her.

“Well hello there, sweetheart! Dusty Buns is just in his room right now, I think he did mention you’d be coming by. Was that your little voice on the phone? Would you like to come in? You look like you’ve run a marathon, aren’t you hot in that jacket? You look a little damp, sweetie! It’s not good for you to be wandering around with the wrong clothes, why don’t you come inside before you catch heatstroke?”

Much like a stray cat reluctantly approaches someone with an outstretched palm, Allie entered the Henderson house in a similar reluctant shuffle, clinging to that Pyrex dish like a shield. The house to her was unremarkable. It was a home, much like hers and maybe a little cluttered. If she was honest, it reminded her more of a kind grandma’s home if anything. This was the house your parents sent you to for the summer to get plump on cakes and foods cooked in liberal amounts of butter.

Still, she didn’t truly trust Claudia. Not everyone who was nice had good intentions. All she knew of Dustin’s mom was little snippets mentioned here and there, along with context clues gleaned from the Henderson’s home decor choices.

Judging by the gray fur embedded in the shag and the overlooked scratches in the wood paneling, Claudia obviously was a cat owner. An obsessive, even. With the way she had hundreds upon hundreds of sepia and color photos of a chubby, smiling kid with curly brown hair interspersed between the kitten decor, it seemed the obsession extended to her son as well as the cats.

Suffice to say that Claudia operated on infantilizing everyone and everything. She seemed to think Allie was still in elementary school (typical, it was the height and babyface). The whole conversation had started off so juvenile, and Allie almost had to stop herself from reflexively asking in a tiny voice if Dustin could come out and play. Now she was just standing there as the older woman talked at her, firing a hundred and one things all at once.

Claudia complained about the humidity. She whinged that just looking at Allie in her coat made her hot flashes act up. She whined that her kitten had been lethargic all day and uninterested in playing, and that the summer months always made her little “love muffin Dusty Bun” irritable and uncomfortable. Ergo, because her little “Woogums” was irritable, Allie must have also been suffering.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable? I can get you an iced tea? Do you like lemonade? You can take off your coat and hang it here in the coat closet next to mine if you like. Here, let me take it for you.”

Rose pink fingernails reached for the quilted brown Carhartt, and Allie immediately flinched away.

Claudia’s face softened when she saw Allie’s nervous response, shaking hands struggling to stabilize the casserole dish. Unbeknownst to the girl, it worked to her advantage. They didn’t call Allie a Basket Case for nothing; she could appear helpless to an adult, and startlingly unstable to a bully. It unnerved her peers and endeared her to adults. The perfect camouflage.

“No thank you ma’am um this is for you…”

Her voice came out all in one breath, and she kept Claudia at bay by holding the Pyrex out with her eyes trained on the cream color shag carpet. She hoped the woman would just stop talking and take the dish.

“Thank you for the jello, um… we made this for you. It’s uh… green chile chicken enchiladas… they’re real mild… uh, not so hot that you can’t like, eat them. I tried them to make sure.” Alex muttered.

Mom had made sure to craft the enchilada dish with Allie’s delicate palette in mind — mainly because she was the only person in the house with a delicate midwestern constitution— and with her delicate tongue, Allie had declared the dish perfect during the taste test.

Not too hot, but just enough of a tiny kick that it complemented rather than overpowered the other seasonings.

“Oh thank you, thank you so much!” Claudia Henderson gushed, taking her Pyrex from Allie..

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for us! Thank you for making it mild — you know Dusty and I can’t handle much heat. My poor baby, it makes his little bowels just ache and I won’t get him out of that toilet until Christmas. My Dusty’s widdle belly and mine appreciate you!”

She gave a girlish giggle as she patted her own generous middle. Allie cringed.

“It’s no problem thank you again for the Jell-O ma’am…” she whispered.

Instead of heading off immediately to continue her mission, Allie struggled through small talk with Claudia. Interest in the conversation was lukewarm at best. Not like it was anything substantial anyway, just little baby voice anecdotes of Dustin’s various gastrointestinal issues and deeply personal stories that could only come from a woman with a lot to say and no one around to really say it to. To tell the truth, she didn’t dislike Claudia. Conversations like this were just a new thing to her. Back in New Mexico everyone was less than enthusiastic about speaking to new people. You kept your head down most of the time, and ignored everyone else.

But, Claudia Henderson had taken the time to bring the Pereas a welcome to the neighborhood dish. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for them. Not one adjacent neighbor had come out to say hello since the Pereas had moved in at the beginning of August. And because of that fact, Allie had enjoyed the partially melted red Jell-O with the encapsulated strawberries just a little more.

Maybe a good five minutes of this one sided conversation passed, but to Allie it felt like eternity before she made her mumbled excuses to escape.

Time to focus on the mission: secure a dog sitter, pay him in cash, then leave for home where Eddie would be waiting with the van.

The worn out rubber treads of her converse whispered against the shag as she scurried away from Claudia, thankful for the quiet reprieve found at the back of the house. Keeping her eyes on the carpeted corridor – because she always looked at her feet when she walked – Allie stopped short when she saw a Siamese kitten stretched out just along the threshold of Dustin’s closed door.

Instantly, she fell in love with it.

“Well hewwo widdle cutie bag of doughnuts…” Allie wibbled, her voice raised almost to Claudia’s baby pitch, “Aren’t you a soft widdle pumpkin seed loaf? What’s our name, huh? What’s a fuzzy’s name?”

The kitten yawned as she stroked its soft fur with her fingertips. With a stretch (which Allie encouraged with an ‘Ooooh, big stretch!’) the kitten took its time getting to its feel, lazily rubbing itself along the rolls of her slouchy socks.

Now, obviously there was no way she could avoid giving this kitten love. Testing the waters, Allie wrapped her hands around its middle and lifted. Not so much as a struggle. Instead, the kitten nestled in her arms. Very laid back, relaxed even, it began to purr as she cradled it like a baby. Nearly forgetting why she’d come, Allie kissed its soft fuzzy head over and over, giggling as the cat batted her face with dainty little smacks with its soft paws. She was mush. Totally absorbed with the little fuzzy baby, until she stopped mid forehead kiss and realized she still hadn’t come to do what she’d set out.

Okay, mujer, focus. Take the cat with you and just ask him already. In fact, I’ll take the fucking thing home. This is my cat now.

She knocked on Dustin’s door, calling out to him.

“Muad’Dib…?”

There was a bout of awkward shuffling inside, followed by what she thought was sniffling. She waited. And waited… Until she got fed up and decided to just try again. She tapped smartly on the door again with her knuckles, shave and a haircut. No two bits responded.

“Muad’Dib…” she insisted, “Apúrate bro, it’s me. Open up, I come demanding a favor from my most esteemed Mentat-…”

Her words stuck fast like glue when the door opened, plugging her throat up. Immediately she clocked that Dustin was trying to hide the fact that he had been in the throes of a mental breakdown. She knew the signs well. Wiping tears from his face like he was brushing hair out of his eyes, putting on a brave smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah! Hey…!” He laughed awkwardly.

“… you alright?” Allie asked.

Dustin was struggling to keep his composure. Shoulders shaking. Eyes watery at the corners.

“Um, yeah, yeah I’m okay. I’m good. Feeling good in the neighborhood.” He insisted.

Allie frowned a little in concern. Dustin began to panic, opening the door and pulling at her jacket sleeve.

“C’mon,” he insisted, yanking her forward, “Come check out my room. Uh… See you found Tews there, he can come in too.”

Allie wandered in with the kitten. Both her and Tews were looking directly at Dustin as he closed the door behind them.

“You look like shit.” She observed.

Immediately she felt bad for blurting out her rude comment when she saw the young boy scrub his face and try to smile.

“Jesus, you’re brutal, chica.” He laughed, “But what else did I expect from Hellfire’s Reverend Mother-…”

“What’s wrong, Muad’Dib?” She tried again, coming up directly to stare him in the face, “Why’re you crying?”

“Huh? Me?! No, no I’m okay, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

She reached out with one hand, still cradling the kitten. With a gentle swipe of her index finger against his cheek, she wiped a tear that had managed to squeeze out.

“No, it’s not nothing.” She insisted.

“Allie, I swear on my life, it’s nothing. Anyway, what’s going on? You said you needed a favor…?”

“My favor can wait. What’s wrong with you? How come you’re crying-…”

“I’m not crying!” He barked, his face turning red, “God dammit!”

Now she knew something was wrong. And deeply wrong at that. Dustin Henderson never yelled, he never lashed out in anger. Dustin usually acted like a smartass, and hovered around her and Eddie every chance he got, buzzing like a mosquito in her ear about his new little inventions or quizzing her on certain aspects of Chapterhouse: Dune. This was so… unusual to see him like this. Angry and defeated..

“You didn’t come to Hellfire Club.” Allie said gently, electing to ignore his outburst, “None of you guys did… we missed our freshies.”

She and Eddie had at least expected Dustin to show up for Hellfire on Friday, but surprisingly, he pulled a no call no show. It had just been her, Eddie, and the Corroded Coffin guys. That’s how it had been before Eddie had corralled the freshmen, but the new blood always added some extra spark to the mix.

Mike and Lucas typically flaked. That was nothing new. But surely Dustin would always show up?

“I…”

It took a while for him to answer. Tews began to struggle in Allie’s grip, so she gently set the kitten down on the ground so that he could disappear under Dustin’s desk. With a soft grunt, she sat down on his bed, looking up as she dangled her legs off the edge.

Their eyes met. And when her own eyes softened behind her large glasses, Dustin broke.

“It’s just… it’s been a shitty week...” He croaked.

From what it sounded, he’d been going through the motions trying to keep it together. What began as a mournful recount of events, soon devolved into a passionate rant about every single wrong done this year. One atop the other, each micro transgression riding pig-a-back on the last until it seemed like it just snowballed out of control. Things were different, Dustin wasn’t dealing well with different.

“— and my mom has just been up my ass all week after school, and just… everyone except me has plans…”

Queue another impassioned rant. His childhood friends were drifting apart and leaving him behind. Mike was spending Labor Day weekend in California with his girlfriend and their buddy Will. Some girl named Susie-Poo would be attending a weekend long family reunion in honor of Labor Day weekend — no electronics allowed in favor of activities involving banana pudding, fireworks, prayer, and cornhole — and Dustin seemed to take it as a personal affront that she had refused to bail on family time to spend the weekend talking with him. A little lover’s quarrel had ensued, and her older sister had unplugged the radio on the Utah side after complaining about the noise.

When Dustin told Allie that Lucas had practice, she frowned. Obviously that was a lie, because Chrissy Cunningham told her she had been invited to that same Labor Day “basketball practice”. It was what they were calling it when in earshot of the adults so as not to arouse suspicion.

But it was so cookie cutter, too perfect and almost too stupid of an excuse, that immediately Allie had laughed. She had swatted at Chrissy’s arm, and demanded the truth. And because Chrissy and Allie gossiped like broody hens about everything— from pregnancy scares to the ragers that caused them— Allie knew on good authority that Lucas would not be spending his weekend practicing defense or rebounding drills. Instead, he would most likely be partaking in seven hundred and fifty milliliters of Frangelico with Chance. Meanwhile Jason, Patrick, and Andy would be playing strip beer pong with the pep squad in the McKinney’s two car garage.

“No, dude. It’s not a practice. He’s going to Patrick’s party this weekend.” Allie said bluntly.

“Wait, seriously?!” Dustin exclaimed, “He’s going to a party?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, “I don’t know why he lied. He should have just told you…”

As much as Eddie hated Jason Carver’s “Good Ol’ Boys” chapter, he didn’t begrudge Lucas for going to a party. Hell, the hefty little markup profit Eddie had made from Andy’s need for speed was currently sitting pretty in Alex’s skirt pocket. After securing his bag, Eddie had come to her house grinning like a maniac, having come away from the jock encounter a couple hundred dollars richer.

That was how their weekend getaway had come about anyways. Originally the intention was to use half of Andy’s markup as a house sitting incentive for Dustin, and to use the remainder as extra spending money for a weekend camping trip for two since everyone else had plans.

If Eddie had known ahead of time that Lucas had planned on going, he would have encouraged him to go (and probably tried to sell him a little extra bud to help boost his popularity). But the fact of the matter was that it seemed like Lucas didn’t trust Eddie fully with the truth. Or any of his other friends for that matter if Dustin didn’t know.

Allie wasn’t angry at Lucas, just disappointed that he’d given a dodgy excuse.

“Eddie’s not happy about it, he said Lucas should have just been honest and told him he wanted to go drinking.” Allie admitted, “It’s not like we’re all prude. We could have just canceled club.”

Unspoken things floated up in the air between the two of them like dust particles. The truth pierced like an arrow, and it had hit the boy in front of her hard. Watching Dustin deflate like someone had let the air out of him was the saddest, most pathetic thing that Allie had ever seen before. She cleared her throat, and spoke up to alleviate the unease.

“But um… Eddie wanted me to check on you, because you’re not all flighty, and you don’t usually cancel on us. But with Lucas gone last minute, it left us a few players short. So like, we landed up ending the Palace of the Silver Princess early… and we all kind of just went home. Because it wasn’t the same without you making commentary.”

A shuddering sob transformed into a noncommittal shrug on Dustin’s shoulders. He was betrayed. Bewildered even.

“Whatever.” Dustin gulped, his voice guttural as though he was trying desperately not to burst into tears, “It’s whatever. Fuck it. If he wants to go party with the jockstraps, let him. I always get left behind, it’s okay.”

You don’t mean that… Allie thought, Come on, Muad’Dib… you don’t truly mean that.

It was normal to be angry at your friends every once in a while. But seeing him like this — seeing her Muad’Dib hurt like this — it was painful.

His expression stabbed her heart. Like the burning poison of a Gom Jabbar, his sadness infected her.

“I’m sorry, Muad’Dib…” she said, “I didn’t know that you didn’t know…”

“No it’s fine.” Dustin insisted, “I don’t care… like I said, everyone leaves me behind, why should I matter now? Clearly everyone’s majorly top secret Labor Day plans don’t involve a fat nerd like me!”

Much as she saw him as a nuisance on a good day, she saw something else in him now.

She saw a younger version of herself standing in front of her. Hurting. Trying not to cry. Cursing everyone who had ever wronged her. Always excluded. Always lied to for protection. As if her feelings were too delicate to handle the truth. Maybe Lucas was just trying to protect Dustin from the backlash if the boys got caught? Maybe he had done it on purpose? Who could say.

This was all far too complicated of a situation. At the very least, far too complicated for Allie to understand why Lucas’ white lie was so hard for Dustin to take on the chin.

“Ugh… shit…! Anyway, what was the favor you needed? What did you come here for?” Dustin asked, still trying to wipe his boogery nose with the back of his hand.

You don’t need to try to be brave, Muad’Dib…

“About that…”

Everyone always teased Allie and Eddie to no end that Dustin was secretly their love child. He had the same coiling curly hair that they both did, and Lucas swore up and down that Dustin had Eddie’s dimples. Mike even said that they both had similar dental problems, even though Dustin had corrected him over and over, because diastema wasn’t actually the same as cleidocranial dysplasia.

Maybe Dustin wasn’t quite at the level of affection she’d have for a love child, but she did feel something else…

Pity.

Specifically younger sibling pity.

She didn’t see him as a love child, not quite a best friend, but some secret third thing…

A brother.

An awkward, annoying, startlingly intelligent and innocent younger brother who had read the same books she did, and then some. A short, chubby, and awkward nerd brother like her who always got left out. Who everyone always thought needed to be coddled like a baby.

In that moment, seeing her poor desert mouse— her Muad’Dib — so vulnerable, she felt honest-to-god compassion.

“… There’s a slight deviation to the favor now.” Allie said.

Dustin looked up, utter confusion on his face.

Allie scooted off the bed until she was standing up. Automatically her damp sleeve cuff went to her mouth. Reacquainting her tongue with the damp, salty tang of the stretch knit, she began to chew and suck on the fabric in quiet contemplation.

“What are you doing for Labor Day weekend?” She asked, voice muffled by the cuff.

“Wha… huh?!”

“Specifically, tomorrow and Sunday?”

The question totally caught him off guard. She could tell by his body language, not by his eyes. Allie couldn’t stand to keep looking at those sad little wet eyes.

“I don’t have any plans…” Dustin admitted rather grudgingly, “Why?”

She sniffed. Looked at Tews who had come wandering back to her to play with her shoelaces. Then, with a sigh, came to her final decision.

“… How would you like to go camping with me and Eddie?”

****

Cursing loudly and nearly tripping over her untied shoelaces, Allie finally tucked the loose strings into her socks. No time to tie them in a nice and neat bow, because Eddie was laying on the horn and blasting “Love Me Like a Reptile” right outside her home. Laughing and scrambling to get to him, Allie was already half way to the van by the time her lover caught sight of her scurrying like a mouse with a cat in hot pursuit. The Gaucho was parked haphazardly with one wheel on the sidewalk, and it looked like Eddie had been waiting for Jaime to pull out his Monte Carlo so Eddie could take the spot in the driveway.

Just as she crossed the street into her own cul-de-sac, Jaime nearly ran Allie off the road with a petty side swipe of his ranfla, laughing and holding up a middle finger at her as he drove off to partake of his own Labor Day weekend plans.

“Fuck you, asshole!” She screamed.

Allie leaned on the driver’s side of the Gaucho with her middle finger raised at her brother, before leaning over to kiss Eddie.

“Jesus Christ.” He laughed, stubbing out one of his Camels into the overflowing ash tray, “No love lost between you two, is there?”

“I don’t have time for his fucking bullshit.” Allie grumbled, “There’s been a change of plans.”

The passenger door was sticking again, and it finally opened with a grunt and a mighty yank. Once she was in, Allie turned off the stereo and shed her coat. Eddie frowned, and was about to open his mouth to ask what was wrong when his girlfriend began to walk him through the whole Dustin Henderson situation. There were no lurid details spared. Everything was fair game for her to explain. Of particular emphasis was how he’d been abandoned, how he had just been on the verge of losing it…

“- and then he just started like, ugly crying,” Allie said, gesticulating her arms wildly, “And he looked so fucking sad. It was like looking at a kicked puppy, babe.”

“Wait… are you serious?!” He asked, “Dustin Henderson started ugly crying?!”

“Oh my god yes…” Allie was tugging at her hair, only stopping when Eddie swatted her hands away with an admonishment of “don’t do that”. It had been his personal mission to try and break her of these nervous habits, and a roach was offered to her for the nerves which she gladly took.

Puff, puff, give.

“He lost it, I’ve never seen someone like that before.” Allie admitted, curling up in the bucket seat as Eddie took a hit, “Like, he almost had a whole mental breakdown in his room about it.”

A plume of smoke billowed out of his nose, like a dragon idling with a fireball in its mouth.

“That’s why I felt like a bitch for wanting him to sit for us, and I just invited him along... Babe, he’s got nobody in that little room.” Allie said, “All his old friends are gone. He doesn’t have any plans for the weekend, he was miserable.”

She tugged on her jacket, almost wanting to bite her cuff again, but stopping and instead hitting her mouth with the back of her hand softly.

Eddie inhaled through the nose, exhaled through the mouth.

“No, you did a good deed. I know he takes things on the chin, but he’s human.” Eddie admitted at last, blowing a raspberry as he looked in the rear view mirror, “At the end of the day, it’s shitty being left behind like that. Even if it’s not intentional.”

“I know.” Allie nodded, “That’s why I figured I’d invite him along.”

This side of Allie was a new facet that she had never really shown to Eddie. She was sweet and non judgmental of course, he knew it from the first time. Where as all others saw a bitch of a basket case, or someone that ought to be ignored, Eddie saw the real her. The Allie Perea that had giggled and smiled at him, the one who treated him like a human being when they first met.

But it had taken Allie some time to warm up to Dustin and the freshmen. Lucas toed the line on her shitlist for ditching sessions without notice, and Mike Wheeler and Alejandra Perea were like water and oil with the way he nitpicked her to death during the campaign.

Dustin by association with Mike was also on her shitlist, but now, Allie seemed compassionate. In her heart of hearts, she cared very deeply that Dustin was being left out. That was her Muad’Dib. It wasn’t fair he was being left behind.

“You’ve got a pure heart.” Eddie teased, ruffling her hair, “You know that?”

“God dammit, no.” Allie murmured, “I am darkness, I am the night…”

“You’re about as dark as a basket of kittens.”

“But they’re evil kittens.” Allie argued, sticking out her tongue, “Evil kittens that commit war crimes.”

“Name one war crime.” Eddie grinned.

“Oh… Shit I dunno, but I’m pretty sure my very existence is a crime against humanity in some districts.”

They both laughed, leaning against one another and enjoying the light they brought to each other’s lives. Fuck being miserable and sad and alone, this was what Allie loved about being around Eddie. And if Dustin was going to be sad and alone on Labor Day, he deserved a little happiness too. Even if it didn’t mean much because his friends were still gone. Tenderness for his plight made Allie want to spread the happiness, and if she had to make sure this sad little nerd went camping with two freaks with issues of their own, then that was how it was going to work out.

It was what she would have wanted… especially when she was back in New Mexico.

“You with me, babe?” Eddie asked, looking over briefly at Allie as he shifted the Gaucho into gear to leave.

“Hm?”

The image of Dustin’s sad, watery eyes had made her distracted and melancholy. But it wasn’t anything that she wanted to unpack just yet.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” She insisted, “We better get a move on to Rick’s, you said you wanted him to buy you a six pack, right?”

Nodding, he pulled the van out of the driveway and began the trek towards Mulberry.

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, “It ain’t camping if your man can’t have a beer. Jesus knows I’m gonna need it if we have to deal with Henderson’s smart ass on this trip.”

He was joking, of course, but Allie couldn’t help but give him a dirty look until he laughed.

“Kidding, babe.”

“You better be.” She warned, “Otherwise I’ll leave Scruffy instead of bringing him.”

“Wait?! You’re bringing my baby boy?!”

Alex nodded, while Eddie punched the air. He was obsessed with the dog. Nearly every visit to the Perea household deviated from a planned make out session, because Eddie would often be too busy playing fetch with the family’s mutt.

“Hell yeah!” He cheered, “I get to have my boy with me for Labor Day!”

“But, if you wanna bring Scruffy, we gotta bring Tiffany too.” She said, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

The car horn sounded as Eddie pounded against the steering wheel, a loud “fuck!” erupting from his throat. Tiny Tiffany was a terror. She had the nasty habit of pissing on the tires of the Gaucho whenever Eddie came over. She snapped at his ankles when he and Alex took her for a turn around the neighborhood on her leash. When she wasn’t snapping at his jeans, Tiffany was chewing on Eddie’s Reeboks… she’d already went to town on his Converse, and Allie was still apologizing for it.

Nearly every day Eddie expressed his disdain and displeasure for Allie’s crusty white dog. Since day one, they had been sworn enemies. Doing battle like knights of old for the affection of a nervous wreck of a girl.

“Nooooo!” Eddie wailed, “Fuck no! Not the rat dog!”

“Yes, we are bringing both of my dogs, and don’t call Tiffany a rat!”

“You know damn well that dog is a yappy, toothy little rat.”

“No she’s not! She has abandonment issues, she’s just grumpy when she feels neglected.”

“Neglected my ass, she’s a spoiled bitch.”

Allie huffed, swatting Eddie with the sleeve of her jacket. If she was going to have peace on this trip, then Eddie would just have to make peace with the dog. As much as she didn’t want to go the drastic route, Allie knew there was only one way that Eddie would treat her sweet pup with kindness.

“You little… Listen honey… You be nice to Tiffany, and I won’t take away your tit privileges for the weekend.” She huffed.

“Oh come on! Don’t hold my girls hostage! They need me!”

Nearly making the car swerve into the tree line, Eddie cried out pitifully like a baby as he tried to reach for her chest. But Allie pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring hatefully.

“Nah uh, full on Fort Knox until you’re nice to my baby.” She snapped.

No matter how much Eddie whined or made faces, Allie did not budge. She was sick of the constant yapping from both her boyfriend and her dog. Labor Day weekend was supposed to be fun, and if Dustin was going to join them, she fully intended to make sure everyone got along. Even the animals. It took a long time for her boyfriend to finally acquiesce to her demands.

“Ugh… fine. I’ll be civil with rat dog, but you better let me have unfettered access to my girls.” He pouted.

“You’re not going to be civil, you’re going to be nice.” Allie corrected.

“Fine… I’ll be nice to her, I’ll even try to make her like me, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like Eddie Munson is a sucker for fat tits.” Allie laughed, “But it sounds good. Hope you can keep up your end of the bargain.”

Eddie snorted, looking over at her as they pulled into Rick Lipton’s driveway.

“Oh I’ll keep my word alright. And hey… If they’re your fat tits, I would suck scum off the bottom of a boat just to get a good handful.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking dirty!” Allie laughed.

“Gotta keep my eyes on the prize, baby.” Eddie smirked, “And you best believe, I will do anything for a little smackerel of boob.”

This weekend was going to be arduous, of that, Allie was certain. But maybe she’d get lucky? There was always the possibility that she could get eaten by a bear and not have to deal with drama.

Please let this be a normal trip… she thought.

And please… don’t let me regret changing my plans...

[sopejinsunflower]

a/n: ok so this started out with a completely different idea but when idk, somewhere along the way the plot kinda left the chat and it just screams horny horny brain is horny so yeah…but I had this idea ever since Arson came out lol I hope you guys enjoy it anyway. It has been sitting in my WIP since December and I honestly didn't do much editing or proofreading >.<

Title: Was actually originally called Devil May Care 

Warning: 18+, violence implied, gun use, minor DNI

Summary: You are a very highly respectable business woman but your scene is less than…ideal. You need a new head of security but with a tight schedule, you have to hire someone with just the basic qualification. It’s all fine until you realise your new head of security is someone you’ve been masturbating to for most of your adult life. And to make things worse (or better), he knows you know. 

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x you, Park Jimin

Tags: Employer-employee AU! Penetrative sex, masturbation implied, violence mentioned, slight Hoseok dom because no way I’m NOT putting that in. 

Word count: 19k

You slam your bag onto the surface of your desk hard enough for the sound to jerk everyone upright, standing rigidly waiting for you to unleash your anger.

You raise your gaze, glaring daggers at the man standing across from you with his eyes downcast, hands clasped together in front of him. “Explain yourself,” you growl out in between gritted teeth. 

He only purses his lips, unable to come up with anything. He fucked up, he knows, and as your head of security, he knows he’s about to get the axe. You don’t repeat yourself, knowing full well what happened and how it had happened but you just wanted him to admit it and he can’t even do that. Your instructions had been simple, and yet it had seemed to be a tall order for someone with twenty-five years under the belt as a security guard to high risk VIPs such as yourself; working in the diamond industry comes with its perks. 

He had one job: protect you. When you are closing in on deals, most times the merchandise is already with you, hidden in secretly-sewn pockets to be retrieved once everything is signed and the payment method is handed over and checked. Payment method, because people don’t usually pay with cash, especially those black organisations that insist on meeting in dark dingy rooms or empty parking lots. And you can never trust them fully to not fuck you over during those meetings so his job was to make sure that there are no unpleasant surprises beforehand and if it does happen, get you out of there safely. 

But here you are, standing in your office, half the guards smelling like gunsmokes, three of them currently being tended to by your private doctor for bullet wounds and there’s a thin, light scratch over your forehead and your shoulders are starting to ache from having to fire your own Glock while running. The situation had been far from safe and it all fell onto his shoulders. You check your reflection in the cabinet glass, huff and turn around. “Get the fuck out of my face. You’re fired.”

He gives you one last bow and walks out of the room, hands clenched in fists. You’re not an easy employer, even you know that, but you are fair and pay people five times the market rate, more than fair for the kind of environment they have to work in. But those high wages don’t come easy; you have strict criterias and requirements for both the roles and the responsibilities they carry. You’re not irrational but you have to maintain the highest vigilance not just for your sake, but for everyone involved. When you need job A to be done in a certain way, it must be followed to the T. Or things like this happen.

You heave a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Without looking, you wave your hand to dismiss the other guards and plop yourself in your reclining leather chair, feeling a thousand pounds heavier than you did in the morning. To be completely honest, you had been having the same nagging feeling for a week now, leading to that meeting with the Ryuukai, the Dragon Organisation, but, then again, you always feel weird during the days prior to a black market deal. If only you’d listened more to your gut feeling, but hindsight is always fifty-fifty. 

First thing’s first: you need a new head of security. 

You rub at your face, sigh again, and call for your executive secretary. Park Jimin swishes in through the door not three seconds later and you look up in surprise. He’s holding a glass of water and an ibuprofen for the headache that’s starting up, his usual notebook clamped in his armpit. “How long were you waiting outside the door?” you ask, taking the glass and painkiller gratefully. 

“Just right after Hank walked out,” he answers airily, sitting down in one of the velvet chairs across from you, crossing his legs and taking out his pen and notebook. 

Jimin is in a three-piece suit but without the jacket and his sleeves rolled up. Honestly, he dresses like a boss himself instead of a secretary but working with you means he’s technically in charge of the whole office. His nickname is God’s Messenger because when he delivers your orders or instructions, the others obey without a word. He’s more of a right-hand-man, too, by how much you rely on him when you’re not in. 

You place the pill at the back of your tongue and take huge gulps of the water to swallow it, almost finishing the whole tall glass. You sigh, sitting back, eyes still closed. “Why does it seem like you’re the only one who knows to do your job well? It’s so hard to find reliable employees these days.”

Jimin preens in his chair, sitting up straighter. “Well, first, I don’t seem to do my job well, I do my job well. Second, stop sighing like an old woman. Third, I don’t have any response regarding reliable employees but I’m assuming we’ll need to hire a new one?”

You nod, sitting up and letting out another long, heavy sigh much to Jimin’s annoyance. “Do you think you can find someone in two weeks?”

“You’re getting more and more demanding,” he says nonchalantly, writing down something in his notebook. “Two weeks, got it. Shall I put ‘psychic’ as the requirement?” At the confused look from you, he adds, waving the pen around, “Oh, you know, so he’s able to tell if a situation could go bad. Like Hank couldn’t.”

Your face immediately turns sour. “A thorough investigation would have been enough to avoid that whole mess,” you hiss, clenching the edge of the desk. “I almost lost men out there!”

Jimin suppresses from rolling his eyes. “Right, right. So someone thorough, got it. Two weeks won’t be enough time to find someone of your high standards. Are you sure you don’t want to postpone that deal with the Sumiyoshi?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “This meeting has been scheduled for months now. I can’t mess this up. They’re already pissed about the last botched merch from last time. And I’m still pissed about that.”

Jimin scoffs in between his writing. “Don’t worry. The guy is still paying for his mistakes until today in some basement out there. You made sure of that. I don’t know if we can find quality and reliable candidates in this short time but I’ll dig around. No promises, though.”

“Update me again in a week,” you tell him as he’s leaving your office. 

He pauses in the doorway, leaning back to look at you. A genuine look of concern is clear on his face. “Go home and rest. You look like shit. I’ll handle things here.”

You give him an appreciative smile and pack up your things, wanting nothing more than a long warm bath and pulling your fluffy duvet over you so you can curl up and sleep in your empty king bed. You get home, get undressed and strut around naked in your apartment. You start to fill up the bath and while the water is going, you head for a glass of white wine in the kitchen, something to calm your nerves. It didn’t help much. 

The bath beeps and you head to the bathroom, throw in your favourite bath bomb and watch it fizzle as you take a quick shower to rinse off; you hate the idea of sitting in your own filth. Then you step in and have about a fifteen-minute soak. The warm water helps soothe your aching muscles and your left hand, the one you use to shoot your gun, finally stops shaking. You add another bath bomb to the water but when you step out, you can still smell the gunpowder. You take a second shower and spend extra time rubbing your body with a loofah and washing your hair.

Satisfied that there’s no more smell, you pull on a comfortable satin slip, dry your hair and dive into bed. The thick, black-out curtains have been pulled shut and you’re hoping to take a nap but no matter how long you lie there, you keep blinking up at the ceiling, replaying today’s shitshow over and over again. 

It’s not your first shoot-out, of course, but it doesn’t make it any less scary each time. The Ryuukai is known to be difficult but you’ve done deals with them in the past before and they have all gone smoothly enough. This time though, you learnt that there had been a shift in the organisation and there were new faces, even the middleman was someone you’ve never met before and not the person you talked to a month prior to setting up the meeting. Everything had felt fishy and shadier than usual and you wish you had followed your gut. 

Your entourage had been ambushed. The Ryuukai had attempted to get their hands on the diamonds by force and your whole team had walked straight into a trap. When it was obvious they couldn’t find where the merchandise was, they chose violence. To be fair, Jimin was right; Hank couldn’t have known how that would turn out but there’s a reason one of his main responsibilities is to stake out and investigate every little detail ahead of the meeting. It’s to avoid things like this from happening because it has happened in the past. These measures aren’t put there for fun; they’re implemented so that every one of your men gets to go home to their families at the end of the day. 

And three of them almost didn’t. Lawyers have been dispatched to deal with the families regarding the situation but you can’t help but feel it was avoidable. Hank had been with you for five years with no problems but lately his head has been out of the game. You’re not privy to his personal lives, literally not your concern, but the one thing you ask of your employees is that they don’t bring home matters to work. If Hank had been going through some tough shit outside of work, then he never communicated it. You’re not a monster; you would’ve taken him off of work without him losing his job or income if he had needed time to sort things out first.

You sigh and hear your secretary's voice in your ear about being an old woman. You roll your eyes to the ceiling. Your phone pings and you check the message.

Jimin: The families have signed the NDAs. It’s on your desk. 

PING!

Jimin: Stop staring at the ceiling and sleep.

What the fuck?! Does he have a spy camera or something? You sit up in bed, paranoid, looking around the room. 

PING!

Jimin: No, there’s no camera. I just know you too well (rolling eyes emoji)

You slap the phone face down on the bedside table after putting it on silent mode and pull the duvet back over your head. Nothing’s more frustrating than someone who is always right and knows it, too. One of these days you’ll find a nicer more submissive PA but you doubt it. He’s too damn good at his job for you to find any good reason to get rid of him. 

BUZZ!

You groan out loud but grab the phone anyway.

Jimin: I had a food delivery schedule for around 7PM. I don’t think cooking will be on your to-do list today.

Too damn good, you think with a snort, putting away the phone for the last time because by hook or by crook, you’ll force that nap to come. Fifteen minutes later, after much tossing and turning, sleep still eludes you like a fish flitting through water. You’re still somehow high-strung, your brain refusing to forget today’s botched deal as it replays each scene for you to do a play-by-play; from the moment you notice the shiftiness of the Ryuukai’s men, the fact that you don’t recognise any of them, right down to the last moment of the shoot-out, you running, gunshots ringing in your ears until you’re safely in the car and Hank slammed the door behind you. 

Then you remember something; your little emergency stash under the bed made especially for times like this. You crawl over to the edge, lean halfway off the bed and rummage around under there trying to pull out the little box. It feels a little childish to be hiding stuff in that old tin box, something you’ve had with you for a very long time, even now when you’re one of the most powerful figures of the underworld living in one of the luxurious penthouses in the middle of the city. 

You pry open the lid and sift through the stuff in there. If anyone found that box, one would think it belongs to a teenage girl by the content: an old bookmark handmade from a laminated maple leaf, 16th and 21st birthday cards from old friends and families, a beaded bracelet, a few foreign coins, a few loose buttons, a few Polaroid photos faded with time. You ignore all the rest and pull out from the bottom an old and very well-used folded up poster. You put everything away and lay back on your pillow, carefully unfolding the piece of A3 paper. 

    Immediately you can feel the tension slip off of your shoulders at the sight of your favourite man in the world: Hoya, in all of his glorious nakedness besides the silver necklaces around his neck, the black masquerade mask that hides half of his face, and the little detective hat that he’s tipping over with that petulant smirk on his handsome face that screams, “Bet you wish you can have me, don’t you?” 

Yes, yes I do, you think, this time with a wistful sigh, your eyes roaming his body, imagining you can put your hands all over those biceps and rock-hard abs and kiss that Celtic hope tattoo on his chest, suck on his fingers and suckle on his nipples before…your eyes move downwards, saving that view for last even if you’ve seen it a thousand times. It works every time like a charm.

You lie back onto your pillow, the poster in hand. This is from one of his earlier issues from a few years back and by far your favourite, thus why it’s stored in your mental emergency box. You know a few things about this man; his age (three years younger than you), his favourite food (Korean), his favourite alcohol (soju and he drinks it only once a week), his favourite book (Living, Loving, Learning), his favourite song (it changes every three months), what he wanted to be as a child, what he wants now as an adult, his preferred type of woman (demure, sweet and kind but loves it spicy in the bedroom), and his hobby. 

You know his favourite position in bed, his kinks (D&M, bondage), his favourite subject in school (maths, surprisingly) and even the name of his first pet (Mickey). You know why he has that scar on his left eyebrow (at a judo tournament in high school when the opponent split his head but he won the competition anyway), the neighbourhood he grew up in and that he has an older sister who he’s close with. You know that he visits his parents every other weekend to have dinner with them because he prioritises family time. You know that he hates sleeping in the dark because of that one time a friend played a prank by locking him up in the closet and forgot about him, so he sleeps with a nightlight the shape of a crescent moon. You also know his birth zodiac but that he doesn’t believe in fate. 

You know all this information about this man that graces the monthly adult magazine you subscribe to since university and yet you don’t know his real name nor what he actually looks like. All of his posters and photos were masked. Someone in your position could easily have attained his real name at least but you decide not to. The mystery of it all kind of enhances his charm, you think, but fuck, if only you could, at least once in your life, to be able to wrap your mouth around that perfect cock of his. 

“You think you deserve this, baby?” the Hoya in your head asks as he looms over you, one hand leaning against the headboard above your head. He swings his hips close to your face, teasing you with his giant cock inches from your lips. 

“Yesss,” you mewl back, batting your eyelashes prettily for him. “Please.”

“Please what, sugar?”

You writhe under your blanket, your fingers quickly finding the wet spot in between your legs, eyes closed as you imagine the scene. “Please, daddy. I want it.”

And in your fantasies, Hoya always does. He always satisfies you, prioritising your needs as he winds you up and up and up and letting you come crashing down on your highs. He teases and taunts you, worships you like the goddess that you are and you’d scream his name over and over again as he rams into you until you’re all spent and blissful and he’d love you up more softly this time, rocking you both gently until he comes. Those scenes were enough ammo for your fingers to work furiously underneath the thick duvet, arching your back against your pillow, murmuring words you pretend the adult model can hear until you come, toes curling and sighing out his stage name. 

Then the guilt comes creeping in and you jump out of bed to clean yourself, chastising yourself that it’s just distasteful for someone like you to get so lost in your own head when your team was almost annihilated today. You bury yourself back in bed and this time, sleep comes much easier. 

***

“So…about the new head of security…”

Jimin follows you into your office and watches you straighten out your desk before you finally look up at him. “I don’t think we’ll find anyone in two weeks. I’m serious about postponing it because at this rate we’ll-”

“No.” You cut him short, plopping down into your seat and powering on the iMac. “The meeting with the Sumiyoshi is too important, Jimin, you know this. I can’t risk losing another business because we are not dealing with the Ryuukais anymore after last night.” 

Jimin clicks his fingers. “Oh, right! I’ve sent a team as you requested to their headquarters. You’ll hear about it at around…” he checks his watch casually, “noon, perhaps.”

You nod but the look on your face was clear to Jimin that you barely listened, clicking away on your computer, eyebrows furrowing. Jimin sighs. “Hey, look at me.”

You stop what you were doing and shift your gaze to him without turning your head. He scowls but says, “I’m serious about recruiting a head of security this willy-nilly. We’re talking about the head here, not some disposable goons. He’ll be responsible for your safety. You know, keeping you alive in situations similar to last night?”

You roll your eyes, throwing your head back. “Get to the point, Jimin.”

“I refuse to hire just anyone,” he says with a serious look on his face. “I won’t do it and risk you getting shot dead. It took us months to hire and train Hank and you want me to find someone to fill the role in two weeks? That’s not just crazy; that’s stupid.”

You grit your teeth, fingers flexing and unflexing. Anyone else who would speak to you like that would not still be standing as sturdily as Jimin is in that moment, holding his own almost like he’s the boss reprimanding you. But to your credit, you sit there in silence; one of Jimin’s many skills is to make you listen and you trust him enough to do so without protest. 

“Fine, then,” you concede, although your tone of voice is still very forceful. “We’ll hire a temporary one, then, if that makes you feel better. Someone good enough for the meeting in two weeks. Someone who won’t need much training but has enough experience to handle something like that.”

“Something like what? A meeting between two underground groups to exchange illegal material for cases of cash?” Jimin writes something in his notebook, arching an eyebrow as he speaks. “Noted. I have doubts but I’ll keep my eyes peeled and in the meantime find someone long term.”

He gives you a condescending smirk and waltzes right out. Just as you thought you were finished dealing with him, he pops his head back in. “Gang things may not sound appealing. Shall I fish them with a higher salary?”

“Do whatever you need to, Jimin,” you reply impatiently, waving your hand at him. “Just go away.”

“Neatto,” he chimes, disappearing again. 

Around noon, as Jimin predicted, the front page of most major online newspapers are covering the same story: “Mass murder, arson; the dragon has fallen”. Fancy news title to report on the demise of a mafia group but it is what it is. The shootout at the parking garage, however, wasn’t even mentioned anywhere. You don’t even bother reading the rest of it, clicking away to focus on other more important things, like the arrival of the goods for the Sumiyoshi next week. Customs a bitch to deal with but you have your strings to pull.

You don’t hear from Jimin the rest of the day and that’s fine. It means that work is progressing smoothly and your only hope is for him to find candidates for the open position. You consider rehiring Hank but that would bruise your ego so you squash the idea. For now. If the Ryuukais were bad, the Sumiyoshi would be even worse and a head of security would give the peace of mind you’d need and also a sort of deterrent as well for any fuckery they planned. 

You can’t trust those men and the moment they think they see an opening, they’d take it. They can’t stand having to bow to a woman but you rule the diamond business in this part of the world and they have no other reasonable choices. You are known to be fair and trustworthy, an empire you took years to build, carving in your name after you took over from your grandfather. You’re more of a businesswoman than a gang leader but taking over the business meant you had to take over every aspect of it; the good, the bad and the shady illegal shit that you only discovered after signing the handover agreement. 

You rub your eyes with your fingertips. You rarely feel sorry for yourself. Why should you? You live in a luxurious apartment that has 24-hour heavy security, you have a driver most times, your status gives you a free pass almost always, money is just a means of transaction that you’ve never hesitated to blow off if you needed to, and power over all the right people. Your business is as clean as you can keep it, you don’t have blood on your hands. Some deals are a little under the table, yes, but nowhere near the same category as the groups and gangs you deal with. You are, technically, legitimate. So why do you feel so shackled? 

People your age are married with kids these days, happy as they lived their lives like any normal person would. See, you want kids. Someday. But your life doesn’t have any space for even a lover. They are a hindrance, a bargaining chip that can easily be used against you. And they’re rarely ever loyal, not when to die for love’ could be literal in your world. No one actually means it when they say it. 

Then, like always when you think about the topic, Hoya’s face floats in front of your eyes; that cheeky glint in his eyes behind the mask, the parted lips with his tongue just slightly sticking out, enough for you to imagine things with it and the long, slender fingers that you’ve fantasise about doing more than just sticking them in your mouth. You shake your head to clear away the dirty thoughts creeping in. No, I’m at work! You slap your cheeks a few times and return back to the computer screen.

It’s not until the end of the week when Jimin informs you, with an unamused look on his face, that so far there were only three applicants and one of them is totally a reject because the guy is fresh out of college looking for a lucrative part time job before he leaves for Australia. 

“So that leaves us with two,” Jimin is saying, the iPad completely hiding his face from where you sit. “I’ve talked to them both. One has a military background. A captain in Iraq. Came back and currently working as a mall night security guard. Has PTSD so can’t commit to a nine to five. Looks promising but he has teenage kids and a dead wife.”

“And the other one?”

Jimin shakes his head. “I don’t really like this one.”

“Why not?” You frown, curious.

Jimin sighs. “Well, for one, the only good thing going for him is that he has multiple martial arts skills - judo, taekwondo, karate. This guy needs a new hobby.”

“So what’s wrong about him? Those are useful in this industry,” you say, sitting back in your chair and swinging it from side to side. 

“What’s wrong about him is that he’s in his mid-twenties but no full time job to account for,” Jimin answers as he scrolls through the man’s resume. “He graduated in economics, worked part time at a bar for a few months and then nothing. Said he does small freelance gigs here and there but won’t say what. I don’t like him.”

You laugh. “Pretty sure you can run a background check on him easily.”

“I know but it’s suspicious. I don’t like someone who I can’t read,” Jimin retorts. “I say go with the vet and then after the meeting we’ll reassess if we’d want to keep him. I’ll keep the job posting up in case we’d get better candidates.”

You mull over the information Jimin has provided you. The military vet does seem to be the obvious choice; he has experience and skills a head security needs but the fact that he’s the only thing standing in between whether his kids will grow up with one parent or end up in foster care makes everything a tad bit harder. That, or the fact that his kids could also be used as leverage by the enemies. Not a pretty thought but, again, it has happened. 

On the other hand, Jimin is correct about the martial arts guy. A person who has something to hide could be detrimental to you and the company. He has a good education but no job worth of note. Now, in the normal world, it would be understandable that not everyone is lucky enough but in your life, it’s a red flag. Your enemies are always finding ways to get close to you and you can’t risk being negligent now.

But you’re running out of time. 

You nod your head and turn to your secretary. “Alright, then. Give it to the vet. Have him report in on Monday morning.”

Jimin beams. “Consider it done.”

On Monday morning, you walk into the office and are met with a sour-faced Jimin talking heatedly on the phone in the corner of the pantry area. When he sees you, he ends the call and strides over. “He’s not coming,” he huffs.

“Who’s not coming?”

“The vet guy,” he explains bitterly. “Apparently his friend got him a job on the weekend and he felt better to go with the other option.”

“And you told him off on the phone?” You arched an eyebrow at him, incredulous.

Jimin looks confused. “What? No, that wasn’t him. That was the recruiter.” He rolls his eyes and you have the urge to call him an old man but don’t. “Anyway,” he sighs, “I’ve asked the other candidate to come in at ten for a “final” interview.” Jimin makes air quotes with his fingers. “Figured we can talk to him and then see how it goes.”

You stare at the clock. “That’s in thirty minutes.”

Jimin curses, checking his watch. “Fuck!”

“Are you okay? You seem out of sorts today,” you ask, walking over to the coffee machine. 

“Are you serious right now?”

You look at him, the coffee machine whirring in the background. “What?”

“Didn’t you see the email I sent you last night?”

“No. Why?”

Jimin looks a little pale. “It’s on your desk,” he says dryly, raising his phone to his ears. “I’ll just go and make sure the guy comes in today.” He walks out of the pantry talking on the phone, his voice harsh and cold to whoever he’s speaking to. You carry your coffee mug into your office and make a straight beeline to the single sheet of paper placed in the middle of it. You pick it up and read through Jimin’s cursive handwriting. 

“Sonofabitch!”

***

Jung Hoseok walks into the huge office feeling only slightly intimidated by the large windows and the fact that he was literally three hundred metres above ground. He involuntarily shivers. 

“Hi,” he says as he approaches the man dressed in a three-piece suit. The man looks up and smiles and Hoseok is immediately taken aback by how pretty he looks. He clears his throat and continues, “I’m here for the interview.”

“Jung Hoseok?” Jimin asks, though already knowing the answer. He looks the tall man up and down, dressed in a full suit minus a tie; a little odd considering this is an interview.  

Hoseok nods. He notices the other man staring at his bare collar and consciously tug at it. “I forgot it. Hope it won’t affect the interview,” Hoseok mumbles, not meaning any word of it. He hates ties, plain and simple.

Jimin stands up and offers his hand. “No worries. We’re not that conventional. I’m Park Jimin, the secretary.” He notices how Hoseok’s eyes grow infinitesimally wider at that but continues, “Please have a seat while I let the boss know you’re here. Thank you for coming on such short notice.” 

“No problem. I was in the neighbourhood,” Hoseok replies as he follows Jimin to a lounge chair outside a set of oak double doors. Another lie. He just needed the job and would think about the multiple traffic rules he broke on the way over later. Hoseok watches as the secretary disappears behind the double doors as he sits down. He strains his ear to hear beyond it but no sound comes through.

Hoseok takes this time to compose his thoughts, running through his head the things that he thinks would be good to say. A temporary head of security position and with his lack of experience, he’s very surprised (and very suspicious) that he even got a callback, never mind a final face-to-face interview directly with the boss. Judging by the place and the very vague ad, he has an idea what sort of man he’d have to keep safe; old, filthy rich with probably illegal money, and most possibly a narcissist. All the top dogs are usually one, especially when their office is this fucking high up in the sky. Why can’t it be something more grounded, for fuck’s sake?

Never mind, he just needs the money. All he has to do is smile and agree to everything the old geezer says and tells him to do. It’s temporary anyway. No biggie.

The oak door opens and Jimin steps out. He gestures to the door. “The boss is ready for you. Go on in.” 

Hoseok stands up and takes a few deep breaths. Jimin eyes him, not even hiding the fact that he’s watching the taller man with as much interest as a lion has its prey. The small smile on the secretary’s face is starting to grate Hoseok the wrong way but he straightens himself up and walks past him and into the room without another look. 

Jimin waltzes back to his desk, whistling. “Whew, I do sure hope he aces the interview,” he whispers to himself. 

Inside, Hoseok is looking around the massive room. Everything about it screams old, rich man smoking cigars his whole life; the dark mahogany desk, the shelves of thick books on economics, world history, business, diamonds and a few others that looked to be in Italian and Japanese, the bare mantelpiece with a couple of plagues to certify that the business is legit. No ashtray, though. The office has a warm brown tone, calming but, again, confirms his earlier assumptions. On the bright side, it also means that the money promised on the ad is something he can expect if he gets the job, an amount that would definitely give him the life that he so desperately wants. 

The office is empty and it takes him a while to register the water running in a connecting restroom. He stands in front of the desk, hands clasped in front of him, and waits patiently. He has to give a good impression. This job will be his one ticket to freedom.

The restroom door opens and he turns around, expecting an elderly man with an extended stomach to waddle out. At the sight of you, in a light grey suit with an open top white blouse underneath, Hoseok stumbles backward, hitting one of the chairs behind him, making it scrape back noisily. 

“Sorry for the wait,” you say, walking to the other side of the desk. “I just needed to freshen up. Hectic morning. Please, have a seat.”

Hoseok looks around the room again, waiting for someone else to come in. You watch him, a small sarcastic smile on your lips. “Are you looking for someone?”

Hoseok looks back at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought-” 

His eyes fall on the nameplate in front of him with the title Chief Executive Officer above your name. He looks at you then down at the nameplate and then back at you. You sit back in your chair, watching, amused. “You thought a woman can’t be the boss?”

There’s no contrition on Hoseok’s face, no embarrassment of sorts for having had that sexist thought right in front of a prospective employer. He just looked genuinely confused and then he shrugs, sitting down. “I just had a different idea initially,” he finally says, unbuttoning his suit jacket and crossing his legs at the knee. Five seconds later, he uncrosses it and sits up straighter.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” you ask, tilting your head, observing him. 

Hoseok doesn’t answer, his face remaining passive. 

You lean your elbows on the desk, steepling your fingers together. “Tell me, what sort of jobs have you had before,” you glance at the resume in front of you, “Jung Hoseok?”

“Different things,” he says casually. “A little bit of this and that.”

You eye him. A small part of you is annoyed by his rudeness but a bigger part of you is actually curious, dying to know what a handsome man like him does for a living that he’s not comfortable in this formal setting. You notice his slender, pretty fingers lightly drumming against his knee while the other hand rests against his cheek, looking at you like he’s the one conducting the interview instead. It’s somewhat angering and yet oddly amusing, like you wanted to see more of this devil-may-care behaviour of his. 

“I need specifics, Mr Jung,” you say. “I can’t hire someone I don’t know anything about and your resume,” you lift it up, “is pretty much empty. I don’t know what impression you got of our company but I can assure you I have high standards.”

He looks pointedly at you. “Then why did you request me to come in?”

You blink at him, dumbfounded. “Well, touché,” you laugh lightly, sitting back again. “To be honest, I was attracted by your martial art skills and I’m impressed. I think it will be useful for this position.”

Hoseok slides lower in his seat and spreads his legs in the typical way a man sits. He leans an elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his head lightly on three fingers. Suddenly, you lost your train of thoughts. Something about the way he sits, down to the tapping forefinger against the side of his temple, seems familiar. The set jaws, the serious lips and the tinge of iciness in his eyes; all seem to be ringing a bell in the back of your mind. Especially the eyes. Where have you seen it before?

“If it’s only the martial arts, then you won’t need to know my work history,” he says, his tone of voice cool and even with a touch of airiness that makes you think you’re beneath him. “But if you must know, I work part time as a judo instructor at a gym near my place.”

You glance at the piece of paper in your hand. It’s the only information available there and it doesn’t answer your question. You glare at him but he continues to speak. “Other than that I just do a bit of odd jobs here and there. I didn’t think it would be relevant nor make a good impression so I just left them out.” 

“What kind of odd jobs?” you push, narrowing your eyes. 

He returns your look coolly and takes five whole seconds before answering. “A bit of bartending, a bit of labour work. Different things like that.”

Outside, Jimin is pouring over the short email he had just received. The background check on Jung Hoseok doesn’t yield much information either, only that he was recruited into a hospitality agency and currently still is an employee there. Jimin Googled the agency but all that comes out is that it’s an outsourcing company, supplying workers to a variety of clients ranging from construction companies to restaurants and bars. He guesses the man wasn’t lying after all. He calls up the agency and speaks to an admin, taking out his pen to jot down in his trusty notebook.

In the office, you check Hoseok’s resume again. “It says here you went to college and graduated with a degree in economics. You’ve been part-timing since then?”

*Yes,” he answers curtly. 

“Is there any particular reason for that?”

“The economy is shit these days,” he mutters out. “Look,” he sits up straighter, getting honestly tired of this whole thing, “I’m not here to bullshit with you. I need the money. If you think my martial arts skill will be good for the position, then hire me. If not, let me know so I can get to the next interview.”

You sit there, mouth agape at his audacity. “You’re the one who needs the job, you know,” you retort back, getting angry. “Would it kill you to at least pretend to be nice?”

Hoseok sighs, scratching the side of his head. “Would that make it easier for you?”

“Yes!” You give him an incredulous look but also surprised at yourself for actually answering him. What the hell is wrong with him? “What’s your problem, man?”

Now it’s his turn to look a little shocked, raising his eyebrows at you. Collecting himself, he stands up. “Look, this is a temporary position, right? Just until the end of this week? I’ll lay it out for you: I’m good at kicking ass and I know how to handle a firearm.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I served in the military for eighteen months.”

You scan the resume again. “Then why the hell didn’t you put it here?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because I’m Korean and it’s just a mandatory requirement. It wouldn’t have mattered here.”

“What? Of course it matters! Especially in the job position you’re applying for!” You’re standing up, too, absolutely frustrated with him. “Why did you even bother coming in if this is the attitude you’re giving?”

“Because I needed the job,” he shrugs, answering. 

“That’s a rhetorical question!”

He frowns at you as if you’re the one not making any sense. He puts a fist against his hip, looking like he’s ready to walk out the door, and asks, “Do you want me or not?”

Un-fucking-believable. Never in your life have you ever met someone so audacious, so frustrating, so full of himself, and you deal with drug lords and gang leaders and mafias and all sorts of the lowest of lows and yet here you are, amazed by this one man’s ability to rile you up. None of those groups of people that you do business with, shady or not, have ever spoken to you the way he did, with no regards of the consequences whatsoever, and they rule the underworld with iron fists. Even they have respect for you!

Hoseok watches you fluster, your face turning red, your eyes glazing over with what looks like tears, your fists clenching and unclenching as your mouth works to form words. Watching you like that, something tweaks at his heart and he feels just a tad bit guilty. He sighs and throws his gaze out the huge window overlooking the city. 

Hoseok is not one to feel sorry for anybody because he grew up with no one feeling sorry for him. That part of him never wired right so for him to actually feel a little sympathy for you is new and honestly, he’s not all too sure what to do about it. He shifts his gaze back to you. “Does the position mean I have to answer to you?”

You grit your teeth. “Yes.”

“Do I have a say in any decisions?”

You think before answering through a strained voice, “Yes, if it’s pertaining to my safety. You can make the call.”

Hoseok looks around the room as if looking for some hints of what the job might actually entail. He notices the many books on diamonds and rocks but other than that, there’s nothing. “Do I have to kill people?” he asks.

You hesitate, shuffling from one foot to the other. You square your shoulders and answer, “Only if and when it’s necessary.”

Hoseok nods quietly to himself, looking down to the plush carpet under his feet as if he’s weighing the pros and cons of it all. He looks up again and his face is more determined. “Do I have to wear a stupid suit?”

You almost laugh but stifle it, schooling your face to look impassive. “Haven’t you seen bodyguards before?” When he doesn’t answer but just stares back at you unfazed, you add, “Never mind. I do expect some sort of professionalism and cleanliness, though. What you have on now is fine.”

“I’m not going to wear any damn ties,” he snaps and it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

“Whatever. You start tomorrow.”

You call for Jimin to come in with the employment contract and five minutes later, Jung Hoseok is signing the papers without even looking past the salary offered. He doesn’t even ask about the NDA paperworks nor does he even ask about the one-page loyalty pledge that would have him sign away every right he has over his own life, assets and name should he ever risk, betray, or act insubordinate in any way that could cost your life or the company’s. You and Jimin exchange glances a few times, the regret starting to sink in in the pit of your stomach but you remain quiet throughout the ordeal.

When Hoseok finally left, Jimin stormed straight into your office and raised both arms into the air. “What the fuck was that?” 

You’re pinching the bridge of your nose. “No idea. Don’t ask. I feel like I’ve just been bullied into hiring someone and I’m already regretting the decision.”

Jimin narrows his eyes at you. “Well, good thing it’s only temporary because girl, you’re honestly losing it.”

“Did you find anything on him?” you ask through a scowl.

Jimin pouts. “Apart from him being a tall glass of water I would definitely slurp empty, nope. Nada. He’s listed on one of those agencies that outsource workers, that’s about it.”

“Explains the odd jobs,” you mumble. “Find me an actual, qualified person with experience this time, Jimin. We’re getting rid of him after the meeting. Fuck!” You let out a loud frustrated sigh. “I can’t fucking believe they move the meeting to this Friday, fucking bastards.”

*~*

Hoseok comes in pretty early the next day, the same time as Jimin walks out of the elevator and sees him in the pantry, a cup of iced coffee in one hand, scowling at something in the direction of the window. 

“Morning,” chirps Jimin cheerily, joining the new hire. He’s in a dark pair of jeans, Chelsea boots, and a dark crisp shirt under his unbuttoned suit jacket. Jimin can clearly see the top of Hoseok’s chest by how many buttons he disregarded; not professional but not something Jimin is going to complain about, especially when he can sneak a peek at the hint of a tattoo there on the left side. 

Hoseok doesn’t respond to Jimin but only mildly nods his way. He finally turns away from the window but his eyebrows are still furrowed. “When does she usually come in?”

Jimin glances at the clock. “Around this time. She’ll be here soon and it’s My Lady to you, newbie.”

“You call her that?” Hoseok asks, stirring his coffee with his straw.

Jimin snorts. “The others do. I don’t but we have a long history. You, on the other hand, should know your place.”

“Who should know whose place?” you ask, walking into the pantry. 

Jimin hands you your steaming cup of coffee and walks out, saying from over his shoulder, “Ask the newbie.”

You raise your eyebrows at Hoseok but the man just shrugs and walks out after the secretary, leaving you standing there completely clueless. Honestly, you might as well just do a whole reorg because what the hell is with this attitude? You’re their boss!

***

Hoseok spent his first day in hours of briefing with you, Jimin and another person simply referred to as ‘The Coordinator’, who talked mostly about the people or businesses they deal with and honestly, Hoseok barely listened.

Once the one-day onboarding process was finished, the only thing Hoseok fully understood was the reason why the salary was so high it was ridiculous. And also why you needed a head of security. He’s basically a personal bodyguard that has his own team of seven to direct and manage. His one and only job is to stick close to you like gum and make sure you remain alive for the length of his contract period, which isn’t all that long considering he’s mainly hired for the big meeting on Friday, three days away. Easy. 

Now, Hoseok might not have listened to any of the lectures he was subjected to but he had been highly attuned to you, reading your body language and facial expression, mainly because he was curious as to why a woman like you is in a business like this. Whatever this big meeting is on Friday, it’s so important to you that you barely sat still. He understood the desperation of hiring him for only four days in total just by the way you chew on your lips and shake your knees as Jimin and the The Coordinator explained to him all about what’s supposed to go down with this big, bad group called, the Sumiyoshi. 

At the end of the day, while Hoseok retreats to the restroom, you and Jimin convene together to talk about, well, about him.

“I still don’t like him but hot damn he’s a whole meal,” Jimin says as he leans closer to your face to make sure no other ears are listening. “I say we just keep him on as a pseudo bodyguard after the meeting. I’d appreciate eye candy at the office.”

You nudge him with your elbow hard enough he tilts sideways. “First of all, that’ll be sexual harassment of lusting over your coworker. Second of all, I completely agree with you. Although…” 

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Although what?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. “Just feel like I’ve seen him from somewhere before. There’s something about those eyes.”

Jimin snorts. “You mean those mean looking eyes that could undress you with one look?”

You swat at his arm and Jimin laughs. “Admit it. You feel it, too. Like he’s judging everybody.” He exaggerates a shiver and then one look at your crimson cheeks he gasps. “Wait a minute, I didn’t mean that kind of undressing, you dirty girl!”

Hoseok walks in with a glum look on his face and frowns at the two of you laughing together. For some reason, it irks him to see Jimin’s hand casually over yours and you leaning into his side. You both straighten up at the sight of him. 

“What happened?” you ask, spotting his wet shirt. 

“The sink attacked me,” he replies solemnly, heading over to grab some paper towels from the pantry. You and Jimin look at each other before you follow Hoseok out and Jimin goes back to his desk. 

“I’m doubting your ability to fill this position,” you say as you walk into the pantry to Hoseok’s futile attempts at dabbing at his shirt. 

“Why’s that?” he asks, nonchalant, not even looking up.

“Well,” you start, standing in front of him and removing his hands to see the damage, “you can’t even handle a sink, so…” you give him a wry smile before gesturing to a closet in the corner. “There’s some extra shirts in there. There should be something that could fit you.”

Hoseok walks over to the closet. “You guys have a shirt closet at the office?”

You shrug. “For emergencies,” you answer, thinking about all the times your men came back from an awry meeting having to get rid of their blood-soaked clothes or to not smell of gunsmoke before going home to their families. Most of those times, that shirt closet saved them from a lot of headaches to deal with, especially your team of lawyers.

To your surprise, Hoseok takes off his shirt on the spot, his broad shoulders in full display. “What the hell? You could have gone into the restroom, for fuck’s sake!” you cry out, going over to the pantry door and shutting it. 

Hoseok turns around while still unbuttoning the fresh shirt. What’s even more surprising than him stripping half naked in the pantry is the fact that there’s a playful, sarcastic smile on his lips as he looks at you. “You’ve never seen a man’s torso before, My Lady?”

The way he calls you My Lady was in no way respectful. It was teasing, taunting, arrogant. You cross your arms over your chest, standing a little bit taller. “As a matter of fact, I have. And I’m speaking for the rest of the office. No one wants to see you half naked, Jung Hoseok.” But that’s a complete lie. You can count at least two people who would want to, Jimin being the other person.

You can’t help but stare at the very visible abs, the bellybutton peeking just above the belt around his waist, the wide chest, the tattoo on- wait a second. Your eyes zone in on the tattoo symbol on the left side of his chest and your heart starts racing. Hoseok notices where you’re looking and he hurries to pull the shirt over his head instead, turning away towards the huge window to finish buttoning up everything except for the last ones around the collar. 

“That tattoo,” he hears you mutter from behind him. 

He finally turns back around, feigning nonchalance once again and picks up his own wet shirt from the floor. “What about it?”

You stare at him, not knowing what to say. If you tell him you recognise it, then you’d have to explain where you’ve seen it before and your employee doesn't need to know what kind of magazines you subscribe to. But those eyes, it’s starting to dawn on you why they’re so familiar, having looked at them almost every night before sleep. And it’s not just those eyes that you’ve been looking at, too. Holy fucking shit. 

What did you tell Jimin earlier? That it’s sexual harassment to lust over a coworker? You can feel your whole face on fire as you whirl on your heels and walk off, marching past Jimin who gives you a weird look, before slamming your office door behind you. 

You lean against the door, heaving. What in the actual fuck? Jung Hoseok is Hoya?!

*~*

You are acting weird, Jimin thinks.

The rest of that Tuesday, you shut yourself in your office and only came out at the end of the day, not a word to anybody, not even Jimin himself. You zoomed past him and quickly left, leaving Hoseok standing there, looking at him as he had all the answers regarding you because Hoseok was supposed to escort you home. That was part of his job scopes. Well, Jimin didn’t have any answers that day and he dismissed Hoseok for the day.

Today, again, you hole up in the office, not even meeting Jimin in the morning in the pantry as usual, only allowing Jimin to come in and out for business purposes only. Jimin chalks it up to you being under stress. The package delivery is on its way and it’s a very high risk time window; anything could go wrong in between the cargo being loaded up into the plane and for it to arrive into your hands. But something else isn’t adding up: you refuse to even acknowledge Hoseok, your head of security, and requested that any communication between them go through Jimin. A pain in the ass because he has other things to deal with but he kept his mouth shut the whole morning.

You, on the other hand, are a complete mess. The package delivery be damned, your whole integrity is about to implode and you have high suspicions that Hoseok knows that you know because you’ve made a fool of yourself by making it obvious. The good thing is, he hasn’t come outright to ask you about it. 

Why the hell didn’t that info come up on the background check? Did Jimin fuck up? Or was Hoseok just that good at hiding his side gig? I mean, he does go by a stage name and not listing that job only meant he had wanted to keep things separate but oh my god, how do you keep things separate when the person you’ve been masturbating to is the person on your payroll?! That’s completely unethical! It makes you such a hypocrite, too, if you confide in Jimin about this whole thing and you rather keep to yourself than be laughed at for the rest of your life. 

That’s it. That’s what you’ll do. Just keep it to yourself the same way Hoseok is keeping that part of his life a secret. Pretend that everything is fine and dandy. You can do that. You slump in your seat and bury your face in your hands, groaning inwardly. And just like that, an image of your favourite Hoya poster pops in front of your eyes, cock and all, and you scream and stand up. 

Jimin opens the door, eyebrows furrowed so deeply they almost merged. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to the delivery?”

The door is pushed open wider and Hoseok peers from behind Jimin’s shoulder, curious, hands in his pockets. Suddenly, his top disappears from your mind and all you can see is the smooth skin of his body and that hope tattoo on his chest. You can even pick out the veins running along his neck, picturing yourself tracing kisses down it, going further south-

“Earth to y/n!” Jimin calls out, coming over to the desk to look at you more closely. The door swings open wider and Hoseok steps in, leaning against the wall of the office, crossing his legs by the ankle. “What is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” you squeak out finally. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Nothing. I’m just- just stressed out. The usual. You know how these times are for me.” You pretend to shuffle around some papers on your desk and Jimin only narrows his eyes. 

“The delivery is going as planned,” Hoseok says coolly, his voice even. “My team is monitoring it closely. There shouldn’t be any worry. My Lady.”

You don’t look at him, looking at the spot on the wall next to his head instead and nod. “Right. Good, good.” You swallow, noticing, or probably imagining that strange tone he used to call you ‘my lady’. Most of your men call you that, it’s nothing new, nothing strange. But him? Why does it bother you so much? Maybe because you’ve seen him fucking naked. 

“I’m going out to lunch,” you announce, gathering your things. 

“Really?” Jimin arches an eyebrow, genuinely perplexed by your behaviour and bordering on worry. “Is it safe to be out and about now? Delivery time is a sensitive one, you usually lay low. I can have your lunch delivered. What would you like?”

“No, no. I need to get some fresh air,” you retort, picking up your bag and rushing for the exit, taking the emergency stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. 

Jimin and Hoseok glance at each other. Hoseok pushes off the wall and heads out. “I’ll take care of it,” he says without turning around.

Jimin follows him out to the elevator, still wondering about you. “Bring her back in one piece, Jung.”

The elevator arrives and Hoseok steps in. He gives Jimin a blase two-finger salute before the doors close. As Jimin is about to go back, he notices another odd thing: Hoseok is not going all the way down but only to the level five floors below. Jimin snorts. He guesses the newbie is pretty reliable after all.

You only go as far as five floors down when you start to get breathless and your thighs ache and storming down the stairs in heels isn’t the best of ideas. You pause, leaning against the handrail for support when the emergency door behind you opens and Hoseok leans against one arm to prop it open. “Get out. We’re taking the elevator,” he orders, gesturing with his head. “Hurry before it leaves.”

You want to say no but the thought of going all the way down via the stairs when you’re this high up isn't appealing, crazy almost, so you oblige. In the elevator, both of you remain quiet. It’s a long ride down and it’s the most uncomfortable elevator moment you’ve ever had, cancelling out that one time you were stuck with the Italian mafia right-hand man who was obviously flirting in a language you couldn’t grasp but that you couldn’t say no outright because the deal hasn’t been made yet. And why is it so hot in here?

Finally they arrive and Hoseok pushes past you to lead the way to the waiting car, speaking through his in-ear walkie-talkie. Up in the office, you’ve only ever seen casual Hoseok, nonchalant and calm and looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But down here, where you’re exposed and Hoseok is in his security mode, he’s a complete one-eighty. His eyes are sharp and narrowed, his jaws set and his pace are brisk. He seems to take the role seriously, for someone hired for four days. 

And he’s tall. Very tall, taller than you realise. You knew his height, have memorised the numbers in your head because it's basic information of your fantasy lover, but actually seeing it firsthand and being able to compare yourself to him (you barely come up to his shoulders), is different. You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Focus, you tell yourself. I’m his motherfucking boss. 

Throughout lunch and all the way back to the office, you had hoped that he would bring it up, the fact that he’s Hoya, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even ask you if you knew. He doesn’t speak more than he has to, only replying in curt replies, eyes always looking out and around. He seems to be very aware of his surroundings and you suddenly notice the bulge on his waist side; the company-issued firearm. 

“It’s good that you’re taking the job seriously,” you say as you both ride the elevator up to the office, stomachs full and you feeling less out of control. 

He gives you a dirty look as if you had offended him. “Of course I am.”

After a few minutes of silence, he adds, “I don’t know what kind of person you take me for, but I take my jobs seriously. You get what you pay for.”

You pull a face, confident you’re out of view standing slightly behind him. “Well, thank you for your service,” you remark, intending to sound sarcastic but Hoseok only shrugs, clearly seeing the face you make through the reflective surface of the elevator door.

Just then, Hoseok receives a message through his walkie-talkie that the package has arrived and passed immigration. He relays the message to you, who slump your shoulders as if the information weighs heavily on them. You lean against the back of the elevator, your face hardening, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Almost there,” he hears you mumble. Again, Hoseok feels the same pang of sympathy he had when they first met. He has so many questions to ask you, mainly how you got involved in this side of business but mostly he’s trying to tell himself not to care. The job is temporary and after Friday, he’ll walk out of this office with enough money to do what he had always dreamt of doing. Easy. Cut and dry. So why does the thought of never returning give him a heavy feeling in his chest?

Hoseok takes another look at you through the reflection. You’re leaning against the back wall, eyes staring at a spot somewhere on the carpet floor of the elevator. You’re thinking of something as your forehead creases over and you start biting on your bottom lip. A sudden urge fills him to whip around and pin you against the wall and kiss you hard enough your lips will bleed. But then your eyes look up to meet his and immediately you smile.

“I hope you’re ready for what’s to come, Jung Hoseok,” you say softly, pushing off the wall as the elevator pings. Gone was the troubled look on your face, replaced with the confidence of a person who knows a lot of things are depending on her ability to lead well. For a brief moment, Hoseok could clearly see the bodies you had stepped on to get here and he’s not sure if he’s disgusted by it or turned on.

He’ll find out soon enough.

*~*

Friday is finally here. 

Hoseok has been away since Tuesday night; doing surveillance, putting tabs on the Sumiyoshi to make sure they’re not planning a surprise, investigating every square feet of the meeting location to make sure that nothing is planted and no sniper will camp on any buildings or high places on a thirty-mile radius, just to be safe. He had a whole manual book on what to do for these things and as much as he cursed every step of the way, Hoseok made sure he did everything right to the T.

After all, his head is on the line, too.

But also, he’s actually physically sick worrying about all the possibilities of what could go wrong. Hoseok isn’t one to show emotions; he hides them all behind a solid poker face, one he has been putting on these past couple of days whenever he has to see you or speak to Jimin. His hunch about you knowing about the magazine has been confirmed but he decided that if the issue should be addressed, it wouldn’t come from him and he bet you wouldn’t talk about it, too, because then you have to explain how you even know. It’s a niche market, a type of magazine you don’t just stumble upon by accident, though it does make him crazy curious if you actually subscribe to it. That would be interesting.  

Friday morning, Hoseok rides the elevator up to the office and finds the place empty of the other usual employees. Instead, there’s a small group of men (and one woman) standing around speaking in a hush tone. All the desks are empty and there’s a sullen atmosphere in the air. The group looks up when he enters. 

Jimin walks in, dressed in all black, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He’s in dark jeans and not the usual three-piece. “Jung, you’re here. Good,” he says. To the group, he introduces Hoseok. “The new and temporary head of security. You can calm down, Vera.”

That’s when Hoseok sees the woman slide back the knife up her sleeves, nodding at him in acknowledgement. Hoseok joins to stand next to Jimin but he looks around once, searching for you. Jimin must have noticed and says, “She’s in her office, meditating. These are the couriers.”

“Where’s the package?” asks Hoseok.

Jimin gestures to your office doors. “In there.” To the one called Vera, he hands over a navy duffel bag. “Everything’s in there. You can count them if you want.”

Vera passes the bag over to the man on her left and he opens the zipper just an inch before nodding and zipping it back up. Vera offers a hand to Jimin. “Always nice doing business with you, Park,” she says in an accent Hoseok can’t quite place. “Although I have to warn you, the day we arrived we were tailed and it took awhile to shake them off. We didn’t get to identify them.”

Jimin’s face clouds over. “And were you tailed today?”

“No,” Vera snaps. “I made sure of that. But I advise you to keep your eyes open.” She looks pointedly at Hoseok. 

They left and Hoseok goes off into the pantry to check in with his team via the radio while Jimin knocks on your door. He peeks in. “Ready when you are, boss.”

“And Hoseok?” you finish buttoning up your blouse over the Kevlar vest and turn around to Jimin. 

“In the pantry. Checking in with the team,” replies Jimin. “Everything looks good.” Jimin approaches and helps you put on your jacket, subtly running his fingers over the vest to make sure everything is properly secured. “How do you feel today?”

Jimin’s voice is soft, a voice only reserved for times like this, when tomorrow feels unsure and Jimin will be left for hours at his desk for news on which protocol to follow: the Meredith Grey Protocol, to which he will have all the privately-hired doctors at the ready and set up lawyers to arrange NDAs as well as mobilise the clean up crew, or the Genocide Protocol for worst case scenarios. In the long existence of this company, the latter had been activated only once, the day your grandfather died and it wasn’t even by Jimin.

“Like I want to throw up,” you answer, letting Jimin fuss with the coat because you can feel him checking the vest. “I honestly feel the same way I did that time the lawyer came to my place to let me know I was about to carry on my grandfather’s business.”

Jimin chuckles. “I remember that day. We just graduated.”

You don’t respond. 

Hoseok opens the door and his eyes narrow at Jimin. “The car’s here. We should get going.” 

Jimin steps away, crossing his arms over his chest to hide how much his hands are shaking. “Good to go.”

“I can see the vest from here,” Hoseok states matter-of-factly. “Don’t you have darker-coloured tops?”

“Watch your tone, temp,” Jimin snarls but he goes into the restroom to rummage through the drawers in there. He comes out with a different blouse in hand and passes it over to you. The phone outside rings and Jimin rushes out to get it, forgetting to drag Hoseok out, too. Hoseok checks his watch; they’re running a minute late and yet you haven’t made any move to change. The vest being seen isn’t a big deal but it might convey the fact that you are expecting something to go bad, which communicates no trust towards the group you’re doing business with. Safety has to be done tactfully to ensure future relationships. Business is business.

Hoseok catches your fingers fumbling with the buttons of your blouse and he’s honestly a little irked. Aren’t you supposed to be some powerful mogul in the diamond business?

Getting impatient, Hoseok steps forward and roughly pulls off the coat from your shoulders, drapes it over his arm and deftly undo the buttons of your blouse. It’s not like you’re completely naked under there and you aren’t even objecting, merely standing there letting him do whatever. 

“Get it together,” he hisses as he yanks the top from your arms. “ Is this what you want to show to your business partners, that you’re just a scared little girl?”

Your eyes flashes dangerously at him. You push him away much to his surprise and grab the blouse from him, putting it on over your head by undoing only a couple of the top buttons. You take the coat from him and take a deep breath. You round on him, poking a finger into his chest. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again.”

You walk out just as Jimin finishes the call. “Everybody’s on the move,” Jimin reports. If he notices the stormy look on your face, he leaves it for later, as a promise to himself that you will be back. “Good luck out there.”

You nod at him and force a smile. “Hold down the fort for me, will ya?”

Jimin doesn’t answer but watches you leave. As Hoseok is passing him, he pulls on the other man’s arm, making him stop and turn angrily. “You let anything happen to her, your ass is mine.”

Hoseok sneers at Jimin’s threat but takes it as an offence to his job albeit it being about to end at the end of the day, one way or another. “I’ll bring the princess back, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he jabs back, turning around and walking out after you. 

 In the car, you are silent the whole ride. Hoseok sits in front, quietly listening to the reports of his team in his ear, noting bits and pieces of information that are important. So far, everything looks according to plan. He’s aware that the Sumiyoshi also have the same type of team keeping tabs on them the same way he is and that’s fine. As long as both parties play their parts well, neither of them will have anything to complain about and they all can go home safe and sound. 

But Hoseok can’t quite get rid of this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, growing stronger as they get nearer to the meeting place. He tells himself that it’s just nerves but no matter how much he tries, he can’t completely get rid of it. He’s been pestering his team too much now that he can even hear the annoyance in their voices. In the end, he remains in his seat, fist tightly gripping the handle above his head.

The meeting place is an office space on the thirteenth floor of a building downtown. Bright open space with floor to ceiling windows at a three-sixty degree of the room, with other taller buildings surrounding it. The Sumiyoshi, as bad as they are, have a reputation of doing things in broad daylight, aware of the power they hold. Hoseok remains leading the way for you, making sure that you are always behind him at all times and three of his teammates in a circle around you; one on each side of you and one bringing up the rear. 

The other four are off site, in a place where they are able to monitor all entrance and exit points as well as having a clear view of the room they are in. Hoseok has all their specific locations noted, casually glancing at the neighbouring buildings even though he can’t see them. The Sumiyoshi are already there; a total of eight of them, big burly men in suits with golden something on either their necks or their wrists or their fingers. There are only five of us, he thinks.

 As you take your seat at the big table, Hoseok and his team remain standing behind you. Hoseok stands right next to your shoulder, close enough to touch but further enough for them to know that he’s only a bodyguard. He doesn’t even bother to hide the firearm on his side but the one under his right armpit is starting to feel uncomfortable. 

 The meeting starts smoothly; a little back and forth about the weather and the economics, a little bit about this really nice restaurant one of the men went to that they think you should really try, and a bit about home life thrown in, asking you if the behaviour of their wives are all normal or if they were all crazy chicks just after the money. 

Through all the topics, Hoseok watches you smile politely, laugh softly at all the right places, agree with their views on how shit the economy is now, tell them that the restaurant sounds lovely and force a laugh at wives issues they are having, telling them you’re not married so you’re not sure if you know what normal is in that situation. All pleasantries and just about what they want to hear without involving yourself too much, just vague answers that sound a lot like agreements than you holding back your tongue. Smart, Hoseok thinks, and you do it so with ease; all signs that you really know how to spin these types of guys easily. 

But it’s all just surface-level, both you and the eight men know. A little dance everybody does to keep things light before the real thing starts, and the real thing finally starts when the man sitting in the middle clears his throat and adjusts his sitting position. The atmosphere completely shifts and even Hoseok notices it, sucking in a breath and stiffening his spine, listening to his four men in his ear reporting the all clear, nothing suspicious. But his gut is acting up again and he has to clasp his hands together to keep still.

“Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” the man in the middle speaks, leaning over the table. “Do you have it?”

A part of Hoseok wonders why buying diamonds has to be so shifty like this. They’re just diamonds, you can walk into any jewellery store and get them. He never really thought about it much before but being in this meeting is starting to make him wonder the origin of the diamonds. Why do these men buy diamonds from you? Are they illegal? Why? And why are you involved in this business? 

You lean back in your seat, a soft smile on your lips. “Of course I do, Kenji-san. The question is, do you have the payment method ready?”

The man called Kenji breaks into a wide smile and the man next to him brings up a small briefcase and places it on the table in front of him. He taps it. “All in here, sweetheart.”

“You know I hate pet names,” you say sweetly. “But I’ll let it slide this time.” You gesture to Hoseok to get the briefcase but Kenji stops him.

“The merchandise first, sweetheart,” he drawls, his tone losing the pleasantness just seconds ago. 

You return his gaze, unmoving, and Hoseok is on high alert, waiting for any signal from you. Your face is completely blank of any emotions but your eyes are calculative, narrowing ever so slightly that Hoseok would probably not have seen it if he hadn’t been keeping his eyes on you. With his hand behind his back, he signals the others to stay alert, something he didn’t actually have to do because unlike him, they are not new.

You stretch out a palm to Hoseok. “Your knife, please, Hoseok.”

The eight men stiffen up, sitting straight in their seats at the mention of a knife. You giggle quietly. “Relax, guys,” you say, taking the knife Hoseok passes over from his ankle strap and pulling open the right side of your coat. With one swift swipe, you make a slit and pull out a small velvet bag. You dangle it in front of you and Hoseok can hear the small stones inside. His heart is starting to beat a little faster. 

One of the Sumiyoshi’s men stands up from his seat and Hoseok glares at him. The man looks coolly back at him with a crooked smile. He reaches for the briefcase and takes a few steps forward just as you stand up. Hoseok follows you as you approach the man and he can feel all the hairs on his neck rise up. He has this tingling feeling creeping down his back and everything in his being is telling him to make a break for it, pull you away and out of this building right this second. 

You nod for Hoseok to take the briefcase being handed over and he does, palms sweating. Just as the man wraps his beefy hand around the velvet pouch, he lets go of the briefcase and both you and Hoseok step back almost casually, away from the man’s reach. As if a gun couldn’t do what his hands couldn’t, Hoseok thinks darkly, but relief all the same as he literally pulls you by your coat back to your seat. 

Hoseok watches as the pouch trades hands to Kenji who unlaces it and tips the content into the palm of his hand and immediately Hoseok understands. The diamonds are raw diamonds, uncut and untraceable, and mostly, very much illegal. Although the price of raw diamonds is cheap, the fact that it’s unregistered gives the owner an infinite capacity to manipulate them. The business isn’t about money at all; it’s about power. The handle of the briefcase burns that much hotter in Hoseok’s hand and he’s confident he won’t find cash inside. It’s too light anyway.

You lean over and take the briefcase from him, setting it on the table. Opening it, you reveal the content inside for Hoseok to see. A single envelope lays in the middle, thin and white, and you take it and pull out the paper inside. Hoseok glances at it. It’s a list of names, none of which Hoseok recognises. You fold the paper into a tiny square before slipping it into the same opened seam from where the diamond was hidden earlier and one pull at a thread, the pocket closes up nicely.

“It’s nice doing business with you, sweetheart,” Kenji says as he puts away the diamonds. 

“Likewise,” you reply with a smile, closing the briefcase and sliding it back across the table. “If there’s nothing else, then I better get going.” 

“Did you hear about the Ryuukais?”

You pause and raise your eyes to look at Kenji. “Unfortunate, yes.”

“Mhmm.” Kenji places a cigar in between his lips, sits back, cuts the tip and lights it up. He blows out a puff of smoke before saying, “Didn’t you wrap up a deal with them just the night before?”

You don’t respond, training your face to remain calm. There’s a small smile on your lips bordering on acidic, looking nowhere near as sweet as it did earlier. “Yes, I did, actually.”

“How did it go?”

Hoseok watches your jaw ticks before you answer. “We both know I can’t disclose information about the businesses I deal with. It’s confidential.”

 Hoseok doesn’t like the way the men are looking at you; eyes leery with a hint of amusement, like they know something Hoseok doesn’t, like they’re shared a joke earlier and are now recalling it in their heads. He steps closer to you. His men outside must have noticed as there’s a flurry of voices in his ear as they check the surrounding areas. They are trained to read body languages and Hoseok’s body language, through the lens of their snipers, is screaming danger.

“From what I heard it didn’t go very well,” he adds, puffing on the thick cigar. “I must say, should we ever come to a disagreement of sorts, would we be next?”

You smile at him but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I assure you it wasn’t just a disagreement, Kenji-san. As long as we remain cordial and honest, I can see our relationship going beyond into the future.”

Kenji looks at you, blinking lazily as if he’s contemplating on something. At that moment, you remember something; the Ryuukais and the Sumiyoshi are practically brothers. This isn’t going to go well. You had been so focused on the deal that you forgot this little detail and now it makes sense why they moved the meeting up. As much as you had been stressing about the meeting, they had also been eager to see you.

Fuck. How the fuck did you miss this? 

Kenji stands up, the cigar in between his fingers. *I don’t know about our relationship going into the future,” he says as softly as if he’s talking about the weather. 

Something passes over Hoseok’s eyes that makes him blink and the next thing he knows is looking at the faint red dot in the middle of your chest. He doesn’t even think about it, doesn’t even get to register what he’s doing until it’s done and he’s pinning you to the floor and the window to the side has burst into a million pieces. His men immediately go into cover and retrieve mode; fanning out on your sides, guns blazing, returning bullets with the eight men on the other end, hunkering down and using the table and chairs as shields.

Hoseok doesn’t wait for you to regain your balance, pulling up on your feet and dragging out of the room by the wrist before pulling you under his arm, using his jacket to shield your upper half as you both run across the room. He can hear the shouts of his snipers in his ears, exchanging information about the enemies location and readjusting their positions so they can cover your exit. Hoseok lunges for the emergency stairs and escorts you all the way down. As you both burst out into the lobby, you are met with a group of gunmen, not yours, but the Sumiyoshi’s, with their guns drawn. 

Hoseok jumps forward, pushing you behind him and he starts shooting. The sound of guns going on ring in your ears and you see your car pulling up, bullets bouncing off of its bulletproof windows. 

“Go, go, go!” Hoseok shouts angrily from over his shoulder and you run like hell, Hoseok close behind you. A bullet zips past you and bounces off the car’s body and you duck. It’s the exact moment when Hoseok comes flying into you, holding his abdomen. “Fuck,” he hisses, sitting up, grimacing, and continuing to shoot to the men now two left.

Panicking, you get the door open and attempt to drag Hoseok in but he’s too preoccupied to cooperate with you. When he realises what you’re trying to do, he pushes off onto his feet and walks backward to enter the car. He manages to half-turn and roughly shoves you in first that you tumble into the backseat. A bullet hits Hoseok on the neck and he screams as he’s flung backward. One final shot of Hoseok’s gun, the last man outside is thrown to the floor and you finally manage to pull the door closed, the car screeching away from the building.

In the silence of the car, with your ears still ringing, you shift to Hoseok, clamping down on the side of his neck, blood seeping from in between his fingers. First, you tore away his suit jacket, remembering that he had been shot in the stomach but there’s no signs of blood, except for the hole in his shirt. Then you see the Kevlar vest and actually sigh with relief. Hoseok groans in pain and you realise he still has a hole in his neck.

“Back to the office! Tell Jimin to have a doctor ready!” you scream at the driver, probably too loudly as you can’t quite hear your own voice, mostly from the panic in your chest, partly from the tinnitus that won’t go away. You help Hoseok clamp down over his hand, praying that they get there in time.

During the whole car ride back to the office, Hoseok’s eyes never left yours and for once since you met him, there was no iciness in them, just pure concern and worry, especially when he reaches over and touches the bleeding scratch on your cheek. “Sorry for that,” he croaks and you swat his hand away. 

“Hush,” you chastise him, angry that he had the time to worry about a scratch when he’s bleeding out all over your car. 

***

Jimin holds the door open as you help Hoseok into the office, alarmed at the sight of blood all over your hands and Hoseok’s. 

“Have you sent in the retrieval team for the others?” you bark at Jimin under the weight of your Head of Security. 

“They’re already on the way,” Jimin replies. “The doctor’s inside.” He rushes forward to help open the door to your private office before helping you transfer Hoseok into a chair. Dr. Min Yoongi steps up, gently prying your hand off of the bleeding area so he can take a look at Hoseok. There’s a lot of blood and he gets to work cleaning the wound area so he can see better.

He glances up at you. “I need you to move your ass and sit over there. You’re in the way, sis.”

Begrudgingly, you step back but don’t sit down, watching with eagle eyes as your brother works with a gauge and a pair of forceps to dab away the mess. Jimin turns you around and pats you all over. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You shrug him off, focused only on Hoseok, white as a sheet. “Go and make sure the others get back safely.”

Jimin looks reluctant to move but at least he’s made sure you’re fine. Finally, he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. You go to sit in the chair next to Hoseok, who’s turned the other way to let Yoongi access the wound area. He hisses with every dab and once the place is clear enough, Yoongi releases a sigh. 

“What? How bad is it?” you ask, sitting on the edge of your seat.

“It’s just a graze,” Yoongi explains with a scoff. “But it must have hit close to the main artery. I just need to close it off and he’ll be fine.”

Relief washes over you and you feel your limbs go weak. Thankfully, you’re in a chair already and slump backward, throwing your head back. Yoongi watches you carefully as he fixes up the other man, amused at the fact you care this much. 

“Still hurts like a motherfucker,” Hoseok groans through gritted teeth. 

Yoongi chuckles. “I’ve seen worse wounds. You’ll live.”

“Try and get shot at and let me know if you feel the same,” mumbles Hoseok and Yoongi only laughs. “Stay still, punk,” Yoongi tells him. 

It doesn’t take long. Once the wound is patched up, the blood immediately stops and Yoongi administered him a shot for the pain because now that the adrenaline is gone, Hoseok is starting to ache everywhere. The spot where his bulletproof vest had been shot at is starting to bloom a nasty-looking bruise. All the while, you stayed by his side.

When Yoongi finishes and Hoseok has shuffled into your powder room to change into a fresh T-shirt, Yoongi pulls you aside as he packs up. “So, what’s up with the new guy?” At the surprised look on your face, he adds, “Jimin told me while we were waiting.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

You give him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“You’re hovering over him,” says Yoongi with an eye-roll. “You never hover, never mind an employee.”

You frown at him. “He almost died protecting me.”

“First, he didn’t. It’s just a graze,” Yoongi corrects, counting on a finger, then adding another. “Second, that’s his job. Plus, I never see you fawn over Hank the same way.”

“I wasn’t fawning!” you retort, scowling as you watch Yoongi stuff his bags. “Was I?”

“Sis,” Yoongi laughs, zipping up his bag and going for the door. “Seriously, figure that out yourself. I’m going to wait outside for words about the others. From the sound of things, it’s not looking good and I might have to call in Jin for help. Wait, you’re not going to hover over the other men, right?”

You pull a face at him. “Get out.”

“You’re very welcome, sis,” he says sarcastically as he leaves. 

“What was that about?”

You jump, whirling around to see Hoseok standing there, neck bandaged, touching the gauze gingerly. You approach him, eyeing the bandage to make sure Yoongi did a good job. Of course he did. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he answers, sitting down. Under the light of your office directly above him, you notice that you can see the hope tattoo through the T-shirt. Hoseok notices you looking at the spot on his chest. To redirect your attention, he asks, “You still have the vest on?”

You look down at yourself. “Oh, yeah.” You start to paw at the velcro of the vest but without taking off your own blouse, you wouldn’t be able to take the Kevlar off and for some reason, you keep struggling with it. Hoseok watches you silently for a few minutes, noting the faraway look in your eyes, the way your lower lip quivers and realises that you’re just coming down from the adrenaline now. 

He stands up and walks over to you, as quietly as he can as you continue to struggle. Once he’s standing in front of you, just a foot apart, you finally look up and something squeezes Hoseok’s heart like a vice at the sight of your Bambi eyes. A sneak attack, he thinks, right after I’ve been shot. So unfair. 

Without a word, Hoseok hooks his fingers around the hem of your blouse and pulls it off; he does it in slow motion, waiting every second for you to protest, to tell him to fuck off. But you don’t, standing there almost listlessly, letting him undress you. Then, he works on the Kevlar, strapping it off of you and throwing it into the chair where it lands heavily. Now, you’re both standing there, motionless; him with his wrapped neck, you in your bra. 

Your eyes are glued to the spot where the tattoo on his chest is and this time you don’t bother to pretend ignorance. With tentative fingers, you reach out to touch it over the T-shirt and Hoseok lets you, watching you curiously. On a whim, he takes off the shirt and watches you stare, a little wide-eyed at the tattoo. There’s recognition in the way you’re looking at it and Hoseok’s confirmed on what he already knows. 

You touch the tattoo, your finger hot on his skin. Again, call it a whim or call it immaturity because Hoseok is suddenly angry for whatever reason - probably from what just went down earlier, because as much as he has had experience with shooting a gun, he had never had to shoot at someone before and having it shot back in his direction, because target practice in the military don’t shoot back and he’s starting to feel that he wasn’t fully prepared for the whole shitshow - he presses your palm over the tattoo. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to say something,” he hisses into your face. “I know you know.” You try to pull away but Hoseok holds you in place, taking one step forward and pinning you against the desk, anger surging. “I know you know who I am and I bet you’ve fantasised about me, too, in bed. Haven’t you?”

The anger swells up though he can’t quite pinpoint what the cause is. He’s angry that no one told him that he could die on the job? He’s angry at himself for being so lackadaisical about it when signing the damn employee contract? He’s angry at you for not saying anything and treating him for a fool, the same way you didn’t warn him that a meeting could go south in a blink of an eye? None of the reasons, if Hoseok was thinking clearly, made any sense because he’s not a child. But he’s angry all the same and he needs to direct it somewhere. He nearly fucking die, damn it!

You’re quiet, not saying anything, only looking back at him, breathing heavily. That only makes him angrier. “You have, haven’t you? When you realised who I was, did you fantasise about this, too? Hoya taking you on this desk, in this office?”

He’s squeezing the flesh on your side. “Answer me, goddammit!”

“I don’t,” you finally whisper.

“Liar!” he growls, face inches from yours. “Admit that you’ve been fantasising about him in your bed and how much you want him to fuck you right here!” He slams his fist into the desk. “Admit it!”

You meet his gaze. “I don’t. I don’t fantasise about Hoya.” In a lower voice as you look away, you add, “Not anymore.”

It feels like having to admit your deepest, darkest secret in public and you’ve never felt so humiliated. Forget about bruised egos, you wish the floor would just open up and swallow you whole. Your fantasy lover, your sweet, sexy Hoya has been slowly disintegrating in your mind the day you realised who Hoseok was, slowly, slowly replacing with images of the real person, Hoseok himself. Lusting for a coworker is sexual harassment, your own voice echoes in your head. 

You hook a finger through a belt loop in his pants and pull him closer, crotch to crotch and immediately you can feel him, hard and poking against your pubic bone. Looking him in the eye, you say, “I don’t fantasise about Hoya.”

For a moment, Hoseok can’t comprehend what you’re saying; the fact that his cock is pressing up against you could be the main reason why his brains are scrambled. There’s a petulance in the look in your eyes and the way you’re looking at him challengingly, daring him to take the hint and act on it. Why are you doing this to him? Why do you make him so angry? Why is he so angry? 

The fact that you did, in the past, had fantasised about the adult model leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth at the unfairness. Why does Hoya get everything? Even you, for a moment. “Why not?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Why not anymore?”

You lean on your tiptoes, pressing your palms against his chest, the spot where his cock is digging in searing hot. “Because,” you say, your breath falling on his lips. “I’ve been fantasising about you, Jung Hoseok. I don’t want Hoya anymore when I have the real thing right here.” You lean in closer. “But, I won’t do anything. I’m your boss.”

You push him away, catching him by surprise that he stumbles backward a few steps. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I-”

Hoseok grabs your wrist and wrenches you backward. “Actually,” he says, purring into your ear, “you’re not my boss anymore. As of five o’clock just now, my contract ended.”

You scowl at the clock on the wall: 5.01. You glance back at Hoseok, arching an eyebrow. “And?”

“Fuck, you make my blood boil,” he hisses, eyes glaring at you angrily, mouth connecting with yours without a warning, teeth gnashing together that you taste blood on your tongue the same way you can taste Hoseok’s overflowing emotions. You recognise it well, have gone through it in the past too many times too much after every gunfight. It’s not anger that he’s feeling but he probably hasn’t figured that out yet, confusing it with anger because that’s the emotion he knows and can place. 

He’s still running on adrenaline, never switching off his fight-or-flight response and since he had been on fight mode to get you out of the situation earlier, he’s still there, but since there’s nothing to fight, he’s channelling it differently. To be honest, you’re still in that same haze, too, probably why you never fight him off when he kisses you, probably also why you pull him in closer, pressing your front up against him and letting him lift you up and plops you on the edge of the desk. He needs this as much as you do.

 “Tell me,” he says in between kisses, “what do you want me to do, my lady?”

The words my lady makes a shiver run down your spine, even more when he says it like that; spitefully, sarcastically. The fire burning in Hoseok’s eyes is somehow turning you on even more than the icy cold look that Hoya always has. You want that fire to burn you, too, and maybe it could clean away all the parts you hate and free you of the burden you’ve felt since taking over the company. You want Hoseok to incinerate you if it means liberation. 

Hoseok peppers your neck with kisses so rough little red spots dot your skin. As he sucks on your earlobe, you let out a whine that only fuels him on. “FYI, I’m better than him,” he growls and only for a second, you wonder why he refers to Hoya in the third person but the thought completely wipes out from your mind the moment he pulls your bra down and wraps his mouth around your already perky nipple.

You lean back on your hands, giving him free access, clamping your mouth shut from making any noise but the way he rolls your nipple in between his teeth and tongue almost makes you lose it. There’s a soft knock on the door but you ignore it, your eyes closed and focused on Hoseok’s mouth. It’s not long until he’s shimmying off your pants and underwear together, kneeling by the desk, fingers digging into your thighs as he keeps your legs from closing around his head. 

You’re already so wet that when Hoseok’s mouth lands on your soaked cunt, he makes this loud slurping sound as he sucks on your throbbing clit. This time, you bite onto your arm to keep from screaming out. That long tongue you’ve seen on posters, that you’ve dreamed of having on you, is now actually teasing and prodding your entrance, tongue-fucking you so well you’re starting not to care that they are people outside the door, one of them your own older brother.

Hoseok stands up and the strain in his pants is very much evident. He doesn’t even bother to take it off fully, pushing it down to his knees, enough to spring his length free for you to finally gaze at its glory. It’s exactly like the poster but much larger, sticking up erect against his stomach. Without wasting time, you widen your legs as an invite and Hoseok lines himself up. He glides it over your clit a few times, gathering your juice before slowly, painfully slowly, sinks in, letting your warmth cover him tip to base, feeling every ridge of your wall swallow him whole. You pulsate around him, adjusting to his size as he leans his forehead against yours.

Something inside you screams that this isn’t the time or place for this type of debauchery but the way Hoseok’s eyes set you on fire, you can barely think clearly. You can hear familiar voices outside your door and can tell that Yoongi must have called Jin over. There’s a soft knock on the door and Hoseok growls, “Fuck off,” and whoever is on the other side must have heard the fury in his voice and doesn’t bother to knock again. 

“Your team needs medical attention when they get back,” you say breathlessly, fully aware of the parts of you and Hoseok that are connected. “We should-”

Hoseok pulls out and rams in, knocking the breath out of you in a loud gasp as your toes curl at the delicious feeling. “Finally found a way to shut you up, My Lady,” he comments with a smirk. “See if you can keep quiet for me.”

The desk rattles underneath you but you’re stubborn in your own ways, clamping your mouth shut, whimpering in your throat as you brace your knuckles against the surface of the desk. Hoseok pounds into you until your eyes roll back into your head, him grunting softly, you a whining mess. Unsatisfied and annoyed, Hoseok pulls you off the desk and readjust you, hitting you from the back while holding one of your legs up by the knee, an angle that lets him reach in deep, leaving your mouth hanging open, not even a squeak uttered as it feels like you can barely breathe. The sound of wet skin slapping against skin is resounding in your ears. 

“Look at you, taking orders so well,” Hoseok hisses in my ear. “Is this what you fantasise about happening between you and Hoya?”

“Just get it over and done with,” you snap back, leaning against the desk for support. You can hear a slight commotion outside the door as the team left behind is back. You can hear the scraping of furniture as things are being moved around to create space. 

Again Hoseok wrenches your wrist over to your office chair, guiding you to straddle him. Once you slide back onto his length, sighing softly, Hoseok roughly cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Look at me so you can see it’s not Hoya,” he orders. “I want you to remember that it’s me making you feel this way, me stuffing you full. Not him.”

You nod weakly, wanting nothing than to appease the fire in his eyes, the same fire that seems to be burning stronger in the pit of your stomach with every plunge as you move on top of him. You can feel that familiar twist, the coiling of pleasure as it winds tighter and tighter. Hoseok gets the signal from the way you fist his shirt and the way your pussy clenches harder around his cock. You’re close and so is he. 

You’re losing momentum, growing tired from having to move on tiptoes to have as much control on your movements so Hoseok places both hands over your ass and lifts you up, transporting you onto the desk once again, your back flat on it. Then he gets to work; his strokes are relentless yet even, assisted by how overflowing your cunt is, making everything that much more pleasurable. 

“I’m close,” you manage to squeak out.

“Keep your eyes open,” Hoseok warns but this time his voice is softer. “Keep your eyes on me, princess. Say my name.”

You’re a little confused but obliged, his name coming out in a whisper at first. The orgasm is close now. “Louder,” urges Hoseok, chasing it. 

“Hoseok,” you mumble, spreading your legs wider, letting him hit exactly in that sweet spot. You’re oh so close your back is arching off the desk. “Hoseok.” Your voice is growing louder and the desk makes a loud sound as it’s suddenly pushed back slightly.

Not a minute later, you’re pulling Hoseok in by the neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the scream spilling from your lips as you orgasm hard enough for Hoseok to have a few last strokes before pulling out and spilling all over your stomach, covering your skin with hot milky liquid that you barely pay attention to as you come down from your high. When you finally let go of Hoseok, a crimson set of teeth marks bloom on the shoulder of his shirt. 

Hoseok glances at the spot, frowning. “You bit me.”

“You told me to be quiet,” you retort sweetly. 

***

Your office door finally opens and Jimin sighs, “Finally, thank God! You finally decide to-”

He stops, looking at you from head to toe, noticing that you’re in a pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt, not what you were wearing earlier. Hoseok is also in a fresh dark T. You fake nonchalance, typing up your hair into a ponytail to manage the mess and walk over to Yoongi tending to one of your men. He doesn’t seem to have any serious wounds. Hoseok goes over to the others, crouching on the floor to talk to one of them.

Yoongi doesn’t even bother looking up but there’s a smug look on his face. “Finished debriefing your Head of Security?”

You catch Yoongi looking at you in the reflection in the window and glare at him. “Yes. It was satisfactory.” He snorts a laugh but doesn’t say anything more. 

The team came back mostly intact, suffering from light wounds that can easily be taken care of. After the doctors finished looking at them, Hoseok takes them to another room to have a post mortem regarding the situation and you help Yoongi and Jin pack up. Jimin is already on the phone with the clean-up crew, occasionally flicking his eyes over at you like he’s got something to say and is antsy to say it. 

Honestly, you’re not up to dealing with him right now, so you pack up your things and head home. Jimin will take care of things, that much you know, and you’ll deal with the Sumiyoshi another day. Right now, all you can think about is your bed and how warm and safe it would feel under the thick blankets because now that the adrenaline is gone, you feel bone tired, dragging your feet as you arrive home and climb into bed.

You must have dozed off because when you open your eyes again, the room is dark and someone is ringing your doorbell incessantly. You get up and squint at the intercom through your sleepy eyes and see Hoseok standing in the lobby area, waiting to be let in with one hand against his hip. 

“What is it?” you croak through the speaker, hoping he'll just go away.

Hoseok looks up directly into the camera. “Let me in already.”

“Just go away.”

You watch as he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He holds up a paper bag to the camera. “I suppose you’re not hungry then.”

Your stomach lets out a loud rumble.

***

You eat in silence, Hoseok sitting across from you as he pushes his food around with his fork, watching your plate to make sure your food is eaten. 

“How’d you know my favourite shop?” you ask, trying to alleviate the awkwardness.

“Jimin,” he grunts out. 

Suddenly, the memories of earlier in the office come rushing in and your fork pauses just inches from your lips. “Oh,” you say quietly. “Did he, um…did he say anything to you?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Why? Should he?”

You shrug, feeling a little relieved. “Just wondering.”

Hoseok puts down his fork and crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you two in a weird situationship or something? Because I’m not going to waste my time getting in the middle of that.”

You almost choke on your food as you laugh, shaking your head and coughing, fingers wiping your eyes. “Where the hell did you get that idea from?” 

“You guys look really close.” You look up and can’t believe to see the pout on his face as he looks down to the floor, scowling. Something about the way he looks at that moment makes you feel weirdly protective of him. 

“We are,” you say, continuing to eat. “We practically grew up together. He had been there since the beginning and I guess we bonded over shared trauma.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow.

You chuckle. “It’s just something we say. When my grandfather died, we were both only seventeen, fresh out of high school. He was the grandson of my grandfather’s right-hand man who died the same day my grandfather did. Well, you can imagine how.”

Hoseok gives a small nod.

“Yeah, well, after that, it was a whole shitshow of finding a successor and because I’m a girl, the company wasn’t confident. But my grandfather’s will was ironclad so they sent me off to college and groomed me to be the next head. Jimin, too. He would have been a professional dancer by now, you know? If they had let him be.”

Hoseok watches you stare into your plate, barely eating now. There’s a melancholy in your voice and a bittersweet smile lingering on your lips. “Jimin tells me that he agreed to the role so he can keep an eye on me,” you laugh, “but I’m certain that he was subjected to more pressure than I was and not with words.” You give him a knowing look. “So when I finally stepped into the position, I swore I was going to do things differently.”

Hoseok scoffs. “Is it really any different now?”

You smile at him. “My grandfather led the top underground organisation of his time. This company is built on the bones of his enemies. Literally.”

“You still deal with the same type of people,” Hoseok points out.

You sigh. “Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can never wash off the bloodstains. Not completely.” You stand up and collect the plates, bringing them over to the sink. “Enough about me. What about you?”

“What about me?”

You lean against the sink, looking at him. “Look, I know you know that I know you’re Hoya, let’s get that out in the open now. Yes, I buy those stupid magazines, kill me.”

He smirks but his eyes clouded over. “I thought lusting over a coworker is wrong.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re not coworkers, I’m your boss.”

“Which makes it even worse.”

You let out a groan. “Seriously, stop trying to distract me!”

“From what?”

“From demanding that you just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

That you’re Hoya! That you work as an adult model on the side!” You’re so frustrated now you’re actually screaming at Hoseok who only looks mildly amused.

“I’m not,” he says simply. 

“Ugh, fine. Whatever, I don’t care,” you snap, proceeding to start doing the dishes. “You can go now. I’m just going back to bed after this.”

Hoseok stands up and walks over to stand next to you. He leans over slightly so you’re forced to look at him. “I’m not Hoya,” he repeats.

“I saw the tattoo on your chest,” you retort. “You don’t have to lie.”

Hoseok touches the spot over his T-shirt. “Yeah, we got matching tattoos.”

You give him an incredulous look. “What the hell? Do you have some kind of multiple personality thing or something?”

“No, I don’t. I’m not Hoya, and Hoya isn’t me.”

You stare at him, the water running in the background. “I don’t get it.”

Hoseok leans back against the kitchen cabinet. “He’s my twin.”

“What kind of bullshit is that?”

“I have a twin brother. It’s not bullshit,” Hoseok reiterates, frowning. He fishes out his phone from his pocket, scrolls around on it and produces a photo to show you. “See? Twins.”

You stare, open-mouthed, at the picture of two identical men; one clearly Hoseok with his serious face, barely a smile, the other one the complete opposite with a bright smile and a peace sign over his eyes, his other arm thrown over Hoseok’s shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out. “You’re twins!”

“Like I was telling you,” Hoseok replies, rolling his eyes and putting the phone away.

“Wow,” you say again. “That’s…that’s…”

Hoseok crosses his arms again, the smirk on his face growing into a grin. “Yeah, you lusted over your employee’s family member. Should I report to HR?”

Flustered, you tell him, “Actually your contract ended so you’re not my employee anymore.” You turn back around to do the dishes, hiding the fact that your face is burning red.

Hoseok nods. “Right.”

You feel his arms snake around your middle, pulling you up against him as he places his lips to your ear. “Since I’m not an employee anymore,” he whispers, “how about we continue where we left off earlier? Hmm? I heard you have a king bed.”

 Against your better judgement, you melted into him. “Let me guess; Jimin told you about that too?”

Hoseok purrs. “He implied, yes.”

While Jimin prepares for battle at the office, making a few phone calls and arranging a few meetings here and there for you, you and Hoseok retreat to the bedroom and for the first time since the bed was bought, you’re about to see if the quality is as good as the brand company promised; sturdy and quiet. 

You left your phone in the kitchen so you missed the text from Jimin: I hope the tall glass of water I sent your way is rejuvenating

a/n2: so I wrote this before news of jhope's enlistment came up and kinda hate myself for writing it into existance :') cmon be honest, what did you think? lol give it to me in the comments or ask IM READEHHH lmaoooo

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

[simslegacy5083]

Say Goodbye to Bad Townie Fashion With MCCC/MC Dresser!

One of the biggest game changers for me playing Sims 4 was learning how to use MC Command Center Dresser to auto generate pre-selected outfits on the townie sims.  

There are a bunch of sites out there that go over the process, but I wanted to try and make a basic “one stop shop” of all the things I have learned and do to make my game the best it’s ever been!

First some notes so you aren’t disappointed:

Pre-Seasons Townies and the Seasons Expansion Pack: MC Command Center fixes outfits when an NPC is generated or ages up.  In a new save that means the fix will NOT be applied to the hot and cold weather outfits of NPCs like Don Lothario or The Pancakes, who are already in the new world when it loads.  

To fix this you can create a template save of your own and fix it permanently yourself (highly recommended) or run the dresser cleaner cheat in Step 3 of this article every time you start a new save.  

Career, Situation, and Create-A-Sim Outfits: This process will not alter the outfits generated for careers, situations, or when generating a band new sim in CAS.  

Turning off situation outfits will be covered.

I haven’t found a permanent way to alter career or create-a-sim outfits but career outfits in my experience are mostly OK and when creating a sim, I think most of us are taking the time to change all their clothes anyway.  

Be mindful when you download sims off the gallery, if the user didn’t have Seasons you might end up with some funky hot and cold weather looks!  I always recommend a quick check.

OK – now onto the good stuff!

Step 1: Watch This Video

I learned about this magic from this 7-minute video.  It’s still the best one I have found to cover the basics of what we’re trying to accomplish.

Don’t worry too much right now about adding your own saved outfits.  That’s a nice extra but its not the main way you’ll want to begin this process. More on that below.

This video also covers getting rid of the situation outfits I mentioned above.

Step 2: Create/Download Your MC_Dresser.cfg File

In order for MC Dresser to work it needs saved outfits to pull from.  These comes from your mc_dresser.cfg file.  You don’t have to try and create your own from scratch, other wonderful simmers have already done that for you!  

Below are links to 4 sites that have shared their dresser files. To make it easy I have also combined everything into 1 file for you (all credit to the original creators!).  My all in one file includes outfits for all life stages, including infants.

HardTurtlePirate NPC Fashion

Lover’s Lab Fashion Police

Just Eva Bad Townie Outfit Fix

EG Warhammer MCCC Dresser Tips (1) Basics

My All in One file

You can add onto your existing dresser file at any time (that’s were the save new outfit option from the video comes in handy).  You can also easily delete a saved outfit you no longer want.

Put the .cfg file in your mods folder, wherever you keep your MC Command Center files.

Step 3: Run the Dresser Cleaner!

This is covered at the end of the video in Step 1.  If you don’t do this, you will not see your new outfits. You can do this at any time, as often as you’d like.

Step 4: Don’t Lose Your .cfg File!

MC Command Center needs updated on a regular basis and the last thing you want to do is accidently toss your precious dresser .cfg file out when updating.  The mc_dresser.cfg file should be copied and added back to your mods folder each time you update the mod.

That’s it!  It may sound like a lot but its actually really easy to do and if you’re like me you’ll thank yourself a thousand times over for taking the time to do it.

Happy Simming!

[rorywritesjunk]

Close my eyes for a while Force from the world a patient smile

Buggy says something he regrets to his older sister. Rating: PG Warning: Angst. Injury, blood, siblings not getting long. Buggy cries a lot. He's ten in this, sister is 15. Sister has hair and nose like Buggy, that's just what happened. A/N: A request for older sister Buggy from @chochotorianime10. I had fun with the Ragdoll name because I just recently looked up ragdoll cats. This is just over 8 pages long too. I like the drama. Also I'm the youngest of four and I was very much a bratty younger sibling if my older brothers tried to tell me what to do so I channeled that into Buggy being a brat.

Title comes from "I Gave You All" by Mumford and Songs.

“Brush your damn teeth, Buggy!” 

“Make me!”

“Oh, really, you’re going to say that to me?” 

You grabbed Buggy by the back of his shirt before he could take off running. The ten year old hated that you bossed him around like this, especially in front of the crew, but you were five years older than him. You raised him from the time you were eight until you were all but adopted by the Roger pirates when you were ten and he was five.  Buggy was as stubborn as they come and he wasn’t going to let his sister tell him what to do now that he was double digits in age.

“Rags, not brushing his teeth once won’t kill him.” Shanks said, trying to diffuse the situation, but you rounded on the red head boy next. Roger gave you the name you now went by, having never remembered your original name as Buggy only ever called you Sis. Being called Ragdoll was the name the captain gave you when you attacked Roger the day you met him with the fierceness of a mama cat protecting her kitten, and once he got to know you, he claimed you were like a Ragdoll cat. You seemed scary but you were actually pretty friendly when you wanted to be. 

“Do not call me that.” You snarled as you grabbed the front of his shirt with your free hand while restraining your little brother with the other. “And you need to do the same, you straw hat brat. Both of you need to maintain some basic hygiene! I don’t want to hear you cryin’ to Crocus about your damn teeth hurting because you didn’t want to brush them one time!”

It was frustrating how you ended up being the babysitter of these two at night. Buggy always started it up, refusing to brush his teeth, take care of his hair, even wash his face, and then Shanks would try to involve himself which would result in you having to do double duty in making sure the two boys were ready for bed. Why did you end up raising two boys instead of one? You pushed them along to get their toothbrushes, grumbling about bratty kids while the crew snickered. 

“Take it easy, Ragdoll. They’re just boys.” One of the men said. “They don’t need constant watchin’.”

You glared at him as you walked past. “Yea? Watch yourself. I need a new scratching post, shithead.” 

“I don’t need you bossing me around, sis!” Buggy complained as he stomped along to go brush his teeth. “I can take care of myself!” He shot a glare in your direction but you just crossed your arms, unimpressed as you watched to make sure both he and Shanks brushed their teeth, washed their face, and at least brushed their hair a bit. Once you were satisfied you pointed to the cot they shared.

“Bed.”

“It’s too early! That’s not fair!” Shanks complained, but you didn’t budge, still pointing at their cot. Buggy glared at you and crossed his arms.

“I hate this, I don’t need you telling me what to do!” The ten year old snapped. “I wish you’d go away and leave me alone! You don’t even need to be on the crew, I don’t need you to take care of me!”

“Yea? Who’s going to take care of you then if I’m not here, Buggy?” You snapped back. 

“I can take care of myself!” Buggy shrieked as he stomped his foot. “I wish you’d go away! I hate having you around me!” 

“The feeling is starting to be mutual, y’know!” You shot back as your patience grew thinner with each word he said. “Now get to bed, Buggy! You too, Shanks!”

Buggy clenched his fists as he glared at you. “I hate you! I wish you’d leave me alone forever!”

As soon as he said the words, Buggy regretted it. Shanks looked shocked. He had been a witness to you two going at each other many times, you and Buggy would trade petty little jabs at each other, but he never said that to you before. Buggy looked at you nervously. You were just standing there, still pointing at the cot. 

“Bed.” Your tone was empty and Buggy didn’t like the way you were looking at him. It was the same as before, there was no change after he spoke to you that way. You must hate him now, you were going to leave him. He didn’t actually want that. 

“Wait, Sis-”

You turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind you. Buggy ignored Shanks trying to say something to him as he stomped over to his side of the cot and climbed under the blanket, pulling it over his head. He didn’t want Shanks to see him cry, but it wasn’t like he was going to, right? He wanted you to leave him alone, but maybe not forever. He just was mad about having a bedtime when the rest of the crew got to stay up late, and you didn’t have a bedtime either. Why did he and Shanks have to miss out on all the fun stories and songs the crew exchanged while they had to be in bed?

Maybe you’d forget it in the morning. 

~

You woke the two of them up for breakfast and that was it. You didn’t stick around to make sure Buggy got dressed or had his shoes on the correct feet. He noticed a hole in his shirt and he wondered why you didn’t say anything. You were always on top of that kind of thing, always taking care of him, making sure he was fed, his clothes were mended, and that he had his hat and shoes on each day before breakfast. You took care of him and… it was nice. 

Were you still mad about the night before?

When he and Shanks showed up for breakfast, you weren’t there. The boys sat near Roger and Rayleigh, listening to them talk about sending a party off to an island to check it out before the rest of them followed, to see if it was even worth going to. The boys perked up at the chance of adventure but Rayleigh shook his head.

“Too dangerous. Ragdoll and three others are going.” He told them as he ate his breakfast. Buggy’s jaw dropped. Why did his sister get to go if it was too dangerous? As if reading his mind, Rayleigh continued, “She volunteered.”

“Why?!” 

“Why don’t you ask her when she gets back?” Roger chuckled. He knew why: you had come to him the night before asking to do something to get off the ship and have a break from your little brother for a while. The two of you needed some space, whether a few hours or a few days. You didn’t tell him what Buggy said, it was too trivial for Roger to hear. Nothing more than a tantrum from a ten year old. 

“When is she gettin’ back?” Buggy asked as he poked at his food. 

“A few days.” The Captain said. “She won’t be around to tell you what to do! That’s gotta be nice, right, Buggy?”

Buggy frowned and nodded. It would be nice, right? Maybe he wouldn’t have a bedtime, or have to brush his teeth every night before bed. Sure, there were times you’d give him a hug before he went to bed and kissed him on the forehead, even Shanks got to have that, but only you would hug him if he had a nightmare to make him feel better, sometimes singing a song you remembered hearing once before, unsure if the words were correct, but Buggy liked it because you only did that for him. 

~

He and Shanks still had a bedtime. Rayleigh insisted on it. It was a long few days and Buggy wasn’t going to admit it but he missed having you around on the ship. The first night was fine, but the second night was a little harder because he couldn’t sleep, wondering what you were seeing on the island and wondered what kind of treasure you’d find. Would you share it with him? Did you forget what he said to you? He didn’t hate you, not really. 

The third night he had a nightmare. You didn’t come back, choosing to stay on the island, but there was a monster on the island that was hunting you. Only Buggy could see it and he kept trying to tell you to run away from it, that it was going to hurt you, but you wouldn’t listen to him. He woke up just as the shapeless monster attacked, the screams in his dream replaying in his mind as he tried to calm himself down. Shanks was still asleep beside him, oblivious to his friend’s distress, but it was for the better. He didn’t need Shanks to see him like this. 

Buggy settled back down, trying to relax so he could fall back asleep, but there was movement on the main deck. Someone was shouting, there was the sound of footsteps thundering across the deck. Was something going on? There was no one to stop him, so Buggy got out of bed and slipped his shoes on to go see what was happening. Maybe you were back with mountains of treasure from the island, and maybe you decided not to leave Buggy behind after all and you two could stay together on the ship. 

He got to the main deck. Lanterns were lit, Several men were pulling something up onto the deck from the water below. Buggy’s eyes lit up. It had to be treasure you and the others found. Why else would everyone be up and moving? He saw Captain Roger and Rayleigh standing with Crocus, the latter kneeling down beside something as he spoke with a quiet voice. Was he inspecting the treasure? Buggy made his way over to them, curious to see what you brought back to the ship. He didn’t see you yet, but you were probably on the dinghy down below, getting the treasure up to the ship.

Crocus saw him first and barked for someone to stop Buggy from coming closer. One of the crewmen listened, pulling Buggy back while others moved to the doctor, listening to his orders of what to do. They tried to hide what they were moving from Buggy, but he caught the flash of blue hair, same as his own, and his stomach dropped. 

“What happened?!” He demanded as he tried to pull away from the crewman. “What happened to her?!”

“Let him go.” Roger ordered. “Let him sit with her while Crocus tends to her.”

The crewman listened and Buggy didn’t wait, darting over to the stretcher and pushing his way through to look at you. If it wasn’t for the hair and nose, he wouldn’t have known it was you. The deep gashes all along your body almost left you unrecognizable. Buggy followed along, keeping a hand on the cot near your own, not wanting to touch you in case he hurt you. He listened to one of the men from your party tell the Captain what happened. 

There was already another pirate crew on the island when you landed. They didn’t hesitate in attacking, your party was outnumbered, and you fought back until the blood loss became too much. They managed to bring you back, though the outlook was grim. Once you were in the infirmary, Crocus went to work, checking your wounds over while Buggy stayed at your side.

“She’s going to be okay, right?” He asked as Crocus looked over the largest wound, the one across your chest. He glanced up at the boy and said nothing. Buggy sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “You’ll fix her, right?”

“I’m not promising anything.” Crocus told him as he started to clean the wounds. Buggy glared at him as tears welled up in his eyes. 

“You’re a doctor, you’re supposed to fix people!” Buggy cried. “F-Fix my sister!”

“Let him work, it’ll be fine.” Roger clapped Buggy on the shoulder and chuckled. “She’ll be up in no time bossing you around again!” 

Buggy nodded, not seeing the look the captain and doctor shared. He picked up your hand in his, holding it carefully. It was cold, the warmth he expected to find wasn’t there. You would be okay. You always were.

~

Rayleigh didn’t let Buggy off the hook for his chores, so he did them without much fuss. He didn’t want to wake you up because Crocus said you needed to sleep if you were going to get better. He had done what he could by stitching up the wounds and bandaging you. Buggy had never seen that many bandages on one person before, but you had a lot of injuries from the other pirates. He asked every hour if you were going to wake up soon, when you were going to get better, and the doctor had more patience for the questions than he normally would have had. 

Buggy was at your side any chance he had, holding your hand as he talked to you, wiping your face with a wet cloth like you made him do every night before bed, and he even brushed your hair. You had dealt so much with tangles in the boys’ hair when they were younger that you had insisted they start brushing it at night before bed. Buggy hated when you picked the tangles and snarls out of his hair, it had hurt a lot, but it was less now that he brushed it every night before bed, especially since his hair was getting longer like yours. He wanted to make sure you didn’t have to deal with tangles in your own hair once you woke up.

“Ragdoll’s gonna pull through.” Shanks said on the third night while he and Buggy had their dinner beside the cot. “Remember when she snuck the mama cat and her kittens on board? She got scratched up really bad but she was okay!”

Buggy only nodded, not paying attention to his food as he watched you to see if you were going to wake up. Crocus said it could happen any day now, that was just this morning, so Buggy had his eyes on you any chance he got so he would be the first person you saw. He wanted to tell you he liked having you around, that you were a good big sister, because one of the last things he said was that he hated you. He wanted one of the first things he said to you when you woke up was nice, not mean, because that would make it right.

“She lost a lot of blood, though.” Shanks added as he ate his own food. “But she’ll be fine.”

Buggy shot him a look. “Of course she’ll be fine! She’s-She’s been beat up worse than this!” He tried to ignore the burning feeling of tears in his eyes. “She’s as strong as the captain, she’ll be better soon and she’s gonna make us brush our teeth again and go to bed on time, ‘cause that’s what she’s supposed to be doing, not sleeping!”

“She’s supposed to sleep to feel better.” Shanks frowned. “It’s what Crocus said.”

“I know that!” Buggy shot back as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Once she’s done sleeping, she’ll be better, okay?! Because she has to get better, she’s got stuff to do like chores and other things!”

Shanks nodded, looking down at you with a frown. “What if she doesn’t wake up?”

“Shut up, Shanks!” Buggy snapped at him. “She’s trying to sleep and you keep talking!”

“You’re talking too!” 

“Just shut up!”

“Boys.”

Buggy and Shanks turned to see Rayleigh and Roger standing there. The boys immediately stopped, though Buggy was still crying. 

“Finish eating and get ready for bed.” Rayleigh told them, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to get some sleep, Buggy, otherwise you may end up in the infirmary as well.”

Buggy wiped away the tears as he sniffed. That didn’t sound like a bad idea if it meant he could be near you to make sure you were okay. He didn’t want to leave but Rayleigh was ushering him and Shanks out while Roger took a seat beside the bed. 

The two boys got ready for bed, not speaking to each other. Rayleigh made sure they brushed their teeth, washed their face, changed clothes, and even brushed their hair. Buggy crawled into bed, pulling his blanket over his head once more. He had been sleeping like that since you came back. He didn’t want Shanks to see him cry, though there he was certain the other boy could hear him, even though he never said a word about it.

Rayleigh left them alone after that. Buggy said nothing, remaining under the covers. He just wanted you to wake up at this point because he wanted a hug. You always gave him the best hugs and he didn’t want to ask anyone else for one. He sniffed, wiping his eyes and nose on his shirt before he settled down and tried to sleep.

~

Buggy woke up to someone touching his face with something damp. He scrunched his face up and tried to pull the blankets back over his head but something was preventing him. He just wanted to sleep and he wondered if Shanks was doing something, so he finally opened his eyes, ready to yell at his friend to knock it off, when he saw you looking down at him. Buggy could only stare up at you, wondering if you were really there or if he was having a dream. Were you dead? Was this a ghost in front of him?

“Hey, didn’t mean to wake you.” You whispered as you set the cloth down. You were moving stiffly, no doubt from sleeping the last few days. Buggy was in shock, not speaking as he waited to wake up from the dream. “Y’know, this is the quietest you’ve ever been when awake, Buggy.”

He grabbed your hand, holding it in his own as he made sure you were real. Your hand was warmer than before. He moved your fingers around, touched your fingernails. You closed your hand over his, squeezing gently as it sank in that it really was you sitting with him. He crawled out of the covers and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly as he began sobbing loudly.

“I’msorryimsorryimsorry-”

“Shh, shh, s’okay.” You insisted as you hugged him carefully; everything was still stiff and healing. “I’m here, Buggy, s’okay.”

“I don’t hate you!” He cried. “I don’t, I didn’t mean it, please don’t leave me!”

You glanced over, noticing Shanks was awake, his eyes on the two of you. You reached over and patted the redhead on the shoulder before turning your attention back to your brother. He was clinging to you, face pressed against your shoulder as he cried, apologies spilling out of his mouth in between gasps for breath. You needed to be careful, Crocus didn’t want you out of bed yet but you didn’t care, you wanted to make sure Buggy was okay. He was the first thing you asked for when you woke up a few hours ago. 

“I know, I don’t hate you either and I won’t leave you.” You assured him as you let your head rest against his. He was worked up, not likely to fall back asleep any time soon. If you weren’t in such a poor state you would let him sleep in your cot for the night, but you weren’t supposed to do much of anything. “I’ll stay in here tonight with you two, okay?”

Buggy lifted his head up, the tears still streaming down his face, snot dripping from his nose. “R-Really?”

“Make some room, kiddo.” You said as you wiped his face with the damp cloth once more. “Crocus doesn’t want me doin’ much.”

Sniffling, Buggy and Shanks both scooted over, letting you get comfortable in the middle. Buggy beside you in seconds, clinging to you as he made sure you really were there and not just a dream. Shanks looked relieved as well, poking your cheek to make sure you weren’t a ghost. You swatted at him gently and he settled down beside you. 

“‘Msorry.” Buggy mumbled again as he started to relax against you. “I don’t hate you, Sis.”

“I know, get some sleep.” You told him as you kissed him on the forehead. He lifted his head up, eyes red and his face stained with tears.

“I love that you’re my sis.” He mumbled as he lowered his head back down. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t leave you.” You assured him as you pulled him closer. “I love that you’re my brother, now get some rest. I’ll wake you up for breakfast.”

Buggy nodded, resting his head on your shoulder as he gazed up at you. You really were okay, you still loved having him as your brother, and you weren’t going to leave him. Maybe tomorrow he could bring you breakfast in bed since you were still getting better, like what you’d done for him whenever he wasn’t feeling well. He’d take care of you, make sure you got better, because he wanted to help you like you had helped him out so many times before, because he was lucky to have a big sister like you.

[ournachojesus]

Death Loop Au, (Forth part, I don’t recap so it might be confusing if you haven’t read some of the past stuff.)

Warning : Talking about murder, torture, abuse, and a lot of disturbing content.

Loops 5-10

How long can they live for? If one of them was seriously injured in a way that damaged their mental facilities would a reset happen? Was there any signs or indications that the loops are limited? If not, how do they end the loops?

That’s what they dedicate those loops to. Mostly experimenting to see the basic rules of this unknown time relapse. Already knowing shigami have no memories or information on the subject they just start seeing how far they can go in the loops. As I said in past post, they never make it past the day Light originally dies. Mostly cause of Ryku but it’s not always him doing it (I’ll explain this more in loops 11-20). The hostile nature of their relationship goes from boiling down to simmering. Having to work together now in keeping everyone unaware of the strange test. Like Light concussing L into a coma, which does end up resetting them after a week. The mark rule is found out fast. No info on the loops is found.

Loops 11-20

Light will always die by the pen of a shigami. They can never get either Rem or Ryku to say what his predetermined life span was in the first place. Super tight lipped. Most commonly is Ryku or Rem that kill light at the marked date. If Light somehow convince Ryku not to do it then Rem does. If not Rem another god of death not roaming the mortal world. Of course Light can and has died via other ways, due to L setting it up. Both do question why. Often talking to eachother late into the night about how the gods of death relate to this loop. While none can remember nor know details of why, the marked date always have Light die by death note of a shigami is important. Lots of questions on why L is involved in the loop too since he died so much sooner than Light. They aren’t the only ones that have died by death notes or shigami so while it probably plays a role they can never get much information since all the people with information on the death note have nothing new they can provide. This is when the hostility starts to boil up,

Loops 21-50

Grand slam, on sight fist fights. Think of planning someone’s assassination, they do stuff like that. Some stuff boarding on torture as they near 50. Actually, scratch that, it is torture nearing 50. L removes Light’s fingers while he’s conscious, Light rips L’s tongue out, they don’t go past removing hands and feet. It used to be quick deaths but they just start slowly going nuts (they end up noticing only after they both go too far later on). Neither plead for the pain to stop, the desperate calls and screams are mostly about wishing for the loops to end. Mentally they start disconnecting when in pain, they’re minds letting rational thought override pain no matter what. It happening so often messes up their brains panic response.

Other half is them mind gaming each other, like chess. In this game they slowly start hurting those around them. Less caring as they view them as NPCs. No torture, letting these people get kidnapped, hurt, etc. Human rights? More like only them rights. Even then, they just start breaking every right. Misa starts to become a victim at this time.

Misa!!

I didn’t mention this from loops 1-20 but Misa can pretty quickly catch on to something being up. Light nor L notice this until after loop 20 because Light straight up avoids Misa like the plague along with talk L into helping him make sure Misa wasn’t involved during the first 20 loops. This deal breaks down which is why she starts popping up again. Since they are now experiencing her figuring it out when no one else ever does and her constant want to help them even though it’s super repetitive, they feel a little relief at first since she is willing to understand them but since this is a time when they are literally no longer acting or able to function normally unless it’s to act, things get bloody. It’s this anger that she always figures out the struggle they are in but is just another repeating pattern like everyone else. A code, NPC, a predetermined outcome, etc. So, when it comes to their chess game she is often the piece put in the worst situations. Sending her into a shady club full of horrible guys with a wire on to “collect information” sometimes they send someone in to help her but it just ends up with Misa going ‘missing’ on those days (she gets her organs stolen for black market), having her be arrested as Kira, having her become a Kira propagandist with her art. Depends, but they are just absolutely abusing and monstrous. To everyone.

L has a lot more power due to recourse and while Light is petty, he doesn’t kill L to make him play at the same level. He could but he knows it never work. L is less attached over all, less expressive with loss of appetite. Often not responding with much fire when Light explodes. Light is a ticking time bomb that can only explode around L, he loses drive to keep up relationships but never acts outwardly disturbing. Both just seem depressed to an outside observer, if they have their guards down. Both are so use to acting now that no one knows what’s actually going on beneath the surface.

NPC effect - Both have been looping for so long that they stop seeing other people as important or real due to none of them changing their behavior or develop unless L or Light change something (these loops can span up to when Light is 23, they loop back to when he’s 18).

Mark - From now on that’s what I’ll be referring to as the day Light dies in the og and as the max end point for loops.

The incidents - og post has some info about it but I’ll be make a post solely on this later.

When writing about this AU I never really thought if this relationship was romantic or platonic. Wasn’t really the focus since the relationship development they have is that of deep codependency and desperation. It can be twisted into either if that was something you wanted (this would change some of their actions).

What you need to know is that they grow into each other like compacted roots. I’ll give a full timeline of just what’s going on in the relationship itself once I have the loops and progression of events down. My thoughts on their og relationship? Even if they care and find the other as an equal that makes life exciting, they are both purely selfish beings. Everyone is selfish but their brand of it is beyond that of a normal person. They wish to be above all others, to have their egos satisfied. Not without challenge of course, that’s why they like one another. The challenge is what makes it interesting and all the more rewarding. During the loop AU their relationship grows to be more than just the challenge. In an unfortunate way they experience deep and meaningful connection with another person for the first time in the most brutal way. Unending repetition and trauma and disconnection from everyone else to a much more extreme extent. Connection to someone but with the want to make them happy because it makes you happy, it’s the first time they feel this. It’s really messed up since they end up believing that the only way they could ever love someone is by literally accumulating trauma. That they were born so broken that the only way they could love like normal people was by being ground into fine dust (these kind of thoughts aren’t ones they’d have in the beginning at all, only after they get so tired they can’t maintain their feelings of superiority that they start spiraling. Both in different ways due to differences but in the same vein of them both thinking they are monsters of sorts that needed to be beaten to become human).

[platinumrosetail]

Yandere sun wukong six EARS macaque nezha sandy mk x mothra female Reader

Like she fell into the lmk world and become more humanoid and they fell in love with her and she like really powerful too lol

And they keep her safe but druing the fight with Lbd she saves her lovers and also show them the little eggs at home she been hiding lol

Ooooh~ I will have so much fun with this like I have been having with the other’s requests. And I’ll be needing to do research on mothra as I haven’t really watched any Godzilla movies or series if there are any.

Warning: noob author, female reader, dark theme, yandere romantic characters, and others.

Characters: sun wukong, macaque, mk, sandy, nezha.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sun wukong:

You met him when you had crashed into his kingdom aka flower fruit mountain and was brought to him by his monkey subjects.

You then explained how you’re from a different world and was battling one of your many enemies, thinking you had died in that battle only to have woke up here not dead. He had asked why you thought you were dead and also how asked on how you said it so casually; you had explained even though you would die you would come back from the egg you would lay; which you haven’t yet, and would basically be reborn from that egg or eggs. Like phoenix

He was glad that he now have a friend that won’t die but is worried on how completely casual and how it seem so normal you seem to about dieing and getting reborn.

He got so worried that he freaked out over every little thing you did that could ‘hurt’ you when in reality it couldn’t even leave a scratch as you’re always careful about things he seem to be worried about you doing.

He makes sure to always have a monkey following you to keep you safe and to notify him if you need saving from something on flower fruit mountain; plus how can you say no to a cute little monkey that just wants to be your friend.

It wasn’t until a demon of unknown origin tried to ask you out to be his mate is what triggered his overprotectiveness and let his feelings out in the open for you to see; at least you share with him that you also loved him as well but what you didn’t know is that his love is deeper and darker than you thought it could possibly go.

The very same demon was later drowned but you were none the wiser of it entirely as sun had made a clone to do the deed. And since you can’t even go near the water you never knew as you fear that you yourself would drown as you can’t swim in your Imago form. With you being with sun you decide to lay your egg but this time not because you think you would die soon but to start a family with him.

Macaque:

You met him when you appeared passed out in his home that not many know of; he had come home to relax but to have found a sleeping intruder on his couch with moth features and with a wing of moth cloak hanging around you as a sort of blanket for the time being.

He had woken you up and asked many questions, like ‘how you got here?’, ‘Does anyone know of this place as well now?’, and ‘who are you?’ Too which you explain that you don’t know how you got here and that you thought you would do the rebirth cycle in your world, and not that you know seeing as you know that you’re probably the only one brought to this world, and that you’re a deity to a island called infant island and have the ability to rebirth in the eggs you have lay via immortality.

When you had said that you reborn into the eggs you lay when you die made him think of how he was able to live but was so shocked about how many deaths you remember seeing yourself go through and felt worried as he knows that he would never ever want to go through that but you assured him that you’re fine with it as long as you protect your people, which made him more worried about you as you had said it in a casual and normal way like talking about the weather.

Months later and you’re still living with him as per his orders apparently, saying with how many times you had died in the path it would probably be great to finally be able to stay in a safer area were you won’t be able to die anymore and wouldn’t having to worry about laying a egg or two to be reborn into, you of course didn’t agree with this but seeing as he is letting you live here rent free as long as you do some chores and help him you stayed quiet.

He makes sure to keep a tab on you with his shadow clone in case you go outside and get into some trouble from any thugs and robbers in case he’s not there with you.

He makes sure to keep any and all creeps away from as to protect you in case they turn out to be a threat and to make sure that you have eyes on him even if y’all aren’t in a relationship yet but when you do get in a relationship; he seem to get more overprotective than before.

When you do get to lay an egg, it’s just not only to get ready for possible rebirth but to also start a family with him; how many eggs you had lay is 2 which macaque was given the honor to name savage and rumble.

(This is a reference to the two monkeys with macaque even though I have not gotten the book about, I remember seeing something about them my friend confirmed that it was apparently canon; you see I thought they were oc’s considering I haven’t yet read the book journey to the west.)

Mk:

You fell on him when you met him and was being to his world. You apologized over and over again but since he has monkey king’s powers it didn’t really feel like anything worth fretting over so he told you that he was ok and that he was glad that you’re ok as well and that it’s all fine since no one really got hurt.

He was able to convince pigsy to let you stay with them until you were able to live by yourself again, he would have let you sleep on his bed while he slept on the floor but you didn’t want him to have to sleep on the floor as it’s uncomfortable and that you could sleep on the floor; which made him turn your words against you, before y’all settled on both of you sleeping on his bed.

It wasn’t until he found an egg when he learned that you rebirth into those eggs after you die; like a phoenix, which is also the day he became more overprotective each day that had passed.

He would literally be a errand boy for you plus he goes out on deliveries so if you need anything outside of pigsy’s shop/home then he can get it for you! As long as you stay in the apartment safe and sound.

You at first think it sweet before finding it exhausting and restless not being able to get stuff yourself so you compromise and said that when you go out and get things that you need and want then he can come along to ‘protect’ you.

Since he’s able to make clones he decided to make one for his deliveries while the real him stay with you plus be with you when the two of you go out together on a date after you two confessed for each other after a month later.

You had also acquired a job at pigsy’s so the both of you can spend more time together since there’s only one vehicle to deliver. You even learned how to cooked noodles, both to cook for you and mk and to help around the shop in case Pigsy can’t do it at the moment.

Sandy:

You were have wind turbulence and crashed on the deck of his boat when you had come to this world; strange enough it was night instead of day like your world right now, you had tried to float yourself away from it in fear that you could damage something but apparently didn’t when you did in fact crash.

He had found you the next day passed out on the deck and soon took you in and let you sleep on the couch that could turn into a bed; in case he has guest sleeping over, some of the cats took interest of you as you sleep and decided that you’re warm enough to take a little cat nap on you and around you.

When you woke up it was to the smell of delicious food being cooked. You ate all of the portion you were given and then some, apparently he made enough for you to eat and still have leftovers though that’s a problem as you ate it all in 3 rounds.

(Oof now I’m getting hungry myself lol 😂. Ok I ate something so let’s get on with the requests shall we!! 😁.)

You pet the therapy cats to calm your nerves from being away from your people and home while sipping tea made by sandy who you quite enjoy over the time that you spent with being here in his world.

When you told him of the supposed tradition that you do in case your current body dies shocked him and reminded him of his theories with him and his friends since there’s reincarnation involved in both basically, though he grew to be overprotective as he enjoys talking and spending time with you.

His tea also helps calm your nerves like with the cats he has as well; your favorite cat has to be Mo since he looks like sandy. You and sandy get together after some more time together and basically take care of your many cats that are like your children now.

When you do decided to lay an egg or two or more is when the whole lbd event blows over after a month of it being done for and when everything goes back to a somewhat normal pace.

Nezha:

You had appeared in a beam of light and was transported into the room he is currently guarding. You were passed out and didn’t seem like waking up for a good while and plus you don’t carry any weapons so he decided to put you on a soft surface for the time being until you finally wake up and then question you if you’re a threat to the jade emperor, anyone here, or to still the map.

When you finally woke up it was about a week after you got transported here, and when you did he started firing questions one after the other which lead to you having to stop him and calm him down so you can answer them without fail.

You quickly explained how you got here and who you were in your world one at a time with his question; he was at first skeptical and think you’re possibly lowing but realized how you seem insistent on this and decided to give you the benefit of the doubt but made a mental note to always keep a tab on what you’re doing and where you go just in case.

He had to inform the jade emperor and notify him that he would watch you and make sure you’re not a threat by staying close to you; though now that he’s looking back that seem to have backfired as he fell in love with you and would be overprotective when a servant gets near you.

You fell in love with him as well but don’t notice what he’s doing cause of the situation you’re in with trying to get back to your world but apparently that’s harder than said and plus nezha made sure that all your solutions get disrupted and made sure to never let you know.

You decided that it wouldn’t get anywhere and that you would stay here and be with the one you fell in love with over the time you had stayed here.

He was shocked and nervous about how you lay an egg to ensure that insure that you would always be reborn; now he’s more overprotective than before and wouldn’t let you go out alone as to make sure that possibility wouldn’t happen ever again.

(A/n: I finally did it!! Anyway hope y’all like it and have a wonderful day/night/evening! Oh, and I noticed lately that I’ve been taking my time with it which is good and bad; good because I’m taking my time and not burning my motivation out but also bad because I would like to hurry and get these requests done so I can update my books.)

[i-am-still-bb]

Treat for 22/10:

One of them is a modern witch and an owner of a famous potions recipe blog. The other one is a bit of a fanboy / just trying not to get his eyebrows synged off…

A/N: Originally conceived as an AU of The World Next Door. That had me stuck though. So we have this. But it still has similar elements, age gap, instructor/student dynamic, etc.

—

Fili drummed his fingers on the walnut conference table. One. Finger. At. A. Time. Focusing on how there were pits in the wood and some scratches in the varnish beneath his fingertips.

“Do you have any ideas?”

The silence following the question stretched on a beat too long and Fili knew he was supposed to answer. “Can you rephrase the question?”

“Enrollment numbers are dropping.”

“I’d noticed.”

“We need better student engagement and retention. Do you have any ideas? You are the most junior member of staff.” That last part was a thinly veiled dig and threat.

Fili shrugged, brushing off the words, “We could try putting some stuff on social media, teasers, sneak peeks, behind the scenes stuff. Stories about how potions and other magic sometimes go awry.”

Frowns appeared on the tenured track professors’ faces as soon as the words “social media” had left his mouth. This is why he rarely spoke up during these things. He kept his head down, did his research, lectured, and quickly attended conferences and published. 

Alice, the other young faculty member, specializing in potions that assisted in the growing of plants, clapped her hands. “My students would love something like that,” she grinned. “And I think it would do them good to see us as human, to see that we also make mistakes and singe our eyebrows and armchairs off.”

The department head looked skeptical. “It is an ‘interesting’ idea,” Fili could hear the air quotes around the word. “I think one of you younger people should be in charge. And as Ms. Yu is already assisting the Archives in their project then it should be you, if you don’t mind.

Fili did mind. Very much in fact. 

“It shouldn’t take that much time, maybe an hour a week,” the Head continued. 

And that was how a decade later Fili found himself spending more time on social media (Instagram, TikTok, and the like) promoting the university more broadly and the potions department specifically. 

He had asked for an assistant and was denied. 

It was fun. 

Sometimes. 

But other times he was just answering basic questions, or telling people “NO! ABSOLUTELY DO NOT MIX THOSE THINGS TOGETHER!” and then hoping that they actually listened.

Most of the time he was typing up replies, proofreading, posting, recording response videos, without paying much attention to the usernames that came across his screen. Sometimes there was one that would strike him as particularly ridiculous or clever; he would screenshot it, crop it, and save it to a special folder on his computer. He did the same with responses that made him give up home for humanity. 

But then there was one user, K.O.A.K., who asked questions that often made Fili pause and wonder and sometimes his only response was “I don’t know” even after he did some research and some serious thinking. 

They had a video chain going back at least six months at this point. 

Fili’s videos were well-lit against a carefully chosen background from a tripod; all courtesy of a performing arts student who interned for him for a semester. Really, she had bullied him into letting her do an unpaid internship. She was a double major and she said that the content of his videos were fantastic, but everything else was tragic. 

So now part of Fili’s large office / workspace was permanently set up for filming videos.

K.O.A.K.’s videos were probably worse that Fili’s had started out as. He always held his phone which sometimes made Fili nauseous while the user tossed ingredients into a travel sized cauldron that sat on a stove that had a single burner and plugged into a wall outlet. The wooden table it sat on was scarred from mishaps and frequently littered with ingredients, snacks, dust, and the occasional iced coffee cup of varying fullness. 

K.O.A.K. never showed his face. 

His hands featured in nearly every video. Sometimes his bare feet (which Fili had scolded him for, “What if you spill [insert potion here]? Or it boils over?” K.O.A.K.’s only response had been laughter, and to show off a fairly impressive old scar on his shin from just that thing happening) appeared. 

Fili shared tricks for making a potion that temporarily improved hand dexterity. “Roast the willow root before cutting it into thin 1 inch strips.”

K.O.A.K.  responded with a video demonstrating the differences between his original potion, one following Fili’s tip, and then one where he had added some olive oil to the foil packet before roasting, and then had roughly minced the root. 

Fili amended his notes.

He toyed with the idea of sharing his phone number as they starting talking about more than just tips and tricks for potions. But decided against it. This account operated in an official capacity. And it was probably bad enough that he was carrying on personal conversations through it. 

But he did notice that the twinge of excitement he got when he saw a notification form K.O.A.K. was the same as the one he would get early on in a new relationship. He had more than a little bit of a crush. It was merely academic, or so he told himself. He did not often get to talk about potions with anyone else.

—

Direct Messages between You (Prof.Durin) and K.O.A.K.

You: Why don’t you have a degree in this? You’re better than some of my grad students.

IDK.

You: You should apply to Erebor’s program. 

I don’t think they’d take me. I never took those ridiculous tests.

You: I’ll get them waived.

… I may not have finished secondary school

You: I’ll see what I can do.

—

Fili dismissed the class early. The first day of a new semester was always short. Most of his students were out of their seats and out the door before Fili had finished wiping down the whiteboard. Except for one. He was standing by the lectern, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Did you have a question?”

The student shook his head. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”

Fili consulted his attendance sheet for a moment, “It’s Killian Oaks, right? If you would prefer something else, I can certainly do that. I just don’t have a note from the college about anything like that for you.”

“It is. But that’s not how you’d know me.”

Fili frowned in thought, one hand splayed over his papers on the desk. There was the niggle in the back of his brain that told him he was missing something.”

“You’d know me as . . .”

--

Taglist: Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen

[four-white-trees]

Sunday Six

It's the time of the week!

I've been working away and several RGG projects this week, and the one I'm most excited to show off is a lengthier fic that explores Kuwana's life as a high school teacher. This was originally meant to be a small vignette in a fic that explored all of Kuwana's transformation, but then the high school teacher took the fuck over. I'm very proud of it, however, and especially the bit I'm sharing today.

Tagging the collective @overdevelopedglasses @carbonatedcalcium @fire-tempers-steel @passthroughtime @woundedheartwithin @mike----wazowski @skysquid22

The lecture that day was over haiku, which Kitakata usually enjoyed, especially with third-years. By then, students had grown up with haiku all their lives, so he was able to pull a deeper discussion of meaning, construction, and language. He’d start with one that always got laughs from the class: 

Over-ripe sushi,

The Master

Is full of regret.

- Yosa Buson

“What strikes you about this?” he asked, raking his gaze over the class. His eyes lingered on Kusumoto’s empty desk. 

“Someone needs to learn how to make sushi,” Kawai said, drawing a laugh from Suzuki and Akaike. 

“But he’s a Master,” Sawa pointed out. “He knows how to make sushi. I think there’s something very sad about someone who knows better but still makes such a basic mistake as preparing old sushi.” She locked her eyes with Kitakata then, a flare of indignation in her eyes. Kitakata plastered on a smile. 

“Quite good, Sawa-chan,” he said. “Although perhaps sadness is not the emotion to take from this. Rather, think of it as a warning to remain humble in your craft. You can always make a mistake, no matter how good you are.” 

The look in Sawa’s eyes seemed to intensify, and then she dropped them to her notebook as she scratched out some notes. 

He moved on to a famous poem that everyone in the room was guaranteed to know. 

An old silent pond...

A frog jumps into the pond,

splash! Silence again.

- Matsuo Bashō

“This one is about serene nature,” Suzuki offered. “I like it. It seems like such a peaceful scene.” 

“That it is,” Kitakata said with a nod. “Notice how Bashō is able to paint a dynamic picture in so few words. The energy moves from stillness, to movement, and back to stillness, like the cycles of life itself.” 

“Seems too boring to be real life,” Kawai suggested. “Maybe back in the samurai times this made sense, but today? We have cars, man.” 

“So you’re saying this haiku lacks a sense of timelessness?” Kitakata pressed. 

Kawai shrugged, but Akaike took up the conversation. “Yeah, I think it does. The modern world is just too different. I don’t even know the last time I saw a frog was.” 

“Perhaps this can serve us modern people as a reminder to slow down, then,” Kitakata suggested. 

“No way,” Kawai said. “You slow down, you fall behind.” 

“Interesting perspective, Kawai-kun,” Kitakata said. He turned to Sawa. “What do you think, Sawa-chan?” 

Sawa fiddled with her pencil, looking thoughtful. “I think there’s an overwhelming sense to the silence of the pond. Even though the frog disrupts the silence temporarily, it returns, and it’s like the frog had never even jumped at all.” 

Kitakata let a silence hang after Sawa’s words, surprised by her perspective. The silence was disrupted, however, by Kawai and Suzuki’s laughter. “You’re such a downer, Sawa-chan,” Kawai said, earning him a glare from his classmate. 

Shaking himself from the reverie, Kitakata moved on before Kawai and Sawa started arguing. 

My life, -

How much more of it remains?

The night is brief.

- Masaoka Shiki

As Kitakata recited it, he caught Akaike and Kawai exchanging an incredulous look. “Now, I think this one resonates with me a little more than you,” Kitakata said. “You are all at the beginning of your lives, and you don’t get a sense of mortality until you’re an old man like me.” 

Suzuki giggled. “You’re not old, sensei,” she said. 

“See? That’s the correct response, very good, Suzuki-chan,” Kitakata said, and Suzuki giggled more. “Still, it is good to keep your own mortality in mind, even at your age,” he went on. “You aren’t invincible, as much as it may feel that way. Now, I’m not saying any of you are going to die young.” He paused and swept his gaze over the classroom again. Kawai rolled his eyes. “But you never know.” He smirked, and Akaike chuckled. 

He lectured on a few more haiku, but the end of class came quickly. He dismissed the class, hoping to make a quick exit, when Sawa stood up. He recalled, then, that she had asked to talk to him the day before, and he had completely forgotten about it. But before he could address her, Kawai jumped up.

“Sensei,” he said, drawing Kitakata’s attention. He closed the distance between his desk and the podium in two long strides. Lowering his voice, he asked, “My grade’s pretty bad, huh? Think there’s a way I can make up some of those missed assignments?” 

Kitakata sighed. “Kawai-kun, you know I don’t give out extra credit,” he responded. “That’s more work for me.” 

Kawai smiled, embodying all the cocky self-assurance a seventeen-year-old could. “Yeah, but I’m your favorite student, right?” he said with laughter in his voice. 

Behind him, Kitakata noticed Sawa’s shoulder sag. She gathered her backpack and left the room. He should have called to her to stay, as he had no intention of entertaining Kawai’s nonsense, but he was also eager to get home and relax. Perhaps whatever issue she had had already been sorted out. 

“The best way to salvage yourself here is to stay on top of everything for the rest of the term,” Kitakata said firmly. “Then, Heaven help you, you may have a chance.” 

If Kawai was disappointed by this response, he didn’t show it at all. “You got it, sensei,” he said. He grabbed his notebook, which Kitakata had noticed he hadn’t written in all class, and joined his usual crew out in the hall. 

“Idiot kid,” Kitakata muttered under his breath. He gathered his notes together and picked up the textbook he had been teaching from. As he placed his bookmark back in it, his eyes fell over another haiku. Perhaps it was the end-of-the-day fatigue, but the words caused a prickle of goosebumps to kiss his neck. 

I kill an ant

and realize my three children

have been watching.

- Kato Shuson

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Now That's What I Call Music! 6 2001 Adult Contemporary / Pop-Rock / Alternative Rock / R&B / Teen Pop / Pop / Boy Bands / Post-Grunge

Here we go, folks. Another dispatch from the most pervasive compilation series to ever grace US shores: it's the triple-platinum-selling,  #1-spot-on-the-Billboard-200-album-chart-achieving, sixth installment from the king conglomerate of repackaging contemporary chart hits itself; the one and only Now That's What I Call Music!

Lots of fun stories behind this eclectic set of pop songs that, overall, feels like turning on your favorite top 40 radio station sometime between 2000 and 2001, but let's start with what was probably the most popular tune in the entirety of those two full years: Shaggy's "It Wasn't Me." If you've ever wondered why or how a song on which Shaggy himself doesn't really do that much came to be the signature hit of his whole career, it's because it wasn't actually ever intended to have been released as a single in the first place! Presumably, this was just a song that was to be included on his 2000 album, Hot Shot, that would serve as a showcase for another budding vocalist, Rik Rok, who sings the song's long pre-choruses, choruses, and bridge. Now, nothing substantial ever ended up materializing for Rik Rok after this song, but the story behind its global takeover started with a radio DJ in Hawaii who downloaded Hot Shot from a p2p network, like Napster, and then decided that his favorite track on it was "It Wasn't Me." He then played it on the air and received numerous requests to keep playing it, and that clamoring audience response then persuaded MCA to release it as the album's lead single, three months after the LP had already dropped.

Also, Shaggy became known as something of a heavy sampler and interpolator, with his follow-up single, "Angel," revitalizing the melody from Juice Newton's country-pop classic, "Angel of the Morning," and a popular remix of "Boombastic" using Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" (I actually wrote about how we should be taking that Marvin song off of our collective sex playlists earlier this week). But something that probably slipped under some people's radar is how he just pretty much took the intro from a song that’s a bit more obscure in order to make "It Wasn't Me": "Smile Happy," by War, the band who became famous in the 70s for songs like "Low Rider" and "Why Can't We Be Friends," all of which are from the same album. Listen to that song's opening! It's basically the same!

I don't think War or any of its members ever received a songwriting credit for "It Wasn't Me" either, but they did when One Direction's Liam Payne made his solo debut with "Strip That Down" in 2017, which interpolated Shaggy's song. So, nice to see that War finally started to accumulate some scratch from those few bars!

Next, *NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye," the lead single from No Strings Attached that served doubly as a dynamic teen pop breakup anthem and possibly as something of a middle finger to their former manager, Lou Pearlman, as well. It's an early 2000s pop masterpiece that comes from the famed Cheiron Studios in Sweden, which gave us the brunt of all those teen pop hits that use similar production techniques and lyrics that don't always quite make sense 😅. The most iconic producer from that teen pop haven was Max Martin, but he actually wasn't directly involved with this one. Instead, other guys from Cheiron produced and wrote it: Jake Schulze, Kristian Lundin—who was also behind "Tearin' Up My Heart"—and Andreas Carlsson.

And it's Carlsson who actually first took the song to UK boy band 5ive, who had previously charted Stateside in the top 10 with "When the Lights Go Out," in 1998. Carlsson's original conception of "Bye Bye Bye" had a rap chorus on it, and 5ive ended up really despising it, so much so, that one of the members actually called security on him 😂. Apparently, 5ive had decided that they wanted to be a "rap band" and sound like Eminem, so this "Bye Bye Bye" song, despite its chorus, was very much not for them anymore. So, the tune was then later retooled for *NSYNC, who would end up taking it to #1 on Billboard's Hot 100 chart, and it then summarily became one of the most memorable songs of the early 2000s and the boy band/teen pop era as a whole. And as a result, 5ive would never chart again anywhere after 2001 😬.

OK, now for Creed’s “With Arms Wide Open.” Did you know that this fucking song, the band's only single to top the Billboard Hot 100, which also contains some utterly incomprehensible choices in enunciation from lead vocalist Scott Stapp, took home a Grammy for Best Rock Song? Unreal, right? And what might be even more unreal is the fact that notoriously cool dude Dave Grohl actually genuinely loves it, having called it one of the most amazing songs he’s ever heard! What, Dave?!

And then there's U2's "Beautiful Day," a simply epic song to buy shampoo to that marked a departure from the electronic dance experiments that the band had become known for in the 90s, and began their transformation into the most ubiquitously annoying and insufferable act in the world for the next 15 years or so. Brian Eno, Daniel Lanois, and Steve Lillywhite's production was really stellar on it, but a writer at NME wrote that John Lennon's assassin should be let out of prison so he could shoot Bono for making this one. And I mean, that's certainly a drastic measure, but then that other album wouldn't have ended up invading all of our iPhones in the 2010s, so... 🤷‍♂️....actually, I'm just kidding. Wanting people shot for making songs you don't like is unethical. Don't do that!

And lastly, I totally forgot that K-Ci & JoJo's "Crazy" even existed before I gave this album a spin today. Those guys were probably the most iconic vocal male R&B duo of the Y2K era, and were known especially for their super soulful adult contemporaryish slow jam-ballads, like "All My Life" and "Tell Me It's Real." But I don't think I'd heard "Crazy" once since it came out over 20 years ago, so, that was a total jolt of nostalgia for me, personally, right there. And I really wasn't cognizant of it at the time, but that song's also one of the first big hits to use a considerable amount of autotune on it too, long before people like T-Pain would go on to define their career with it towards the end of the decade. So, it's sort of a trailblazing song, I guess, but it was also K-Ci & JoJo's final appearance on the Hot 100 as well, so also bittersweet. And there’s another song with some autotune on here too, an early 2000s R&B classic, “No More (Baby I’ma Do Right),” by 3LW. It doesn’t use the autotune to the same extent, but it’s there in the first verse. Fantastic throwback.

So, this album was a lot of fun. Always love taking these trips down memory lane and re-experiencing, evaluating, and learning all these backstories behind these songs that I grew up with years ago 😊. Now was probably something of a nuisance when it arrived in the US because all it did was cash-grabbingly gather big chart hits onto CD, but now it's just a great collection of artifacts that document the music of bygone eras.

Highlights:

Britney Spears - “Stronger” *NSYNC - “Bye Bye Bye” ATC - "Around the World (La La La La)" Jennifer Lopez - “Love Don’t Cost a Thing” Destiny's Child - "Independent Women, Part 1" Shaggy - “It Wasn’t Me” 3LW - "No More (Baby I'ma Do Right)" K-Ci & JoJo - “Crazy” R. Kelly - “I Wish” Backstreet Boys - “Shape of My Heart” Evan and Jaron - “Crazy for This Girl” Coldplay - “Yellow” Lenny Kravitz - “Again” Fuel - "Hemorrhage (In My Hands)" Creed - “With Arms Wide Open” Incubus - “Drive” U2 - “Beautiful Day”

[atsoraasayoma]

The Digidestined Guessing Game. Thanks to Firedragon1321 I’m going to continue doing this.

Let’s talk about Miyako now. She also really has to contend with the drama of a full household and siblings and really has to take advantage of vulnerable situations to get what she wants.

Whether this is fighting at the dinner table for a dessert orbasically stealing from her self employed mom’s store to ‘buy’ snacks (that poor mom losing all that revenue to the bottomless pits of in training Digimon!) she has to scratch and claw her way to get what she wants otherwise she was left with nothing but scraps.

I believe that this aggression is how she bonded with her family and in turn she saw aggression as respect in a familial way. That’s why when she has conflict but there is no anger she seems a bit lost at first emotionally. And for her to lose in essence is her pride and standing being lost.

I find her dynamic fascinating. She’s like a clunky Mimi who has to manipulate her way to get results but she is not as smooth or gentle about it so just kind of comes off as being too aggressive even when being nice. (Probably why she adores Mimi so much. She is the older sibling she always wanted).

I think her most iconic moment for me was when she was arguing with Hawkmon who was very politely trying to tell her to be careful climbing down a steep slope to get to the Digimon emperor’s base, and she is so psyched up like a manic bear starving for food she listens for a moment, gets offended and then starts ripping into him asserting her dominance as an independent young headstrong woman (if I remember that right).

It sums up her character nicely. It’s not a detriment to her, but it was a moment where she learned that being that headstrong and forcing her own way could bring pain for those she loves.

Back in the day I used to hate this character. I hated her design, her attitude, and even her relationships and how she gets jealous easily and is so dam flirtatious and outspoken about it. (But underneath it I was mad Hikari and Takeru were not DNA digivolving partners. I still am lol).

I came to realize over time that she is basically a mama bear grizzly. She learns from Hikari when to be gentle and Hikari learns from her when to be grizzly. They play off each others strengths quite well.

Although she is still my least favorite I can respect her character development and how she really has carved out a path for herself growing from an immature prideful pushy sister you would hate to have in any situation except when someone is trying to hurt you to a reliable friend who can recognize and act appropriately and quickly to any situation. She still has fits of anger but really that’s only when someone is making really stupid decisions.

I liked her character growth. I liked how I hated her before but then really saw her change and adapt and I am all the more impressed by just how cool a character she used to be now.

Sometimes I think we get the impression of a character as so unsettling we can’t see just how much they changed because their original traits just grate on the nerves.

So now let’s see if you can guess which Digidestined she is talking to based off of these situations.

Digidestined A: There is no way we can do that! We got to just rush in and get it over with!

Miyako. (Two Digidestined holds her back). Are you stupid or just dense?! Just think about it! If we don’t do this then x, y and z no thanks to your boneheaded mistake!

Digidestined B: I think we should consider the situation. There are a variety of factors we have not seen. And from my dark history it could benefit us in this battle.

Miyako: That’s our Ken! Always helping us see the other side. We should go over this at the coffee shop later. You’re buying, right?

Digidestined C: I wish I could be more headstrong as you Miyako. At least a little.

Miyako. Heh, you will. Trust me. I’ll show you the grrr in girl power.

Digidestined D: Assess the situation. Think calmly, rationally and then get everyone’s input. Then you can make your decisio-

Miyako: No. we were taking about dating advise not a general rule for every day living. You’ve got to make time to get out more.

Digidestined E: You’re right about being cautious, but from what I’ve gone through sometimes you have to make the hard decisions even if others may not like it. When things are just so murky and grey you have to be able to risk making a judgment and it may not always be the right call.

Miyako: Never quite thought about it like that, but yeah I agree! So let’s get going! I’ll handle this part.